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Full text of "Across the continent by the Lincoln highway"



-M 



THE NEW YORK 

™lic library! 



A8T0R. LENOX 
TiLD£N FOUNnAT.^..^ 



ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

BY 

THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 



By 
EFFIE PRICE GLADDING 



ILLUSTRATED BY PHOTOGRAPHS 



New York 

BRENTANO'S 

1915 



TilE LEW YOPIK 
PUBLIC LIBRARY 

734511 

ASTOR, LENOX AND 

TILDEN FOUNDATIONS 

^ 1916 L 



Copyright, 1915, 

BY 

Effie Price Gladding 



Manufactured by 

Rowland & Ives 

225 Fifth Avenu9 

New York 



\: 



Dedicated to 
Lovers of the open road and the flying wheel. 



"My country, 'tis of thee. 
Sweet land of liberty. 
Of thee I sing." 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Introduction 7 

Chapter I 11 

Chapter II 22 

Chapter III 37 

Chapter IV 57 

Chapter V 76 

Chapter VI . . , . . . 92 

Chapter VII , . . . . . Ill 

Chapter VIII 142 

Chapter IX .169 

Chapter X 191 

Chapter XI 210 

Chapter XII 227 

Chapter XIII 257 



y 



INTRODUCTION vu 



A FOREWORD THAT IS A 
RETROSPECT 

From the Pacific to the Atlantic by the Lincoln 
Highway, with California and the Virginias and 
Maryland thrown in for good measure! What a 
tour it has been! As we think back over its miles 
we recall the noble pines and the towering Sequoias 
of the high Sierras of California; the flashing wa- 
ter-falls of the Yosemite, so green as to be called 
Vernal, so white as to be called Bridal Veil; the 
orchards of the prune, the cherry, the walnut, the 
olive, the almond, the fig, the orange, and the lemon, 
tilled like a garden, watered by the hoarded and 
guarded streams from the everlasting hills ; and the 
rich valleys of grain, running up to the hillsides and 
dotted by live oak trees. We recall miles of vine- 
yard under perfect cultivation. We see again the 
blue of the Pacific and the green of the forest ce- 
dars and cypresses. High Lake Tahoe spreads 



viii INTRODUCTION 

before us, with its southern fringe of emerald 
meadows and forest pines, and its encirding guard- 
ians, lofty and snow-capped. The high, grey-green 
deserts of Nevada, Utah, and Wyoming stretch be- 
fore us once more, and we can smell the clean, pun- 
gent sage brush. We are not lonely, for life is all 
about us. The California quail and blue- jay, the 
eagle, the ground squirrel, the gopher, the coyote, 
the antelope, the rattlesnake, the big ring snake, 
the wild horse of the plains, the jack rabbit, the 
meadow lark, the killdeer, the redwinged blackbird, 
the sparrow hawk, the thrush, the redheaded wood- 
pecker, the grey dove, all have been our friends and 
companions as we have gone along. We have seen 
them in their native plains and forests and from 
the safe vantage point of the front seat of our 
motor car. 

The lofty peaks of the Rockies have towered be- 
fore us in a long, unbroken chain as we have looked 
at them from the alfalfa fields of Colorado. 

We have seen the bread and the cornbread of a 
nation growing on the rolling prairies of Nebraska, 
Iowa, and Illinois. We have crossed the green, 
pastoral stretches of Indiana and Ohio and Penn- 
sylvania. The red roads of Virginia, winding 



INTRODUCTION ix 

among her laden orchards of apples and peaches 
and pears and her lush forests of oak and pine; 
the yellow roads of Maryland, passing through her 
fertile fields and winding in and out among the 
thousand water ways of her coast line, all come be- 
fore us. These are precious possessions of expe- 
rience and memory, the choice, intimate knowledge 
to which the motorist alone can attain. 

The Friends of the Open Road are ours; the 
homesteader in his white canopied prairie schooner, 
the cattleman on his pony, the passing fellow mo- 
torist, the ranchman at his farmhouse door, the 
country inn-keeper hospitably speeding us on our 
way. 

We have a new conception of our great country ; 
her vastness, her varied scenery, her prosperity, 
her happiness, her boundless resources, her im- 
mense possibilities, her kindness and hopefulness. 
We are bound to her by a thousand new ties of ac- 
quaintance, of association, and of pride. 

The Lincoln Highway is already what it is in- 
tended to be, a golden road of pleasure and use- 
fulness, fitly dedicated, and destined to inspire a 
great patriotism and to honour a great patriot. 

October^ 1914. 



ACROSS THE CONTINENT BY 
THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 



CHAPTER I 

With what a strange thrill I look out from my 
stateroom window, early one April morning, and 
catch a glimpse of the flashing light on one of the 
green promontories of the Golden Gate! I dress 
hurriedly and run out to And that a light is flaming 
on the other promontory, and that we are entering 
the great Bay of San Francisco. It has taken a 
long preparation to give me the feeling of pride and 
joy and wonder with which I come through the 
Golden Gate to be in my own country once more. 
A year of touring in Europe, nearly a year of travel 
in the Orient, six months in Australia and New 
Zealand, and after that three months in Honolulu ; 
all this has given me the background for the unique 
sensation with which I see the two lights on the long 



12 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

green promontories of the Golden Gate stretching 
out into the Pacific. Our ship moves steadily on, 
past Alcatraz Island with its long building on its 
rocky height, making it look like a big Atlantic 
liner built high amidships. There are the green 
heights of the Presidio and the suburbs of the city 
of San Francisco. On the left in the distance is 
Yerba Buena Island. Far ahead of us, across the 
width of the Bay, are the distant outlines of Oak- 
land and Berkeley. Later I am to stand on the 
hilly campus of the University of Cahfornia and 
look straight across the Bay through the Golden 
Gate which we have just entered. The tall build- 
ings of San Francisco begin to arise and we are 
landed in the streets of the new city. What a mar- 
vel it is ! In the ten days that we were there I must 
say that still the wonder grew that a city could have 
risen in nine short years from shock, and flood, and 
fire, to be the solid, imposing structure of stone and 
brick, with wide bright streets and impressive 
plazas, that San Francisco now is. In the placing 
of its statues at dramatic points on the streets and 
cross streets, it reminds one of a French city. The 
new city has fine open spaces, with streets stretch- 
ing in all directions from these plazas. There 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 13 

are many striking groups of statuary ; among them 
one whose inscriptions reads: 



DEDICATED TO MECHANICS 

BY 

JAMES MERVYN DONAHUE IN MEMORY OF HIS 

FATHER^ PETER DONAHUE 

The most striking figure in this group, one of five 
workmen cutting a hole through a sheet of steel, is 
the figure of the old man who superintends the 
driving of the bolt through the sheet, while four 
stalwart young men throw their weight upon the 
lever. Here is not only stalwart youth and brawn, 
but also the judgment and steadiness of mature 
age. The older man has a good head, and adds a 
moral balance to the whole group. It is a fine mem- 
orial, not only to the man whose memory it hon- 
ours, but also to a host of mechanics and working 
men who do their plain duty every day. 

The most attractive thing about the San Fran- 
cisco residences is the fine view of the Bay that 
many of them have. It is the business portion of the 
city that makes the striking impression upon the 
stranger. The new Masonic Building, with its 



14 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

massive cornice, reminding one of the Town Hall 
in the old fighting town of Perugia, Italy ; the tow- 
ering buttresses of the Hotel St. Francis; the no- 
ble masses of the business blocks; the green rect- 
angle of the civic center where the city's functions 
are held in the open air ; — all are impressive. In all 
of the California cities, one finds no better dressed 
people and no more cosmopolitan people in ap- 
pearance than are to be seen on the San Francisco 
streets. It is more nearly a great city in its spirit 
and atmosphere than any other metropolis of the 
State. 

The drive through the Golden Gate Park is in- 
teresting because of the blooming shrubs, and the 
lovely foliage. I have never before seen my favor- 
ite golden broom blooming in any part of the 
United States. Here it grows luxuriantly. The 
Presidio, the site of the military post, is a very 
beautiful park, and is well worth seeing. 

A memorable excursion is one across the Bay to 
Berkeley, the seat of the State University. In the 
past fifteen or twenty years the University has 
grown from a somewhat motley collection of old 
brick buildings into a noble assemblage of harmo- 
nious stone buildings with long lines of much archi- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 15 

tectural impressiveness. No one can see the Uni- 
versity of California without feeling that here is a 
great institution against the background of a great 
State. Two buildings which I particularly like are 
the School of Mines, built by Mrs. Phoebe Hearst 
as a memorial to her husband, and the beautiful li- 
brary. While the two buildings are very different 
in type, each is noble and appropriate for its par- 
ticular uses. There are still a few of the original 
buildings standing, old-fashioned and lonely. 
Doubtless they will be removed in time and more 
fitting structures will take their place. The situa- 
tion of the campus is superb. It lies on a group of 
green foothills, the buildings rising from various 
knolls. You literally go up to the halls of learning. 
The whole campus and the little university city at 
its feet are dominated by an enormous white C out- 
lined on the green hills far above. It is a stiff climb 
to that C, but it is a favorite walk for ambitious 
students. They tell me that occasionally students 
come up from Leland Stanford Universitj^ and in 
teasing rivalry paint over the C at the dead hour 
of night. The University is rich in beautiful situa- 
tions on the campus for out-of-door functions. 
Nothing could be lovelier than Strawberry Canyon, 



16 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

a green valley with immemorial live oaks scattered 
here and there; and with clumps of shrubbery be- 
hind whose greenness musicians can conceal them- 
selves. We saw the annual masque given by four 
hundred University women in honour of Mrs. 
Phoebe Hearst. I carry in memory a lovely vision 
of dancing wood nymphs, of living flowers, of soft 
twilight colors, streaming across the greensward; 
and of a particular wood nymph, the very spirit of 
the Spring, who played about in irresponsible hap- 
piness, all in soft wood browns and pinks and 
greens. The Greek Theatre is a noble monument to 
Mr. Randolph Hearst, its donor. A great audience 
there is a fine sight; so symmetrical is the am- 
phitheatre that it is hard to realize how many thou- 
sands of people are sitting in the circle of its stone 
tiers. Behind the topmost tier runs a wall covered 
with blooming roses, while back of this wall hang 
the drooping tassels of tall eucalyptus trees. 
Nothing could be more fitting as a theatre for music 
and for all the noblest and most dignified functions 
of a great institution. 

We did not start on our long journey, which was 
to mount up to 8,600 miles in distance, until the 
21st of April. Before that we had a delightful 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 17 

northern trip of one hundred and twenty miles in 
a friend's motor car ; crossing the ferry and driving 
through Petaluma, Sonoma Valley, and Santa 
Rosa, on to Ukiah. Coming through Petaluma our 
host told us that we were in "Henville." I had sup- 
posed that chickens would do well an^^where in 
sunny California, but not so. There are districts 
where the fog gets into the tliroats of the fowls and 
kills them. Sonoma County is particularly adapt- 
ed for chicken raising and there are hundreds of 
successful chicken growers in this region. 

As we came through Santa Rosa, we saw the 
modest home and the office and gardens of Luther 
Burbank. 

Beyond Santa Rosa we entered what our host 
called the Switzerland of California. The roads 
are only ordinary country roads and very hilly at 
that, but the rolling green fields and glimpses of 
distant hills, with hesLvy forests here and there, are 
very beautiful. I saw for the first time in all its 
spring glory the glowing California poppy. Great 
masses of bright orange yellow were painted 
against the lush green of the thick hillside grass; 
masses that fairly radiated light. Alongside these 
patches of flaming yellow were other patches of 



18 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

the deep blue lupine. Some great painter should 
immortalize the spring fields of California. The 
wonderful greenness of the grass, the glowing 
masses of yellow, and the deep gentian blue of the 
lupine would rank with the coloring of McWhirt- 
er's *'Tyrol in Springtime." California in the spring 
is an ideal State in which to motor. We were sorry 
that we could not accept our host's invitation to 
motor still farther north into Lake County, a 
county of rough roads but fine scenery. 

Northern California has not yet been developed 
or exploited for tourists as has the southern part 
of the State, but there is beautiful scenery in all 
the counties north of San Francisco. As we drove 
through Sonoma (Half Moon) Valley, we saw 
the green slopes of Jack London's ranch, not many 
miles away. Jack London's recent book, "The Val- 
ley of the Half Moon," describes the scenery of this 
region. 

Back of Vallejo, reached by ferry from San 
Francisco, lies the lovely Napa Valley, filled with 
fruit ranches. Its southern end is narrow, but as 
one drives farther north it widens out into a broad 
green expanse of orderly fruit farms and pleasant 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY. 19 

homes, dominated by green hills on either side. 
Sonoma Valley and Napa Valley were the first of 
many enchanting valleys which we saw in Califor- 
nia. As I look back on our long drive, it seems to 
me now that in California you are always either 
climbing a mountain slope or descending into a 
green valley flanked by ranges of hills. Calistoga, 
at the northern end of Napa Valley, has interesting 
literary associations. It was on the slope of Cahs- 
toga Mountain that Robert Louis Stevenson spent 
his honeymoon and had the experience of which we 
read to-day in ''The Silverado Squatters." 

San Francisco is a pleasure-loving town. When 
its people are not eating in public places to the 
sound of music, they are likely to be amusing them- 
selves in public places. The moving picture, the 
theatre, the vaudeville, all flourish in this big, gay, 
rushing city. The merchants of San Francisco 
have shown great courage and daring in the erec- 
tion of their big buildings almost immediately on 
the stones and ashes of the old ones. They have 
done all this on borrowed money and loaded them- 
selves with heavy mortgages, trusting to the future 
and to fat years to pay off their indebtedness. They 



20 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

have done an heroic work in a solid, impressive 
way, and deserve all the business that can possibly 
come to them. 

In San Francisco I saw for the first time that 
great California institution, the cafeteria. They 
pronounce this word in California with the accent 
on the "i." To a traveler it seems as if all San 
Francisco must take its meals in these well equipped 
and perfectly ordered restaurants. You enter at 
one side of the room, taking up napkin, tray, knife, 
fork, and spoons from carefully arranged piles as 
you pass along a narrow aisle outlined by a railing. 
Next comes a counter steaming with trays of hot 
food, and a second counter follows with rows of 
salads and fruits on ice. After one's choice is made, 
the tray is inspected and the pay-check estimated 
and placed on the tray by a cashier. You are then 
free to choose your table in the big room and to 
turn over your tray to one of the few waiters in at- 
tendance. You leave on the opposite side of the 
room, passing a second cashier and paying the 
amount of your check. 

It is a great game, this of choosing one's food 
by looking it over as it stands piping hot or ice 
cold, in its appointed place. The attendants are 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 21 

evidently accustomed to the weakness of human 
nature, bewildered by so overwhelming an array 
of viands. They keep calling out the merits of 
various dishes as the slow procession passes. "Have 
some broiled ham? It's very nice this morning," 
"Try the bacon. It's specially good to-day." 

California people are much given to light house- 
keeping and to taking their meals in cafeterias and 
other restaurants. Doubtless this fashion may have 
been inaugurated by the fact that an ever increas- 
ing tourist population, living in hotels and lodg- 
ings, must be taken care of. But many of the Cali- 
fornians themselves are accustomed to reduce the 
cares of house-keeping to the minimum, and to take 
almost all their meals away from their own homes. 
The servant question is a serious one in California; 
and this type of co-operative house-keeping seems 
to commend itself to hosts of people. We enjoyed 
it as pilgrims and travelers, but one would scarcely 
wish to have so large a part of the family life hab- 
itually lived in public places. 



22 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 



CHAPTER II 

In the heart of San Francisco stands a tall, slen- 
der iron pillar, with a bell hanging from its down- 
turned top, like a lily drooping on its stalk. This 
bell is a northern guide post of the famous El 
Camino Real, the old highway of the Spanish monks 
and monasteries on which still stand the ruins of the 
ancient Mission churches and cloisters. We pur- 
pose to drive south the entire length of the six hun- 
dred miles of El Camino Real; and then turning 
northward to cross the mountain backbone of the 
State of California, and to come up through the 
vast and fertile stretches of its western valleys, 
meeting the Lincoln Highway at the town of 
Stockton. 

It is the morning of the 21st of April when we 
swing around the graceful bell, run along Market 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 23 

Street to the Masonic Temple, turn left into Mis- 
sion Road, and from Mission Road come again 
into El Camino Real. We first pass through the 
usual fringe of cheap houses, road saloons, and small 
groceries that surrounds a great city. Then comes 
a group of the city's cemeteries, ''Cypress Grove," 
"Home of Peace," and others. We have a bumpy 
road in leaving the city, followed by a fine stretch 
of smooth, beautiful cement highway. On through 
rolling green country we drive, and into the suburb 
of Burlingame with its vine covered and rose em- 
bowered bungalows, and its houses of brown shin- 
gle and of stucco. The finer places sit far back from 
the road in aristocratic privacy, with big, grassy 
parks shaded by noble trees in front, and with the 
green foothills as a background, 

At San Mateo, a town with the usual shaven and 
parked immaculateness of highclass suburbs, we 
have luncheon in a simple little pastry shop. The 
woman who gaily serves us with excellent ham 
sandwiches, cake, and coffee, tells us that she 
is from Alsace-Lorraine. She and her husband 
have found their way to California. From San 
Mateo we drive to Palo Alto, where we spend some 
time in visiting Leland Stanford University. The 



24 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

University buildings of yellow sandstone with their 
warm red tiled roofs look extremely well in the 
southern sun. Here are no hills and inequalities. 
All the buildings stand on perfectly level ground, 
the situation well suited to the long colonnades and 
the level lines of the buildings themselves. It is 
worth the traveler's while to walk through the long 
cloisters and to visit the rich and beautiful church, 
whose restoration from the ravages of the earth- 
quake is about completed. With its tiling and 
mosaic work, its striking mottoes upon the walls, 
and its fine windows, it is very like an Italian 
church. 

The town of Palo Alto is a pretty little settle- 
ment, depending upon the University for its life. 

From Palo Alto we drive on into the Santa Clara 
Valley. We are too late to see the fruit trees in 
bloom, a unique sight; but the valley stretches be- 
fore us in all its exquisite greenness and freshness 
after the spring rains. Miles of fruit trees, as care- 
fully pruned and weeded and as orderly in every 
detail as a garden, are on every side of us. Prune 
trees, cherry trees, and apricot trees; there are 
thousands of them, in a most beautiful state of 
cultivation and fruitfulness. No Easterner who 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 25 

has seen only the somewhat untidy and carelessly 
cultivated orchards of the East can imagine the ex- 
quisite order and detailed cultivation of the Cali- 
fornia fruit orchards. We saw miles of such or- 
chards always in the same perfect condition. Not 
a leaf, not a branch, not a weed is left in these or- 
chards. They are plowed and harrowed, sprayed 
and pruned, down to the last corner of every or- 
chard, and the last branch of every tree. 

Through the clean aisles, between the green rows, 
run the channels for the precious water that has 
traveled from the mountains to the plains to turn 
tens of thousands of acres into a fair and fruitful 
garden. 

The Santa Clara Valley is one of the loveliest 
valleys of all California, and indeed of all the world. 
Set amid its orchards are tasteful houses and 
bungalows, commodious and architecturally pleas- 
ing; very different from the box-like farmhouses 
of the Middle West and the East. On either side 
rise high green hills. It is a picture of beauty 
wherever one looks. 

At Santa Clara, on our way to San Jose, we stop 
to see the Santa Clara Mission, just at the edge of 
the town. All that remains of the first Mission is 



26 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

enclosed within a wall, the new church and the flour- 
ishing new school standing next to the enclosure. 

In the middle of the valley is the city of San 
Jose, an active, bustling town, full of life and busi- 
ness. We spent a pleasant day at the Hotel Ven- 
dome, an old-fashioned and delightful hostel, sur- 
rounded by a park of fine trees and flowering 
shrubs. The Vendome is a good place in which to 
rest and bask in the sunshine. 

When we next motor through the Santa Clara 
Valley, we shall visit the New Almaden quicksil- 
ver mine, twelve miles from San Jose, and com- 
manding from its slopes a wondrous view of the 
valley and the Garden City, as San Jose is called. 
And there is the interesting trip from San Jose to 
Mt. Hamilton and the Lick Observatory. One can 
motor by a good road to the summit of the moun- 
tain, 4,209 feet above sea level, and spend the night 
at the hotel below on the mountain slope. 

Leaving San Jose, we were more and more 
charmed with the valley as we drove along through 
orderly orchards and past tasteful bungalows. This 
was the California of laden orchards, of roses and 
climbing geraniums, of green hills rising beyond 
the valleys, of which we had read. As we ap- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 27 

preached the foot hills of the Santa Cruz Mountains 
we looked back and saw the green valley with its 
ranks of trees unrolled below us. Passing through 
the little town of Los Gatos (The Cats) , we began 
to climb. As we turned a curve on the winding 
mountain road, the green expanses of the Happy 
Valley were lost to view. We were coming now 
into the region of immense pine trees and of the 
coast redwoods, the Sequoia sempervirens. The 
road was fair but very winding, requiring close at- 
tention. We crossed singing brooks and passed 
wayside farms high in the hills, with their little 
patches of orchard and grain. We saw a big sign- 
board indicating the two-mile road to the Monte- 
zuma Ranch School for boys, and shortly after 
were at the top of the grade. Then came the de- 
scent, the road still winding in and out among the 
forests. At the Hotel de Redwood, a simple hostel 
for summer sojourners from the valleys, we saw 
a magnificent clump of redwoods, around which had 
been built a rustic seat. At the foot of the hill we 
turned left instead of right, thus omitting from our 
itinerary the town of Santa Cruz and the redwoods 
of the Big Basin. We hope to see this noble group 
of trees sometime in the future. We took lunch- 



28 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

eon in a little cafe at Watsonville. When I asked 
the young German waiter for steamed clams he 
said, "Oh! you mean dem big fellers!" From 
Watsonville, a bright little town, we drove on tow- 
ard Salinas, making a detour which took us around 
the town instead of directly through it. We were 
crossing the green plains of the Salinas Valley, and 
before us rose the dark wooded heights of the fa- 
mous Monterey Peninsula. On through the town 
of JVfonterey to Pacific Grove, a mile beyond, and 
we were soon resting in an ideal bungalow watched 
over by two tall pines. What a memorable week 
we spent at " Woodwardia" ! A quarter of a mile 
to our right was the sea, whose sound came up to 
us plainly on still nights. Less than a quarter of 
a mile to our left were the forest and the beginning 
of the Seventeen Mile Drive. We took the drive 
once and again, paying the seventy-five cent en- 
trance fee at the gate of the Pacific Improvement 
Company's domain, thus becoming free to wander 
about in the great wooded territory of the Peninsu- 
la. We took luncheon at the picturesque Pebble 
Lodge, where we had soup served in shining abalone 
shells, and where the electric lights were shaded by 
these shells. We halted in leisurely fashion along 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 29 

the Drive to climb over the rocks and to scramble 
up the high dunes, with their riot of flowering beach 
peas. They were ideal places to sit and dream with 
the blue sea before one and the dark forest behind. 
We photographed the wind-swept cypress trees, 
beaten and twisted into witchlike shapes by the 
free Pacific breezes. We watched the seals, lazily 
basking in the sun on the rocks off shore. We vis- 
ited the picturesque village of Carmel, where ar- 
tists and writers consort. We selected, under the 
spell of all this beauty, numerous sites for bunga- 
lows on exquisite Carmel Bay, where one might en- 
joy forever and a day the fascination of the sea 
and the spell of the pine forests. 

We visited the Carmel Mission, now standing 
lonely and silent in the midst of green fields. A few 
of the old pear trees planted by the Mission fath- 
ers still maintain a gnarled and aged existence in 
an orchard across the road from the church. The 
church is a simple structure with an outside flight 
of adobe steps, such as one sees in Italian houses, 
running up against the wall to the bell tower. At 
the left of the altar are the graves of three priests, 
one being that of Father Junipero Serra, the 
founder of many of the Missions, the devoted Span- 



so ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

ish priest and statesman who more than once walked 
the entire length of six hundred miles along which 
his Missions were planted. A wall pulpit stands out 
from the right wall of the church. The most touch- 
ing thing in the empty, dusty, neglected little place 
is a partly obliterated Spanish inscription on the 
wall of the small room to the left of the main body 
of the church. It is said to have been painted there 
by Father Serra himself, and reads, being trans- 
lated: "Oh, Heart of Jesus, always shining and 
burning, illumine mine with Thy warmth and 
light." 

A memorable excursion was to Point Lobos be- 
yond Carmel village, a rocky promontor}^ running 
out like a wedge-shaped plateau into the sea. One 
approaches the sea across exquisite green, turfy 
spaces, shaded by pine trees, to find the point of 
the wedge far above the water, cut by rocky and 
awesome gashes into which the waves run with 
a long rush and against whose walls they boom con- 
tinually. The quiet woods of Point Lobos do 
not prepare one for the magnificence of its out- 
look and the wonderful sight of its great rocks ris- 
ing ruggedly and precipitously far above the wa- 
ter. I have seen the entire three hundred miles of 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 31 

the French and Italian Riviera, having motored all 
along that enchanting coast; and I am free to say 
that Point Lobos is as fine a bit of scenery as one 
will find, not only on the Pacific Coast but along 
the Mediterranean shore. 

Point Lobos was purchased a number of years 
ago by a Pacific Grove gentleman who had an eye 
for its rare beauty and grandeur, and who has built 
for liimself a modest home on a green meadow at 
the entrance to the promontory. A small admis- 
sion fee is charged for the Point, largely to exclude 
those who in former days, when the Point was free 
to excursionists, abused this privilege. 

The owner has established on a little cove a short 
distance from his house an abalone canning factory. 
Here the Japanese and other divers bring their boat 
loads of this delicious shellfish. Monterey Bay is 
the home of the abalone and it has been so ruthlessly 
fished for that new laws have had to be made to 
protect it. The big, soft creature, as large as a tea 
plate, fastens itself to rocks and other surfaces, its 
one shell protecting it from above. The diver slips 
under it his iron spatula, and by a quick and 
skillful twist detaches it from its firm anchorage. 
Abalone soup has a delicate flavor, really superior 



S2 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

to clam soup. Both the exterior and the lining of 
the abalone shell have most exquisite coloring and 
are capable of a high polish. In the lining of the 
shell there is often found the beautiful blister or 
abalone pearl, formed by the same process as the 
oyster pearl, the animal throwing out a secretion 
at the point where it is irritated. The result is a 
blister on the smooth lining of the shell which when 
cut out and polished shows beautiful coloring, rang- 
ing from satiny yellow to changing greens. We 
spent an hour in wandering about the canning fac- 
tory, looking over heaps of cast-off shells, admiring 
their beautiful lining, and choosing some to carry 
with us across country to a far distant home. That 
many of the shells had had marketable blisters was 
shown by little squares cut in the lining. 

Another drive was that across Salinas Valley, 
through the bright and prosperous town of Salinas, 
up the steep San Juan grade, where one may eat 
luncheon on a green slope commanding a lovely 
view, and down into the little old town of San Juan, 
where stands the mission of San Juan Baptista, 
with its long cloisters still intact. Next to the Mis- 
sion is an open square which is said to have been 
the scene of bull fights in the old Spanish days. 



HE NEW YORK 
'UBLIC LIBRARY 



ASTOR. LPNOX 
TfLO N FOUNDATIONS 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 33 

A day was spent in driving over the Salinas 
road and the Rancho del Monte road, on through 
a lovely valley, up over the mountain along a shelf- 
like road, and down into Carmel Valley ; then along 
another mountain road by a stream, and up again 
to the lush meadows of a private ranch twelve hun- 
dred feet above the sea. We left the car at the foot 
of the hill and drove in a farm wagon to the ranch 
house. We visited the vineyard on a sunny slope 
back of the house, so sheltered that grapes grow 
by the ton. We climbed into heavy Mexican 
saddles, ornately stamped, with high pommel 
and back, and rode astride sturdy horses over 
steep rounding hills through thick grass to view 
points where we could look down on Carmel Valley 
and off to the silvery sea. As we retraced our 
journey in the afternoon sunlight, a bobcat came 
out from the forest and trotted cahnly ahead of us. 
A beautiful deer ran along the stream, his ears mov- 
ing with alarm, his eyes watching us with fear and 
wonder. A great snake lay curled in the middle of 
the road and we ran over him before we really saw 
him. He made a feeble attempt to coil, but the 
heavy machine finished him. He was only a harm- 
less ring snake, whose good office it is to kill the go- 



34 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

phers that destroy the fruit trees, so we were sorry 
we had ended his useful career. He was the first 
of many snakes that we killed in California. Some- 
times they lay straight across our road; sometimes 
they were stretched out in the ruts of the road and 
our wheels went over them before we could possi- 
bly see them; sometimes they made frantic efforts, 
often successful, to escape our machine ; we always 
gave them a fighting chance. 

It seemed that we would never tear ourselves 
away from the Monterey Peninsula. We wandered 
through the beautiful grounds of the Hotel del 
Monte with their ancient live oaks. We walked 
and mused along the streets of Monterey, where 
Robert Louis Stevenson once walked and mused. 
We rejoiced in the sight of a lovely old Spanish 
house at the head of Polk Street, carefully kept 
up by its present owner. We saw the Sherman 
Rose cottage, the old home of Sherman's Spanish 
love, and the Sherman-Halleck quarters, and the 
old Hall of Records. We stopped to gaze at old 
adobe dwelling houses, some with thick walls roofed 
with tile around their yards ; some with second floor 
galleries, supported by plain, slender wooden posts, 
roses clambering over them. 



BY. THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 35 

We visited the San Carlos Mission on the edge 
of the town. Unlike the deserted little church at 
Carmel, San Carlos is in excellent repair, perfectly 
kept and in constant use. There they show you 
some of the old vestments said to be Father Serra's 
own. There you may see his silver mass cards, 
with their Latin inscriptions engraved upon the 
upright silver plate, reading: "In the beginning 
was the Word," etc. The same beaten silver water 
bucket which Father Serra used for holy water is 
to-day used by the incumbent priest. On the walls 
are the adoring angels which Father Serra taught 
the Indians to paint. One of the special treasures 
of the Mission is Father Serra's beautiful beaten 
gold chalice, a consecrated vessel touched only by 
the priests. Back of the church is kept as a pre- 
cious possession the stump of the old oak tree un- 
der which Father Serra celebrated his first mass 
and took possession of CaHfornia in the name of 
Spain. The spot where the oak tree stood, on the 
highway between Monterey and Pacific Grove, is 
marked by a modest stone just below Presidio Hill. 

We browsed about the curio and gift shops of 
Monterey, and the "Lame Duck's Exchange" of 
Pacific Grove. We saw Asilomar (Retreat-by-the- 



86 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

Sea), the fine conference grounds of the Young 
Women's Christian Associations of the Pacific 
Coast, whose commodious assembly and living halls 
are the gift of Mrs. Phoebe Hearst. We learned 
the delicious flavor, on many picnics, of the Cali- 
fornia ripe olive. One might be dubious about the 
satisfying quality of Omar Khayam's bottle of wine 
and loaf of bread "underneath the bough." But 
with the loaf of bread and plenty of California 
olives one could be perfectly content. I could have 
a feast of Lucullus any day in California on aba- 
lone soup, with its delicate sea flavor, bread, and 
olives. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAYj 37 



CHAPTER III 

Ah well! one cannot stay forever on the Mon- 
terey Peninsula to hear the sighing of the wind in 
the pines and the lapping of the waves on the 
shore. One cannot take the Seventeen Mile Drive 
day after day to see the wind-twisted cypresses, to 
come upon the lovely curve of Carmel Bay, and to 
look down from "the high drive" upon the Bay and 
town of Monterey far below, for all the world like a 
Riviera scene. Once more we turn our faces 
southward and drive through the broad streets of 
Pacific Grove along the mile of coast road to Mon- 
terey, and from Monterey into the country where 
masses of lupine paint the hills blue on the right, 
and live oaks dot the gi^een valley stretches on the 
left. Coming into Salinas Valley we drive through 
hundreds of acres of level beet fields, south of the 



88 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

town of Salinas. AVe meet a redheaded, shock- 
bearded man with his sun-hat tied on, walking 
alongside a rickety moving-wagon drawn by two 
poor horses. He responds most cheerfully to our 
question concerning directions. As we pass his 
wagon a big family of little children crane their 
young necks to see us. The mother in their midst, 
a thin, shabby looking woman, holds up her tiny 
baby for me to see as I look back, and I wave con- 
gratulations in response. Later, near Santa Maria, 
we pass another moving party eating supper. They 
are prosperous looking people, very different from 
the forlorn, toiling little party outside of Salinas. 
They are comfortably encamped in a grassy spot, 
and the woman waves to me with a big loaf of bread 
in one hand and her bread knife in the other. I 
wave with equal heartiness to her. This is part of 
the charm of the open road, these salutations and 
this jolly passing exchange of sympathy, not be- 
tween two ships that pass in the night, but between 
two parties who enjoy the air and the open, and 
who are one in gypsy spirit. It all belongs in the 
happy day. 

Salinas Valley is very different from the lovely 
valleys which we have thus far seen. Sonoma Val- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 39 

ley is a rolling, irregular valley, part grain fields, 
part rough, hilly pasturage. Napa Valley, narrow 
at the south, wide toward the north, with orchards 
and pleasant homes, breathes of order and shut-in 
prosperity. Santa Clara Valley is a Napa Valley 
on a grander scale. Its surrounding hills are higher, 
its spaces are wider. Salinas Valley is a grain- 
growing valley, its fields of grain stretching away 
up into the foothills. As we proceed south we 
observe that the fields encroach more and more 
upon the hills, their rich greenness running quite 
far up on the hill slopes. The line of demarcation 
between the growing grain and the rough pasture 
slopes is as clean as if drawn by a pencil. It is 
here in Salinas Valley that we first notice the park- 
like appearance of many green stretches of field 
with live oaks growing here and there. It would 
almost seem that the oaks had been planted with a 
view to park effects, instead of being part of the 
original forest which had been cut down to make 
way for the grain fields. We pass through the little 
town of Soledad (Soltitude) near which are the 
poor ruins of the Mission of our Lady of Soledad. 
We judge that Soledad must have a cosmopolitan 
population when we read such names as Sneible, 



40 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

Tavernetti, and Espinosa on the town's signs. Here 
and there we see where the Sahnas River has eaten 
great pieces out of its banks, during the spring 
freshets. We had seen the same thing in Carmel 
Valley, where a man lost a large piece of his orchard 
by its falling bodily into the raging Carmel river. 
The streams of California are not like the streams 
of New England, clear and deep with winey brown 
depths. They are shallow streams with earth banks, 
but in the time of the spring rains they become 
wild torrents. Late in the afternoon we pass King 
City on the opposite bank of the river, glorified by 
the afternoon sunshine. It looks like a picture 
town, its buildings taking on castle-like propor- 
tions from a distance. We then come over the Jolon 
Grade, and descend through a little wooded valley 
that has a particular charm. I do not know its 
name, but it cast a certain spell that lingers with 
me. It is a narrow valley with stretches of thick 
green grass under forest trees, and has a quality of 
seclusion that I have not felt in the wide acres of 
grain in the great Salinas Valley. It is as if the 
forest had been only partly cut away and the ad- 
vance of the grazier and the grain grower were but 
partly accomplished. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 41 

We come into Jolon, a country crossroads hamlet, 
past "Dutton's," a most comfortable and homelike 
country hotel, if one may judge by appearances. I 
am sorry not to stop for the night. I am always 
attracted to these country inns when they have hos- 
pitable porches and a general look of homely com- 
fort. I should be glad, too, to take the six mile de- 
tour from the main road in order to see the ruins of 
the San Antonio Mission. But we have been told 
that the Mission is in such a ruined state, one of 
the thick walls having fallen in, that it is as well 
not to see it. 

Our next valley, even lovelier than the others, is 
Lockwood's Valley, a beautiful stretch of grain 
fields. By a bend in the road we are driving east 
with the western sun setting behind us. High hills 
form a background for the green fields of oats and 
barley. The whole valley with its few ranch houses 
and its great fields breathes a country peace. Look- 
ing back, I still regret that we could not have had 
time to go half a mile off the main road and try 
the merits of the Lockwood Inn. 

But we drive on through the valley over a slight 
pass and come to an adobe ranch house on the left, 
sitting modestly back on a slight knoll against a 



42 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

background of bare hills. At the ranch gate is a 
sign to the effect that this is Aloha Ranch Inn, and 
that meals can be had at all hours. It is the word 
Aloha that catches us. Surely someone must live 
here who knows the lovely Hawaiian Islands with 
their curving cocoanut palms, and their emerald 
shores. So we turn into the drive and find a kindly 
farmer, master of his six hundred acres in this 
lone valley, who with his wife gives us warm wel- 
come. He does indeed know Hawaii, having lived 
and worked on the famous Ewa sugar plantation 
for nearly twenty years. We have a homely but 
appetizing supper, and a dreamless night's sleep in 
one of the farmhouse bedrooms. The next morn- 
ing is gloriously beautiful, and we drive on our way. 
In order to avoid fording the Salinas river, which 
is very high, we make our journey by way of In- 
dian Valley, through hilly, rather lonely country. 
All along the river there are signs of the devasta- 
tion made by the unusual spring rains. The river 
banks are gouged out and the railroad bridges are 
down, the rails being twisted into fantastic shapes. 
In passing San Miguel we stop to see the Mission, 
which is in a fair state of repair and in constant use. 
One of the beautiful toned old bells of the Mission 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 43 

is hung in a framework outside the church, where 
the visitor may sound it. The new bell is unfortu- 
nately suspended from the top of an immense iron, 
derrick-like structure which stands outside the 
church, and is unsightly. The interior of the 
church is very fine. It is a lofty structure, fifty feet 
high and one hundred and fifty feet long, its walls 
covered with frescoes in rich blues and reds, the 
work of the Indians. There are niches for holy 
water in the thick old walls and a large niche which 
was used for the confessional. Above the altar is 
painted the "All- Seeing Eye." The hea\y rafters 
of the roof extend through the walls and long wood- 
en pins are fitted through the ends to bind the walls 
together. Not a nail was used in the entire 
structure. 

We take luncheon at Paso Robles (Pass of the 
Oaks), famed for its healing waters. The hotel is 
pleasant and the new bath house with its handsome 
marble and tiling is very fine. Many sojourn here 
for the medicinal uses of the waters. Between 
Paso Robles and San Luis Obispo we come 
through a stretch of very beautiful country, part 
open forest land, part richly pastoral, the prop- 
erty of the Atascadero Company. The Atascadero 



44 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

settlement is one of those Utopian plans for happi- 
ness and prosperity which bids fair to be realized. 
The climate is almost ideal, the scenery is charming, 
the country is richly fertile. They tell us that peo- 
ple are pouring in from the East and that the colony 
is growing constantly. At the north end of the 
Atascadero territory we pass a handsome sign 
swinging over the road, which reads: "Atascadero 
Colony. North End. Ten Miles Long and Seven 
Miles wide. Welcome." As we approach the south 
end of the ten mile stretch we come upon another 
sign whose legend is: "Come again." Turning 
back as we pass under the sign we see that its re- 
verse legend is the same as that of the north end 
sign, save that it is for the south end. So whoever 
passes along the main road through Atascadero 
property is bound to have the uplifting welcome and 
to receive, as he passes on, the kindly farewell. We 
congratulate the Atascadero colonists on the lovely 
rolling country in whose midst they are to dwell and 
on the magnificent live oaks that dot their park-like 
fields. San Luis Obispo is quite a large town, but 
the Mission of San Luis Obispo has been spoiled 
by being incorporated into the new church and 
school plant. One catches only a glimpse of broken 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 45 

cloisters within the school enclosure. I stepped 
into the church as we drove by in the late afternoon, 
and saw the children coming in for prayer and for 
confession. Little stubby-toed boys tip-toed in, 
kneeling awkwardly but reverently, and crossing 
themselves with holy water ; while from the confes- 
sional came the low murmur of some urchin making 
his confession. 

Not long after leaving San Luis Obispo, near Ni- 
pomo-by-the-Sea, I had the misfortune to lose my 
leather letter case. We were horror struck when 
we found it gone and turned about just before 
reaching Santa Maria to retrace our steps across the 
long bridge and then across a wide stretch of dry, 
sandy river bed. The ravages of the floods had torn 
a much wider path for the river than it now used, 
so that for nearly a mile we drove over sandy river 
bottom, the river being a shrunken stream. To our 
great joy we met another motor car, and found that 
the three gentlemen in it had picked up my bag 
and were bringing it along to Santa Maria in the 
hope of finding the owner. What had promised to 
be a long and tiring search, involving the question- 
ing of every passer-by and inquiry at every wayside 
house for miles, turned out to be only a short drive. 



46 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

We turned toward Santa Maria and went on our 
way rejoicing. 

Santa Maria is a large, prosperous, attractive 
town. On toward Los Olivos the country is like 
some parts of New England, attractive but lonely. 
We are glad to reach in the twilight the hos- 
pitable lights of Mattei's Tavern at Los Olivos. 
Mr. Mattel is Swiss by birth, but has spent 
many years in California. He has a ranch whose 
acres supply his unusually good table with vegeta- 
bles, poultry, and flowers. His house is kept with 
the neatness and comfort of an excellent Swiss inn, 
and is a delightful place for a sojourn. We are 
sorry to come away on the morning of the first of 
May. We pass dozens of wagons and buggies, the 
people all in holiday attire, coming into town for 
the May-day celebrations. Los Olivos was once an 
olive growing valley, but grain growing has been 
found more profitable. We wish to see the Santa 
Ynez mission and therefore take the route to the 
right, avoiding the road to Santa Barbara by way 
of Santa Ynez and the San Marcos Pass. The 
Santa Ynez Mission has a situation of unusual 
beauty. It stands on a tableland with a circle of 
mountains behind it, and at its left a low green 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 47 

valley stretching away into the distance. A Dan- 
ish settlement of neat new houses of modern type 
faces the old Mission. The church has been re- 
stored, and ten years of loving care have been be- 
stowed upon it by the present priest and his niece. 
The choice old vestments have been mended with 
extreme care. The ladies of the Spanish Court are 
said to have furnished the rich brocades for these 
vestments, which were sent on from Spain and made 
up at the Mission. It is an ancient custom for the 
Indians to wash the handwoven linen vestments, 
a custom they stiU observe. The walls of Santa 
Ynez are about seven feet thick, and the Mission 
was some thirteen years in building. Roses climb 
over the cloisters, and the whole Mission is very 
attractive. 

From the Mission we drive over the Gaviota 
(Seagull) Pass, the mountain road being rough, 
narrow, and very picturesque. Fine old live oaks 
and white oaks grow on the rough hillsides. As one 
approaches the little seaside station of Gaviota the 
rocks are very grand. Suddenly we come upon the 
sea, and the blue waters that are part of the charm 
of Santa Barbara stretch before us. The scenery 
from Gaviota to Santa Barbara is one of the finest 



48 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

stretches along the entire coast. Three misty is- 
lands are to be seen off the coast, set in an azure 
sea. They belong to the Santa Barbara group; 
Anacapa, Santa Cruz, Santa Rosa, and San Mi- 
guel. As one approaches Santa Barbara one sees 
farmhouses in the midst of lovely farming country 
on points jutting into the sea and commanding ex- 
quisite views of the water. The last ten miles be- 
fore reaching Santa Barbara we drive through an 
unbroken stretch of English walnut orchards, the 
trees carefully pruned and in admirable condition. 
We have come through the rolling pastures and 
grain fields of Sonoma Valley, through the fruit 
orchards of Napa Valley and Santa Clara Valley, 
through the unbroken grain fields of Salinas Valley 
and Lockwood's Valley, and through the diversi- 
fied cultivation of the valley around Los Olivos; 
and now we are driving into famous Santa Barbara 
through ten miles of walnut groves, garden-like in 
their cultivation. 

Reaching Santa Barbara, we have tea at the Stu- 
dio Tea Room, which utilizes for its purpose a fa- 
mous old Spanish residence. We then establish 
ourselves at The Upham, and a very pleasant hotel 
we find it. For those who wish a larger and more 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 49 i 

fashionable inn there are the beautiful Arlington , 
Hotel, with its fascinating, tiny models of the his- I 
toric caravels San Salvador and Vittoria upon the \ 
gate posts at its entrance; and the Potter, by the 
sea. Santa Barbara lies in a pocket valley with 
the red brown Santa Ynez mountains rising behind 
it and the sea in front of it. Some of the most beau- i 
tiful residences are at the north of the town in the 
foothills. Italian sunshine, Italian softness of cli- 
mate, the enchanting colors of the hills, the blue of 
the sea, charming drives and walks, all these are to ] 
be had at Santa Barbara; and there is the Mission 
with its old church and the dignified priests of its 
brotherhood. Fine trees stand in the beautiful en- j 
closed garden of the Mission, where five thousand 
Indians are buried. j 

Four miles south of Santa Barbara are Mon- ! 
tecito Valley and the delightful Miramar Hotel ! 
on the sea. A very pleasant suburban colony is i 
grouped around the hotel. The hotel itself has ^ 
within its grounds its own rose-embowered cottages. 
One may live in a bungalow and have one's own fire- | 
side, one's own sitting room and bed chamber, one's 
own rose-covered porch, one's own home life, and 
go into the hotel oiily for m^s and for sociability's j 



50 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

sake. It is an ideal winter life for those who wish 
all the orderly, luxurious comfort of a well man- 
aged inn, together with the privacy of home life in 
a rose cottage. We drove through lovely little 
Montecito Valley, catching glimpses of fine houses 
rising against a picturesque mountain background, 
some in the Mission style of architecture, some in 
Italian and some in Spanish style. The lawns of 
one estate were surrounded by long hedges of pink 
roses. We turned south through Toro Valley 
where I recall a most beautiful hillside olive or- 
chard, the trees being planted on the slope sheltered 
from the sea and facing the mountains. They were 
as beautiful in their fresh grey-greenness as any 
olive orchard that we saw in all California. Leav- 
ing Miramar we drove on along the coast to Ven- 
tura, the road running by the sea and in some 
places on long platforms built out over the water. 
At Ventura we turned west and came to Nordhoff, 
the bridge being down on the Casitas Pass. We 
had a somewhat lonely evening drive through a 
green fruited valley from Ventura to NordhofF, 
and reached our hostel, the Pierpont Cottages, a 
few miles from Nordhoif , late in the evening. We 
were more than ready for supper and for rest in a 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 51 

lovely private cottage, through whose open case- 
ment long sprays of pink roses climbed in. The 
morning revealed to us the rare beauties of the se- 
cluded Ojai Valley, in whose foothills stand the 
Pierpont Inn and cottages, 1000 feet above sea 
level. 

It would be hard to exaggerate the charm and 
beauty of the Ojai Valley for those who like its 
type of scenery. A magnificent wall of stone moun- 
tain, whose colors run into greys, pinks, lavenders, 
and yellows, forms the eastern boundary of the 
valley. On its level floor are luxuriant orchards. 
Here in warm protection grow the fig, the olive, 
the orange, and the lemon. The beautiful Matilija 
poppies grow in great luxuriance here, their tall 
grey-green stalks and white crape petals with gol- 
den hearts being very effective. I had seen the 
Matilija poppies for the first time growing in the 
gardens of Santa Barbara. I now saw them grow- 
ing wild on the slopes of the Ojai Valley foothills. 
Above the Pierpont Cottages are the buildings of a 
famous boys' school high in the foothiUs. For those 
who love warmth and glowing color, long tramps 
and long horseback rides into the mountain defiles 
above the valley, the Ojai is an ideal place to spend 



S2 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

a charmed winter. We came away in the morning 
light, driving across the valley to the main road 
and ascending a steep hill to the Upper Ojai road. 
A glorious view of the whole valley unrolled before 
us, level as a floor, with its rich masses of fig trees 
and its shining orange and lemon trees, their green 
broken here and there by trim houses. Higher up 
were the cottages of the Pierpont Inn, and higher 
still the big building of the school, all over-topped 
by the great masses of the mountains behind. I 
felt that I should like to build a bungalow on the 
spot and live and die there. 

We come on by a very rough, narrow, bumpy, 
and precipitous mountain road, past the summer 
cottages of Sulphur Springs into the Santa Paula 
Valley. We pass people planting young orchards 
of lemons and oranges, and we come through de- 
files, the bare, rugged hills rising above us on both 
sides. Sometimes these hills are clay-colored. 
Sometimes they are painted a delicate lavender by 
whole hillsides of blooming sage; sometimes sage 
not yet in bloom covers the hills with a delicate 
grey-green mantle. Other hillsides are a bright 
yellow from a yellow, string-like plant that nets 
itself in great masses over the entire slope. On the 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 53 

whole the country until we reach Santa Paula is 
rather bare. At Santa Paula there is a very pleas- 
ant inn. It was at Santa Paula that I saw a school- 
house enclosure surrounded by a hedge-like row of 
trees, every tree a blooming mass of glorious yellow. 
At Sespe we passed a very prosperous lemon 
and orange orchard of immense size where they 
were planting fresh orchards of slender young 
trees. Before we reached Saugus we had to ford 
the Santa Clara River, the bridge being down. We 
stuck in the soft sand in mid-river and T. was 
obliged to wade through the shallow water to the 
shore behind us, which happened to be nearest, to go 
in search of a countryman and horses. In the 
meantime I took off my boots and stockings and 
waded across to the far side of the stream. There 
I was just lacing my boots when a young gentle- 
man appeared driving a small car. He debated 
as to the risk of driving across stream, but decided 
to try it. Driving slowly he succeeded in getting 
through and turned to wave his hat in triumph. 
I waved back and he pushed on his way. Soon T. 
appeared with a countryman driving two stout 
horses. They quickly pulled the car across and 
their master received a dollar for his services. 



54 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

After an indifferent lunch at the Saugus railway 
station we went on over the fine Newhall grade, 
through Fernando and the great San Fernando 
Valley, through the brand new town of Van Nuys, 
and the settlement of Lankershim and the hand- 
some suburb of Hollywood into Los Angeles. The 
San Fernando Valley, a wide plain with mountains 
in the far distance, has been turned by the magic of 
water from a vast, scrubby desert into a fruitful re- 
gion, rapidly becoming populous. The San Fer- 
nando Mission Company has placed in front of the 
old San Fernando Mission on the broad highway 
which now runs past the Mission a charming flower 
garden. The bright flowers blaze out in the after- 
noon sun against a background of fragments of 
grey adobe wall. The Mission itself has but little 
to show. A caretaker lives in the fragment of the 
old monastery and shows one through the few de- 
serted and dingy rooms. The finest thing in San 
Fernando Valley is the new boulevard which sweeps 
through the valley to Los Angeles and is known 
as the $500,000 boulevard. It is largely due to the 
generalship of Mr. Whitely, who is a Napoleon of 
real estate. Through the middle of the boulevard 






,,,^£^:^ 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 55 

runs the electric car line. On each side of the car 
line is a border of rose bushes of different varieties. 
Outside of this border are two fine roads, one on 
either side; and again outside of these roads is a 
wonderful border planted in the following order: 
first, a line of rose bushes, and second, a line of In- 
dian deodars, first cousins to the Lebanon cedars, 
these deodars alternating in their planting with a 
flowering shrub; third, comes a line of Austrian 
and other varieties of pines; fourth, is planted a 
row of palm trees. At present this planting is in 
its early stages, but when roses, shrubs, and ever- 
greens are larger, as they will soon be under the 
bright California sun, the effect will be very rich 
and beautiful. Van Nuys has a fine new school- 
house, and shining new dwellings of white glazed 
brick, built in the Italian and the Spanish style. 

California specializes in schoolhouses and street 
lamps. In the newest and in some instances in the 
most isolated settlements, you will find beautiful 
schoolhouses, an earnest of the children and the 
education that are to be ; and all over California in 
country villages one finds the main streets lined 
with ornate lamp standards surmounted by hand- 



56 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

some globes. They give an air even to sordid little 
streets lined by saloons, country groceries, and dry- 
goods emporiums. 

California is not afraid to spend money for edu- 
cation. Her school buildings, many of them in the 
Mission style, would make Eastern towns of the 
same size gasp with amazement. 

Hollywood with its lovely villas is a popular and 
beautiful suburb of Los Angeles, and seems almost 
like a second Los Angeles save that it is among the 
hills instead of on the plain. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 57 



CHAPTER IVj 

Los Angeles is unique. Where will you find 
another city hke it, so open, so bright, with such 
handsome apartment houses, designed for hght 
housekeeping, such multitudes of cafeterias? 
Where will you find such a green square of civic 
center with people sitting quietly about, enjoying 
the sunshine, the splashing of the fountain, the 
tameness of the starlings? These are the happy, 
not the unhappy, unemployed. They have come 
from far and near to live simply in light house- 
keeping apartments, to bask in the sunshine, many 
of them to enjoy a sunny old age on a modest but 
comfortable income. The last census, they tell us, 
shows that 80 per cent of the Los Angeles people 
are from the State of Iowa. But from all the Mid- 
dle West they have fled from the cold winters to 



58 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

the warmth of this big city which really seems to be 
not a city at all, but an immense collection of open 
parks, bright houses, and handsome streets. Thou- 
sands of people are pouring into Los Angeles every 
year. Great fields around the city have been in- 
cluded within the city limits, fine streets with ornate 
lamps and copings have been cut through them, 
handsome stucco and shingle villas have been 
erected. These are homes of well-to-do people who 
mean to spend at least part of each year, if not the 
rest of their lives, in Los Angeles. It is all a puz- 
zle, this phenomenal growth of the city. It is not 
wholly due to business, for the most prosperous 
business man in Los Angeles is probably the real 
estate dealer, who has plotted the fields, added new 
streets, and sold at ever-increasing prices the villa 
and home sites. The merchant and the provision 
dealer do well, but after all, their territory is the city 
itself. There is no great hinterland with which to 
deal. It is not due to manufacturing interests, for 
as yet these have been but little developed. It must 
be, as a lady said to me, *'the sale of the climate," an 
unfailing stock of sunshine that has made Los An- 
geles the happy, growing, extremely prosperous 
city that it is. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 59 

One may choose from many hotels one's hostel, 
or one may live in a beautiful apartment, cook one's 
own breakfast of bacon and eggs, and sally forth to 
any one of a dozen cafeterias for luncheon and din- 
ner. We found the Hotel Leighton on West Lake 
Park eminently satisfactory ; a spacious, quiet, well 
managed establishment with the spaces of the park 
before it and the cars within three minutes' walk. 

From Los Angeles we drove through the San 
Gabriel Valley, dominated by snow covered JMount 
San Antonio, to Long Beach. The valley is a 
panorama of new suburban towns, market gardens, 
and walnut groves. Long Beach is a mixture of 
Coney Island, Atlantic City, and a solid, substan- 
tial inland town. Its public buildings are very fine, 
its churches being particularly handsome. Its big 
Hotel Virginia reminds one of the handsome hotels 
along the boardwalk at Atlantic City, and its long 
arcade of amusement halls, cheap jewelry shops, 
and other booths for seaside trinkets is like Coney 
Island. This stretch of amusement halls and shops 
lies along the seashore at a lower level than the city 
proper, and does not impart its character to the rest 
of the town. It was at Long Beach that I first 
heard a night-singing bird, somewhat like the night- 



60 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

ingale. The little creature sang gaily all night long 
in the park opposite our hotel. Long Beach and 
San Pedro are both sailing points for Santa Cata- 
lina Island, twenty-five miles away, whose purple- 
grey heights can be dimly seen across the water. 
The trip to Catalina is in rather small boats, and 
is likely to be somewhat trying; but the trials of 
the two or three hours of voyage are amply awarded 
by the Island itself. 

Santa Catalina has a curving, sickle-shaped har- 
bor around which cluster the hotels and boarding 
houses which make the home of the summer guests. 
This little white village against a background of 
hilly country, taking on lovely lavender and grey 
tints at sunset, is not unlike some of the towns on 
the picturesque coast of Cornwall. Santa Cata- 
lina is a paradise for deep-sea fishermen, a lotus 
eaters' island where one may walk over the hills 
into the quiet interior or take a boat and dream 
along the rocks, gazing down for hours at the beau- 
ties of the gardens of the sea: I would advise all 
tourists to take time to visit these swaying groves 
of kelp and other sea plants in a row boat. One 
sees them in this way far more intimately and sat- 
isfactorily than by a more hurried inspection. In 




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TILDEN FOUNDA'IONS 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 61 

the late afternoon everyone at Catalina gathers at 
the pier to see the fishermen come in with their 
spoils. Boat after boat is seen approaching. They 
round the pier and the big fish are lifted up for all 
to admire. Then come the weighing and the clean- 
ing of the fish. The seagulls hover near, ready for 
their share of the spoils, as the entrails of the fish 
are thrown into the sea. A tame seal swims around 
from his home on the rocks several miles away in 
order to have his portion of the feast. At the time 
of our visit he was in a fit of sulks, as a fisherman 
had struck him on the head with an oar because he 
had tried to clamber into a boat in his zeal for his 
supper. A unique experience at Catalina is an 
evening ride in a swift motor boat equipped with 
a powerful searchlight. Faster and faster goes the 
boat in the darkness, the searchlight swinging from 
side to side over the wide waters. The flying fish, 
startled by the sweep of the light upon the water, 
leap wildly into the air. The air is full of them, 
and of the sound of their rushing wings. Plump! 
Here comes one into the boat ! and here's another, 
and another! We shield our faces with our hands, 
shouting with laughter as the fish fall with a thump 
into the boat, sometimes on the laps of the passen- 



62 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

gers. More than one passenger has been struck 
by a flying fish, and our landlady tells us of a tou- 
rist who went out for an evening ride in the motor 
boat to return with a black eye from the blow of a 
frightened flying fish. Flying fish is delicious eat- 
ing, and our catch is divided up among the passen- 
gers. We were attracted to this excursion when we 
first landed at Catalina by a startling advertisement 
describing the experience as "Thousands of flying 
fish tangoing through the air." 

Catalina Island is a quiet spot, outside its little 
rim of houses along its curving harbor. The pe- 
destrian may go inland for a number of miles, tak- 
ing his luncheon with him, and have only the hills 
and the birds for his company. We had such a walk, 
and saw a hawk alight and settle himself calmly 
upon a fencepost, holding in his talons a newly 
captured snake. The creature was still alive, its 
body ringed in a rigid hoop in its effort to escape. 
But the cruel claws held it fast, and its captor was 
preparing to finish it with his sharp beak. We were 
told that the dust from Santa Ana Valley, twenty- 
five miles away, could be seen approaching in a grey 
cloud across the water on windy days from shore- 
ward. Our landlady deplored such days, when her 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 63 

immaculate house was covered with the dust of the 
distant mainland. Santa Catalina, a grey green 
agate in the sunlight, a purple amethyst at twilight, 
ringed by lovely seas, is well worth a visit. 

Returning to Long Beach, we drove on toward 
San Diego, through the Santa Ana Valley to San 
Juan Capistrano. As we came through the great 
valley in which lie Santa Ana, Fullerton, and Ana- 
heim, we passed fruitful groves of lemons and vast 
fields of beets. We observed an odd optical illus- 
ion as we came near Tustin. All the fields before 
us seemed to be covered with water, and we at first 
thought that the irrigating streams had been turned 
on and were flowing through them. But as we 
reached the fields we found them perfectly dry. 
Field after field stretched before us apparently 
swimming in water, and field after field as we came 
near we found dry and brown under the sun. This 
occurred more than once in southern California as 
we were driving along in the sunlight. 

At San Juan Capistrano we stopped to see one 
of the most beautiful Missions in all California. 
The cloisters of San Juan, the ruins of the very fine 
old church, the bells in their places above the walls, 
all are extremely picturesque and beautiful. At 



64 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

San Juan with its quaint little street we found twc 
hotels, both of which had attractions. The Mission 
Hotel offered us Spanish cooking, attractive to one 
fond of red pepper and high seasoning. Las Rosas 
looked like a pleasant country home turned by some 
enterprising woman into an inn. We chose Las 
Rosas and had an excellent home dinner there. 
From San Juan Capistrano we drove on south to 
Delmar, where we spent the night at the Stratford 
Inn. This hotel, which sits flower-encircled on its 
sandy hillside overlooking the blue seas, has every 
modern appointment and luxury. The settlement 
does not yet seem to have attracted a large cottage 
population, but there are some homes of very 
charming architecture and with beautiful gardens. 
We walked up the picturesque hills back of the 
hotel, and came at their summit to the precipitous 
edge of a great bowl from which we looked down 
upon a green valley stretching away many miles 
in extent. 

From Delmar the next morning we again drove 
south with the sea on our right and the hills on our 
left. The road winds over very hilly country 
through a growth of rare pines known as the Tor- 
rey pines, found only here. From the heights of 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 65 

these hills one sees at a distance a point of land 
stretching into the sea, with a little town shining on 
its slopes like a jewel in the sun. It looks, as 
one approaches it from the north, like a Riviera 
town. This is the enchanted spot on the south- 
thern coast known as La Jolla (pronounced La 
Hoya) , a little town frequented by people who love 
the Spanish warmth of the Southern sun and the 
blue of the Southern sea. Here is a beautiful Epis- 
copal school for girls, its stucco buildings planned 
in Spanish fashion. Here is a charming little 
church of the same architecture. Here, perched on 
the rocks, looking out to sea along the coast fringe 
of the town, are flat-roofed stucco houses with a 
matchless view of the water. Farther back on the 
hills overlooking the town, are lovely winter homes, 
also built in the architecture of Southern countries. 
La Jolla is one of the loveliest spots on the whole 
Pacific Coast. Its rocks, its caves, its Southern 
sea, its sunshine, all combine to make it a delightful 
place in which to spend a winter. 

La Jolla is only fourteen miles from San Diego, 
and it was an easy drive from there into the bright, 
clean, shining city of the South. San Diego is at 
present in a state of transition, the transition from 



66 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

a little city to a big city. She has a matchless har- 
bor, plenty of room in which to grow, and what is 
becoming a rich surrounding country. She has a 
perfect situation, with the harbor before her and 
the hills rising behind her. When the rails connect 
her with the "back country" she will undoubtedly 
become a powerful city. 

What could be more beautiful than the drive 
from San Diego out along the point which curves 
like a great claw into the sea and is known as Point 
Loma? The road first sweeps along close to the 
water, passing rows of pretty suburban homes. 
Then it rises, swings up over the hills on to the high 
ridge of Point Loma proper, the open sea to the 
right, the harbor to the left, passing the beautifully 
kept grounds of the fine property belonging to the 
School of Theosophy. Beyond, the road still 
climbs until it comes to the end of the Point, on 
which stands a little old Spanish lighthouse, now 
abandoned. High above the sea one looks off to the 
far away islands. Turning about, one sees the 
city, white in the sun, the mountains rising in the 
distance behind it. Running out from the city is a 
long, narrow strip of land which widens into Coro- 
nado Beach, with the red roofs of the hotel and the 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 67 

green stretches of the beautiful little town of Coro- 
nado. Just below is the blue water of the great 
harbor. It is a grand view, and ranks in my opinion 
with the noble views of Sydney Harbor in Austra- 
lia and of Auckland harbor in New Zealand. 

San Diego, like her sister cities of Los Angeles 
and San Francisco, is a town frequented by tour- 
ists. Many are the hotels and apartment houses, 
devoted to winter sojourns and light housekeeping, 
offset by excellent cafeterias. There are plenty 
of excursions from San Diego, a short one 
being to the Spanish house in the village of 
old San Diego, known as the home of Ra- 
mona. The old house with its walled garden and 
its wide porches has been put in order and is now 
used as a depot for curios and Indian goods. An- 
other delightful trip, somewhat longer, is to Gross- 
mont. Grossmont is, in spite of its name, a little 
mountain, some fifteen miles back of San Diego, 
It is an irregular heap of rocks, rising from rather 
barren surrounding country. Mr. Fletcher of 
San Diego first saw the possibilities of Gross- 
mont and marked out the road which now runs 
around the mountain to its summit. Here are the 
modest houses of an artist and literary colony, 



68 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

among them the cottage of Madame Schumann- 
Heinck. From the porches of these cottages, 
perched high upon the bare rocks, one looks down 
upon the exquisite little El Cajon (The Box) Val- 
ley, where grow lemons, oranges, and other fruits 
in beautiful green luxuriance. El Cajon could 
once have been bought for a song, but now its fer- 
tile acres, under the spell of irrigation, are worth 
many thousands. 

Beyond El Cajon rise the superb mountains of 
the South in all their rocky grandeur. They take 
on most wonderful colors ; warm clay yellows, rich 
browns, lavenders, tints of ashes of rose. They are 
constantly changing as the day advances, and are a 
world of color. No wonder that singers, poets, and 
artists love to look upon the glowing greens below 
and the glowing lavenders afar. The view from 
Grossmont is extremely poetic and beautiful. 

We should have considered our visit to California 
very incomplete without having seen San Diego, its 
Southern seas and its fascinating "back country." 
It is wholly different from Los Angeles, and the 
charm of the South is over it all. Were I a young 
business man, seeking to cast in my lot with a grow- 
ing California city, I should cast it in San Diego. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 69 

From San Diego we proceeded through El Ca- 
jon Valley to the little town of Julian, nearly 
4000 feet high. That was a memorable ride, 
taking us through green valleys and then up, up 
through broken hill country and past heavy oak 
and pine forests and rich mountain pastures. In 
going over Mussey's Grade I saw, for the first time, 
growing on the rocky hillsides groups of tall yuc- 
cas. I could not be content until I had climbed out 
of the motor and cut one of the towering stalks, 
springing from a mass of thick, sword-shaped 
leaves. Its white scented bells covered the stalk 
from top to bottom. It was a tree of creamy bloom 
and perfume. I laid it on top of our luggage, en- 
joying its perfume from time to time; but the beau- 
tiful bells began to droop, and by the time the day's 
long journey was over the flowers had withered. 
Afterward, I saw many of these yuccas growing 
in lonely, rocky places, blooming luxuriantly. They 
were like tall white candelabra. 

On our way to Julian, a few miles from the little 
town, by mistake we turned left instead of right, 
and had a long wandering through a great moun- 
tain country. The roads were narrow, twilight was 
coming on, and we found ourselves in a seemingly 



70 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

endless forest. Sometimes from high points we had 
wonderful sunset glimpses of distant mountains 
looming above green valleys. Then again we came 
upon lush meadow patches, wide and lonely in the 
midst of the hills. Still the road wound on, down 
through ravines, up over steep hillsides. Not a 
house was to be seen, only the lonely forest and the 
deepening darkness. It looked as if we must spend 
the night in the woods. At last we came out through 
a rough gate into the main road and reading a sign 
by the light of a match found that we were a mile 
from Julian. It was good to reach the tiny vil- 
lage and to find the Robinson House, a very clean 
and respectable village inn, kept by an old colored 
soldier and his wife. They gave us an excellent 
supper and we found a very comfortable bed await- 
ing us. We had taken a road through the moun- 
tain district back of a beautiful summer inn, known 
as the Pine Hills Inn, and had wandered over the 
drives planned for the pleasure of summer guests. 
We saw the Pine Hills Inn perched upon the 
hillside, the next morning. It was only a short dis- 
tance from where we had struck the main road for 
Julian. We had fully intended to spend a night 
at this famous little inn, but must leave that for 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 71 

the next time. Julian is famed for its apples, grow- 
ing nearly 4000 feet high. We saw a charm- 
ing picture of blossoming apple trees, grown 
against a dark background of tall mountain pines 
which flanked the orchard slope. There is a fa- 
mous view near Julian. Looking down from a 
break in the hills one sees far, far beyond and be- 
low the grey stretches of the desert and the Salton 
sea. 

From Julian we drove on to Warner's Hot 
Springs, where many people resort for the healing 
power of the Springs, and where a pleasant little 
hotel, surrounded by cottages, makes a delightful 
stopping place for those who wish to enjoy the sun- 
shine and to pierce the defiles of the mountains 
back of the valley of the Springs. The Springs 
are on a great ranch which covers thousands of 
acres and supports hundreds of cattle. To reach 
them one drives over long stretches of plain, partly 
rich grass, where cattle feed, partly somewhat bar- 
ren country. 

Leaving the Hot Springs, we drove again across 
the vast sandy stretches and the rich green plains 
of the Warner Ranch, coming from there through 
picturesque and somewhat broken country to the 



72 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

little Pala Mission. Before reaching the Mis- 
sion one comes along a mountain road cut like 
a shelf into the hill and very high above the valley. 
The little town which is the seat of the Mission is 
reached by a long descent. The most interesting 
thing about the Mission now is its bells, which are 
set so that the wall in whose open niches they are 
hung makes a picturesque framework for them. 
Leaving the town we came on through a deep and 
rocky canyon, whose scenery was wild and moun- 
tainous. From this we emerged into a broad valley 
which grew more beautiful as we traveled north- 
ward. Wide grain ranches stretched away to the 
right, walled in by the massive ramparts of Nellie 
Palomar Mountain. Other ranches stretched to the 
left, ending in the foothills in rich groves of olive 
trees. We were traveling through Temecula on 
our way to Elsinore, a town of hot springs. There 
we spent a comfortable night at a hotel situated on 
a little lake. The lake in the evening light with the 
olive orchards stretching down to its waters from 
the foothills opposite was very charming. From 
Elsinore we drove on in the morning through an 
open canyon, where Matilija poppies grew plenti- 
fully, to Corona. Corona is a lovely little town 



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TILDEN FOUNDA JCN? 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 73 

belted by an encircling boulevard, broad and 
shaded. It lies in a fertile valley whose plains and 
hill-slopes are covered by thousands of lemon trees, 
tended with a mother's care. Above the valley rise 
the mountains on the distant horizon. One can see 
lemons being gathered, flowers blooming, and new 
groves being planted in the valley, and then look 
up to snow-capped peaks beyond. Here lemon 
orchards are valued at $2,000 and more an acre. 
When the trees have reached the bearing stage and 
are in good condition, lemon orchard land is a gold 
mine. We heard of people who rented their or- 
chards on the basis of $2,000 value per acre, receiv- 
ing interest on that valuation. We heard also of 
successful lemon growers who had purchased large 
acreages of lemon-bearing land at $1,000 per acre 
and who had within two yesLYS after purchase mar- 
keted a crop of lemons whose selling price covered 
the entire amount paid for the orchard two years 
before. 

We visited a big packing house and saw dark 
eyed Sicihans, alert and prosperous, sorting, clean- 
ing, and packing the lemons. Everything pro- 
ceeded with swiftness and yet with orderliness. 
Down the long troughs rolled the lemons, each grav- 



74 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

itating through a hole according to its size. Into a 
bubbhng cauldron they were gently railroaded, 
where brushes from above and from below washed 
them and pushed them on. With much deft- 
ness packers caught a square of tissue paper with 
the left hand, a lemon with the right hand and 
wrapped the fruit. The filled box was pushed 
along a polished runway to the inspector. He 
deftly and quickly looked the box over, decided 
whether the packing was close and firm, nailed on 
a top, and bound the box with supporting iron 
bands. It was then ready to go into the freight 
car on the track a few feet away, where experienced 
men were loading the car with the yellow fruit. We 
were told that notwithstanding competition with 
the Sicilian and Italian fruit, California lemons had 
all the market their owners could wish for. Cer- 
tainly when one sees the care with which the fruit 
is grown, the mellow sun under which it matures, 
and the skillful gathering, cleaning, and packing of 
the packing houses, one wishes every right of way 
for California lemons. One lemon grower told us 
that in the course of the past twenty years he had 
advanced hundreds of dollars to his Sicilian labor- 
ers who had asked his help to bring over their 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 75 

fathers, their brothers, and other relatives. He 
said that kinsman after kinsman had been brought 
over and had added himself and his work to the 
Corona colony, and that their benefactor had never 
lost a dollar. All the loans had been conscien- 
tiously returned in the course of time. 

Calif ornians look forward to a great flood of im- 
migration within the next few years, and hope that 
Europe will send them the men to till their lands 
and cultivate their rich valleys and hill-slopes. 
There is plenty of room for them in this splendid 
empire of a State, 



76 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 



CHAPTER V 

It was an easy drive from Corona to Riverside, 
which we reached in the late afternoon in time for 
a sunset drive up and around the corkscrew road 
leading to the top of Mt. Rubidoux. No one 
should miss the view from the top of Rubidoux 
Mountain. While its summit is not at a great 
height, yet the mountain is so isolated and the whole 
surrounding country is so level a valley that the 
view is very extensive. One looks down upon the 
town of Riverside, with its pleasant homes and 
church steeples; and upon miles of lemon and or- 
ange orchards groomed to the last degree of fer- 
tility and perfection. It is an immense garden. 
Orchards, towns, grassy spaces with a silver river 
wmding through them, all give one that sense, ever 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 77 

present in California, of happiness, of genial cli- 
mate, of unfailing beauty of surrounding. 

At Riverside one stays of course, even if but for 
a night, at the famous Mission Inn, known as the 
Glenwood. Here is the creation of a man who has 
brought together in unique and pleasing combina- 
tion the features of an inn, of a great curio shop, 
of a cathedral, of a happy lounging place. You 
may study for hours antique pieces of furniture; 
old tapestries, old bells, old bits of stained glass. 
You may spend an evening in the great music hall 
with its cathedral seats and hsten to the organ 
played by a finished and yet popular artist. You 
may lounge in an easy chair on a cloistered porch. 
All these and many other things you may do at the 
wonderful Mission Inn. But the open road called 
us and we had time for only one night in Riverside. 
We drove from Riverside to Redlands, a particu- 
larly charming town. It has a better situation than 
Riverside, being on a slope instead of upon a level 
plain. It has beautiful streets and hosts of lovely 
winter homes of most attractive architecture. The 
drive up to Smiley Heights, where one runs 
through exquisite gardens along a narrow ridge, 
looking down upon a green cultivated valley on the 



78 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

one side, and a polished winter city on the other 
side, is a dehghtful experience. 

From Redlands we drove on to San Bernardino 
and thence to Pomona and Claremont. The San 
Bernardino Valley has miles of grapes, the vine- 
yards being on an immense scale. In California 
the grapes are not trained upon arbors. The stalks 
are kept low, and in looking over a vineyard one 
sees long rows of low growing, stocky vines, and 
masses of green foliage. In San Bernardino they 
have a fashion of planting windbreaks of ever- 
greens around their gardens and smaller vineyards ; 
but there are also immense stretches of open coun- 
try planted with vines. One vineyard of three 
thousand acres has a sign announcing that it is the 
largest vineyard in the world. Pomona and Clare- 
mont are pleasant towns, Pomona being the seat of 
a college. From Claremont we drove on to Pasa- 
dena. There are lovely drives about Pasadena, and 
one should not neglect to go up along the foot- 
hills and from that point of vantage look down 
upon the town spread out on the slopes below. 
There is now a motor drive up Mt. Wilson, from 
which one has extremely grand views, but the Mt. 
Wilson drive is to be recommended only to people 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 79 

with small, light machines which have a short turn- 
ing base. The mountain road is by no means the 
equal of the roads one finds in the Alps. It is too 
narrow and too hazardous for any but small ma- 
chines. For most tourists the nine miles of the Mt. 
Wilson road would better be traversed on donkey- 
back. For those who love to climb, the winding 
road is a delightful walk with views of changing 
grandeur. The hotel at the top is a very pleasant 
place to stay, and one may have there the glories 
of the sunset and the sunrise. 

The most lovely avenue in Pasadena, up and 
down which one should drive several times, is Or- 
ange Grove Avenue. Along the street the feathery 
pepper tree and the palm alternate. The strik- 
ingly handsome electric lamp standards are of 
bronze. Open lawns are characteristic settings for 
the beautiful houses which line the avenue. There 
are many houses of white or yellow stucco, some of 
them set off by delicate iron balconies. Leaving the 
finished beauty of Orange Avenue we drove over a 
great canyon across which is flung a very ornamen- 
tal bridge. The canyon has been turned into a 
park, and fine houses stand on its banks, command- 
ing from their heights wonderful views. 



80 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

We came on through Burbank and once more 
into the San Fernando Valley, just bemg opened 
up. Here and there were tiny houses and some- 
times tents, the first shelters of settlers who were 
cultivating their newly acquired patches of land. 
We saw people cleaning and plowing their land. 
Off to the right were beautiful mountains with 
houses and ranches nestled in the foothills. We 
drove through the new town of San Fernando and 
over the fine highway of the Newhall grade, pass- 
ing through a tunnel and going on to Saugus by a 
splendid road running all the way from Pasadena. 
Just after leaving San Fernando we came through 
Sylmar, where a big sign told us that we were pass- 
ing "the largest olive orchard in the world." This 
is the property of the Los Angeles Olive Growers' 
Association. We drove for more than a mile past 
the ranks of grey-green trees which stretched away 
back to the foothills. 

From Saugus we turned toward Mint Canyon. 
We were now about to cross the great backbone of 
California, running north and south and dividing 
the valleys of the coast from the valleys of the in- 
terior. We could have crossed by the Tehachapi 
Pass, but preferred for this time to drive through 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 81 

Mint Canyon and over the Tejon Pass. All along 
the Canyon we saw little homesteads planted in 
pocket valleys. Here and there were green spots; 
orchards newly set out, patches of grain beginning 
to grow. Little wooden shacks showed where the 
homesteaders had first sheltered their household 
goods. The settlers themselves were working in 
their fields and orchards. There were long 
stretches, too, of rough country where tall yuccas, 
sometimes ten feet high, were blooming. At Palm- 
dale we came out into a great plain, the mountains 
in the distance. A high wind w^as blowing, filling 
our eyes with dust. Somewhere on the plain the 
searching wind whipped my lightweight motor coat 
out of the tonneau where I had stowed it and I saw 
it no more. It was literally blown out of sight and 
knowledge. We had seen all along advertisements 
of "Palmdale Acres," and we now came to the little 
town itself, a tiny settlement with flamboyant signs 
advertising its high hopes. We read, "Keep your 
eye on Palmdale, 10,000 people in 1925." Close to 
the sign was the irrigation ditch with a thick stream 
of water rushing through. We realized that all the 
hopes of Palmdale and all the possibilities of future 
population were centered in that stream, which was 



82 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

to carry life and fertility to the great dusty plains 
before us. 

We had taken luncheon at Acton, a sordid little 
place with an extremely unattractive wooden hotel, 
poor and bare. The luncheon, cooked and served 
by a hard working landlady, had been better than 
appearances promised. We had had hot beefsteak, 
a good boiled potato, some crisp lettuce, and fair 
tea. Western people are addicted to green tea, a 
great affliction to one accustomed to black tea. 
Western hotel keepers would do well to use black 
tea for their tourists, as the use of green tea is, so 
far as I know, almost unknown in the East. 

Our road was rising now and we were approach- 
ing Neenach. We were driving along the foot- 
hills on the high side of another great valley. As 
we came near Neenach we passed an orchard to our 
right, the trees loaded with beautiful, velvety green 
almonds. To the left was another orchard, filled 
with neglected, dying almond trees. We had not 
known whether we would find at Neenach a little 
town or a corner grocery store. It turned out to 
be simply a post office in the home of a young set- 
tler who with his wife was just making his start at 
ranching. He was a delightful young fellow with 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 83 

shining white teeth, clear eyes, and an enthusiasm 
that was pleasant to see. A big St. Bernard dog 
protected his wife, who looked very picturesque in 
her riding costume. Although the ranchman had 
been brought up in a city, he had come out to these 
foothills, bought one hundred and sixty acres at 
$17.50 an acre, driven his well forty feet, got his 
water, and planted his cottonwood trees for his 
jSrst shade. He was soon to plant his orchard and 
start his garden. He told us that he would have 
plenty of water, as the mountains on whose foot- 
slopes the farm lay were nine miles deep and fifteen 
miles long. I asked him about the orchards which 
we had just passed, so fruitful on the right, so sad 
and neglected on the left. He said that the al- 
mond orchards on the left had been planted years 
ago by a little colony of people who had three bad 
years following their planting. They became dis- 
couraged and moved away, abandoning their or- 
chards and houses. The orchards which we had 
seen full of fruit were of a later planting. 

We asked why it was that the great spaces of 
Antelope Valley which stretched below the hills 
and off to the mountains beyond had not been taken 
by settlers. Our young ranchman explained that 



84 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

the valley which looked to be about eight miles 
across was really thirty miles wide, and that it was 
too far from water for people to settle there. I 
looked over the immense stretches of the valley 
and at the masses of tall, spiky tree-yuccas, and 
wished that some way might be found to irrigate 
those thousands of acres. If some modern Moses 
could strike water from a rock, which would flow 
through Antelope Valley, our young settler would 
someday look down upon hundreds of houses and 
white tents instead of upon lonely forests of yucca. 
We drove on from Neenach to the top of the 
grade, some 4230 feet. Huge round-shouldered 
hills, bare and lonely, rose on each side of us. Com- 
ing to the Lebec ranch house, we asked shelter for 
the night. These ranch houses are very hospitable 
and are willing to take the place of a hotel so far as 
they are able. We found the head of the house in 
some confusion and anxiety. His cook had left 
that morning and the settlement school ma'am had 
offered to help with the cooking in the emergency. 
One of the ranchmen volunteered to make the bed 
in our sleeping room, although he confessed that 
he had never made a bed in all his life before. We 
ate our supper with the ranchmen, sitting at an oil- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 85 

cloth-covered table. We had hunks of cold meat, 
noodle soup with very thick, hearty noodles, stewed 
dried peaches, sliced onions, stewed tomatoes, and 
good bread and coffee. After a talk before a blaz- 
ing open fire with two young electric engineers who, 
like ourselves, had sought shelter for the night, we 
had a dreamless night's slumber. 

In the morning we had a most interesting break- 
fast with a long table full of hungry ranchmen. 
Next us sat a big fellow who was in a rather pessi- 
mistic mood. He spoke sadly of California and its 
resources and very v/armly of Virginia. "That's 
the place to live!" he said. "You can drive for a 
hundred miles here and not see a ranch house or a 
schoolhouse or a church worth looking at. In Vir- 
ginia it's just like, as a fellow says, *every drink 
you take, things look different.' You drive up on 
a knoll, and you see before you a lovely farm with 
a nice farmhouse, and a well-built barn and out- 
houses. Then you drive over another knoll, and 
you see another nice farmhouse. Virginia and the 
East for me ! In this country you can walk through 
foxtail grass until you're ruined, and you see no 
buildings worth looking at." This started ani- 
mated discussion as to the merits of California com- 



86 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

pared with the merits of Eastern farming country, 
the young school ma'am vibrating between the httle 
kitchen and the dining room and taking her part 
in the conversation. She was from Indiana, and told 
me that while she liked California she did not ap- 
prove of California's neglect of history in the pub- 
lic schools. She felt that the children were given 
no knowledge of ancient or of modern history in 
the teaching scheme. She assured me that her own 
pupils were taught history very faithfully. 

We were sorry to leave the ranch with its low 
houses and its pretty lake in the foreground. We 
drove on down the Pass, coming over rather precip- 
itous roads to a last steep slope from whose height 
we looked off to an immense level valley which 
seemed to stretch away forever. Violet morning 
lights hung over it and it looked like an enchanted 
country. This was our first view of the San Joa- 
quin Valley, through which we were to drive for 
many miles. 

As we began to cross the valley, coming first 
through rather dull, scrubby stretches, I saw acres 
of a delicate pink and white bell-shaped flower, 
somewhat like a morning glory, growing close to 
the ground, blooming luxuriantly in the midst of a 




1., 2. and 3. Cowboy Games at Bakersfield. 



THE NEW YORK ,5 
IPUBLIGUBP'-- 



^STOR. LENOX 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 87 

whorl of green leaves. I later asked a country woman 
the name of the flower, but she could only tell 
me that they called the lovely delicate things sand 
flowers. As we approached Bakersfield the land 
grew richer and the grass was thicker and greener. 
Meadow larks were flying about in great numbers, 
singing their sweet, clear song. At Bakersfield we 
stopped at the New Southern Hotel, which is, like 
most Western hotels, European in plan. We found 
a delightful cafeteria known as the Clock Tower 
Cafeteria, kept by two women, and with most ap- 
petizing home cooking. Bakersfield is one of the 
most Western of California towns. Something in 
the swing of its citizens as they walk along, some- 
thing in the wide sombreros and high boots which 
the visiting cowboys wear imparts a general breezi- 
ness and Western atmosphere. It is a little town 
with the clothes of a big town. It has very wide 
streets and is laid out on a generous scale. Its fine 
Courthouse, its beautiful new schoolhouse, its 
pretty homes, its residence streets with their rows 
of blooming oleanders, pink and white, make it an 
attractive town. But it must be confessed that it is 
very hot in Bakersfield, as it is in most towns of the 
San Joaquin and Sacramento Valleys. The most 



88 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

interesting thing to me in Baker sfield was a leather 
shop, where I saw handsome Mexican saddles, very 
intricately and ornately stamped. These are made 
to order and have any amount of beautiful work 
upon them. At the same shop I saw handsome 
stamped belts and leather coin cases, long leather 
cuffs which cowboys affect, and tall riding boots 
with ornate stitching. When we left Bakersfield 
we saw just outside the town a perfect forest of oil 
derricks towering into the air, some of the wells be- 
ing new ones, others having been abandoned. Ba- 
kersfield is the center of a rich oil territory, from 
which much wealth has flowed. 

In leaving the town we turned by mistake to the 
right instead of to the left, and found ourselves trav- 
eling toward a Grand Canyon on a minature scale. 
We were driving over lonely country where the wa- 
ter had worn the hills into fantastic shapes and 
where the whole country was a series of terraces. 
Sometimes small tablelands stood up boldly be- 
fore us, sometimes cone-shaped pieces of plateau, 
like small volcanoes, appeared in long rows beyond 
us. Beautiful purple mists and shadows hung over 
these carvings of nature as the sun began to decline. 
The country grew lonelier and wilder, and we de- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 89 

cided that we must retrace our journey and find 
out where we were. As we came near to Bakers- 
field again we saw the camp of an engineer who was 
making some borings for oil. He told us that we 
had taken the wrong turn and directed us on our 
way, past the tall derricks and northeast to Tu- 
lare. 

So we turned our backs on the browns, yellows, 
and slate colors, the pinks and the lavenders of the 
lonely tableland country and struck north along a 
very fair road. We drove for twenty miles through 
rather level, brown, desert country, coming then 
into a grain country. All along there were pump 
houses on the ranches, connected with the electric 
current by heavy wires which ran from the main 
lines along the road to the little houses in the fields. 
I liked to think that the magic current streamed 
down those side wires from the main river of elec- 
tricity, worked the pumps and brought up the wa- 
ter that made the whole country the fertile, grain- 
growing region it evidently was. We ate supper 
at the McFarland Hotel some twenty-five miles 
from Bakersfield. Our Wisconsin hostess who 
talked with us while her Japanese cook prepared 
our supper told us that three years ago there were 



90 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

only a few people living in tents in this region. 
Now the wells are down and there is a prosperous 
little town, the water being found only thirty feet 
below the surface. We came on through more fields 
of ripe wheat and green alfalfa. We saw one set- 
tler's tent pitched in the midst of a beautiful al- 
mond orchard, with great stacks of alfalfa near by. 
His wellhouse was near, and some day in the golden 
future he will undoubtedly build his dwelling. 

Eleven miles from Tulare a tall country boy 
came out from the shadows as we passed through a 
little village and asked if he might ride to Tulare 
with us. We tucked away his bulky newspaper 
bundle in the machine and gave him permission to 
sit on the tool box, which was fastened on the run- 
ning-board. He thanked us warmly when we 
reached the quiet streets of Tulare and offered to 
pay us, but of course we assured him that we were 
glad to have given him a lift. We did not often do 
this as we were always afraid some one would be 
hurt in riding on the running-board. We had a 
comfortable room at the Hotel St. Maxon, and 
drove on the next day through the fertile val- 
ley to Fresno. Now we were in the region of rich 
vineyards and luxuriant fig trees. For the first 




1. Old Grizzly, Mariposa Big Trees. 2. Old Sunset, Mariposa 
Big Trees. 



THE NE- 
[PUBLIC LJ 



A8TOR. L 
tilden FOUi. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 91 

time, as we approached Fresno, I saw whole or- 
chards of fig trees. Fresno is a pretty town with 
the wide, bright streets and look of prosperity of 
so many California towns. It is the home of sev- 
eral thousand Armenian and Greek workers. Only 
that morning the Young Women's Christian Asso- 
ciation had welcomed to Fresno a little woman who 
had come all the way from Constantinople to meet 
her husband. The town pays the price for being the 
seat of the raisin industry by being very hot in 
summer. 

From Fresno we drove across somewhat uninter- 
esting country, rolling and solitary, diversified only 
by grain fields and stacks of alfalfa, to Madera. 
At Madera we turned our faces toward the high 
Sierras, going on to Raymond with a view to driv- 
ing over the mountain road to Wawona, one of the 
gates of the Yosemite and very near to the famous 
Mariposa Grove of Big Trees. 



92 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 



CHAPTER VI 

When we reached Raymond we had left the val- 
leys behind us and were in the rough country pre- 
ceding the long climb up through the high Sierras 
to Wawona. It was late afternoon, and as we 
drove along we enjoyed the wooded hills and the 
far views over deep gulleys to the mountains be- 
yond, in the afternoon sunshine. We met but few 
people on the steep, rocky mountain road. At one 
point we passed a roadside group of campers for 
the night. They had unharnessed their weary 
horses, had built a fire, and were preparing their 
supper. The water-trough used by travelers was 
close by, and they had pure spring water for their 
needs. There were two families, with a host of 
children, going up into the pine woods to one of the 
sawmills where the men were to work. The young 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 93 

mother of one family had with her a httle three- 
weeks-old baby, fat and rosy-looking as his proud 
father held him before the fire. The poor mother 
was very weary and disheartened. "I am not used 
to this," she said, as she folded up some bits of 
clothing that she had been washing for the chil- 
dren. The wagons looked as if furniture and 
clothing had been piled in "higgledy pigglety." 
The children and their parents slept as best they 
could on top of this lumpy mass. One little girl 
of twelve or so had a tear-stained face and a look 
of real suffering in her blue eyes. She had hurt her 
ankle in running up and down the mountain roads 
with the other children. I felt sorry for the poor 
child, as it was evident that her sprained ankle 
would have little care in this itinerant household. 
We were glad that the tired company had the mild 
evening air in which to lie down and rest. 

As we went on, the scenery grew wilder and the 
road grew rougher. Something ailed our machine, 
too. It transpired that we had a bad spark plug 
and there was nothing for it but to return to Ray- 
mond and have things put right in the little gar- 
age there. We did so and then we made the foolish 
mistake of deciding to go on, although the shadows 



&4 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

were deepening, toward Wawona. So once more 
we climbed the narrow, rutted mountain road. It 
was astonishing how fast the twihght fell. We had 
thought that we still had a good hour before dark- 
ness came on, but it grew dark alarmingly fast, 
and we were soon driving along in forest blackness 
over the uneven road. We kept the horn going for 
fear of meeting something around the sharp cor- 
ners which were so numerous, but the road was ut- 
terly lonely. Tall pines stood close to the road- 
side, the lamps of the motor throwing a light here 
and there upon their massive trunks. Clusters of 
manzanita branches brushed against our machine, 
the light flashing upon them, showing their lovely 
green leaves arranged like shining rosettes around 
their wine-colored stems. Everything was wet 
with recent rain and wonderfully beautiful as the 
light of the lamps flashed here and there. At last 
we passed a little cottage by the roadside. There 
was a dim light in the house. The door opened and 
the figure of a man appeared dark against the 
background of the lighted room. We called out 
to him and asked how much farther Miami Lodge 
was. "Just a few miles," he said, and very kindly 
offered to telephone to the Lodge that we were com- 




>>»^ 



l^ 



/j I 







^8T0R 



,^ENOX 



til 



ix>^ 



POVJN^ 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 95 

ing, so they would have some supper for us. It 
seemed a long distance to us as we crept cautiously 
around the shoulder of the mountain, down steep 
pitches and up long slopes. But at last we saw 
the welcome lights of the Lodge. How pleasant 
it was to see an open fire in the sitting room, to eat 
a hot supper in the delightful dining room, and to 
find a dainty sleeping room furnished with a wo- 
man's taste. Miami Lodge is a half-way house 
between Raymond and Wawona. It is an ideal 
resting spot for people who love the pine woods 
and the quiet and solitude of the forest. 

In the morning we were on our way to the Big 
Trees. We decided to leave our car at a humble 
but very pleasant little forest inn called Fish Camp 
Hotel, presided over by some Maine people who 
long ago left the pines of Maine for the pines of 
California. They have a mountain ranch which 
they leave in the summer to come up into the higher 
forests and to keep a little hostel and grocery store. 
It is a long walk from Fish Camp Hotel to the 
boundary fence of the National Park where the 
famous Big Trees are. If one prefers to drive 
one's car over a somewhat rocky but perfectly pas- 
sable mountain road and to leave it just outside 



06 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

the fence, one can do so. In this way, one's walk- 
ing powers are kept fresh for the memorable expe- 
dition among the Big Trees. One needs a long 
day in which to see the Trees. We felt sorry for 
the tourists who were being driven about and 
who had only an allotted time in which to see the 
Trees. We had our luncheon with us and were in- 
dependent. We walked miles along the Park 
drives. We stood under the Trees, of which there 
are some five hundred, gazing up at their distant 
tops. We amused ourselves by measuring their 
enormous girths with our arms. Most of the time 
we simply gazed at them from one vantage point 
and another, lost in wonder at their height, so nmch 
greater than we had dreamed, and at their bulk, so 
enormous as to be difficult to take in. The Big 
Trees were far bigger, far grander, far more beau- 
tiful in their coloring than we had been prepared 
for. When the afternoon sunlight struck their 
trunks and they glowed with the wonderful soft, 
deep red which is their color, we were enchanted. 
We felt awed, too, not only by their great size, but 
by their great age. We were in the presence of 
hoary old men, a detached little company of An- 
cients who were living long, long before our gen- 




c to 

es o 

N 

."2 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 97 

eration ever came upon the scene, and who had 
passed through much of the world's history. It 
was with a glowing sense of satisfaction and happi- 
ness and wonder that we came away from our leis- 
urely day among the Trees. Some day we hope to 
go back and to repeat that experience. 

We met later a gentleman who said that he had 
spent such a day, had had a supper with the forest 
keeper who sells photographs and souvenirs in his 
little cottage, and then had lain down to sleep on 
the pine needles under the great Trees themselves. 
"I saw the stars pinnacled in their branches," 
said he. 

We had a comfortable night at Fish Camp Ho- 
tel, our fellow guests at the next table being a party 
of Scotch stone-cutters who had come up for a hol- 
iday from the granite quarry at Raymond w^iere 
they were quarrying and shaping stones for some 
Sacramento public buildings. Bagpipes came out 
in the evening and the air was full of Scotch music 
and Scotch jokes. The next morning we drove on 
to Wawona, passing over the height of the grade 
and descending a little to come into the lovely Wa- 
wona meadows, in whose midst stands the old white 
wooden hotel which has dispensed delightful hospi- 



98 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

tality under the same landlords for forty years 
past. Mr. Washburn is the only one left of the 
brothers who built up the Wawona Hotel, and his 
son now bears the burden of the hotel administra- 
tion. 

People are always coming and going at Wa- 
wona. They are either on their way to the Yosem- 
ite; or having seen the Yosemite they are on their 
way out with a look at the Big Trees, eight miles 
away, as they pass by. We left our machine at the 
Wawona garage and took the 12 o'clock stage 
drawn by four splendid horses, to drive through the 
meadow and along the mountain for thirty miles to 
the Yosemite Valley. Later, the Wawona road 
was to be opened to motor travel. But the leis- 
urely way of approach by the stage was very agree- 
able. The drive ran through the forest. We saw 
a pheasant in the bracken by the roadside with her 
brood of little ones. She walked with her head high, 
affecting a careless dignity to hide her anxiety, 
while her babies crouched close to the ground and 
looked like little brown dots as they skimmed along. 

In the late afternoon, we saw a coyote out for his 
supper. Our stage driver cracked his whip at him 
and shouted his contempt. We saw the beautiful 



i 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 99 

deer cross and recross the road, coming down to 
their drinking places. They are protected by the 
State and come and go with only the mountain lion 
to frighten them. And at last after twenty miles 
of drive through tall pines we came to the famous 
Inspiration Point where the first view of the Val- 
ley burst upon us. We had been driving over a 
high plateau, and now we were to descend more than 
a thousand feet into the deep cut which forms the 
Yosemite. Our stage driver evidently took a gen- 
uine pleasure, the pleasure of the showman, in rein- 
ing up his horses at the psychological moment and 
allowing us to drink in the view that burst dramat- 
ically upon us. There was the green level floor of 
the Valley far below us ; there was El Capitan ris- 
ing in massive grandeur, a sheer wall of rock, in 
evening greys and lavenders, above the Valley; 
there was the Bridal Veil — a silver thread of water 
falling six hundred feet. And beyond were the 
Valley walls rising in the distance. In my opinion 
everyone who wishes to have the most striking en- 
trance to the Yosemite should come in by the Wa- 
wona road, and have the great view at Inspiration 
Point fire the imagination first. A little lower 
down, we came again on the winding road to the 



100 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

same view, only from a lower vantage point and 
therefore more intimate. This point is known as 
Artists' Point; and after this we were hurrying 
down the mountain slope, the eager horses well 
aware that they were approaching food and rest. 

Soon we were on the Valley floor, walls rising to 
the left and right of us, and ahead of us. Behind 
us was the way out of the Valley and above us was 
the mountain road by which we had just come 
down. Tourists were dropped at various camps, 
and we drove on to Camp Curry, the last stopping 
point of the stage. The Yosemite Valley is some- 
what like a blind alley. It has but one entrance on 
the level of the Valley floor. As you drive to the 
farther end of the Valley, you become aware that 
you are approaching nearer and nearer to moun- 
tain walls, and ere long you are literally against a 
barrier, all the way from a thousand to three or 
four thousand feet in height. Anyone who would 
leave the Yosemite by other than the entrance on 
the Valley level at its one end must climb. Camp 
Curry has the great advantage of being located in 
the closed end of the valley and thus very near to 
many of the mountain trails. Its proprietor and 
landlord has built up Camp Curry to be the big, 




1. Driving Home tlie Cows. 2. Meeting in the Great American Desert. 
3. Bridal Veil from Artist's Point, Yosemite Valley. 



THE NEW YOKK 
PUBLIC LIBRARY 



ASTOR. LENOX 

TILDEN FOUNDATIONS 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 101 

cosmopolitan, happy, democratic settlement that it 
now is. The food in the dining pavilion is plain but 
well cooked, and abundantly served in family fash- 
ion. The little tents with their two single beds are 
very comfortable. The camp fire at night, around 
which almost the entire camp assembles in that in- 
timacy and yet detachment, which belongs to those 
who dream before a camp fire, is the heart of the 
camp life, where Mr. Curry gives nightly a family 
talk on trees, rocks, flowers, and trails. Hot water 
is a plentiful luxury at Camp Curry, and the host 
often says, "Camp Curry is on the water wagon, but 
it is a hot water wagon." 

"A year ago," says Mr. Curry, "we put up 10,000 
lunches — that meant 20,000 wooden plates, and 
some 50,000 pieces of white tissue paper. You can 
see how necessary it is to burn or bury your lunch- 
eon papers when you have eaten your lunch on the 
trails, or in the forests." 

Never in any other place in the United States 
have I heard so much talk of tramps and trails as 
at Camp Curry in the Yosemite Valley. Most 
Americans seem to be too indolent or too unused 
to walking to have the enthusiasm of the trampers 
and the mountain climbers whom one meets in Eu- 



102 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

rope. But I felt that I was back in the atmosphere 
of the Tyrol and of Switzerland when I reached 
Camp Curry and saw the people starting off in the 
morning for long days of walking and climbing. 
"I arrived at Camp Curry late in the afternoon just 
as the people were coming from their day's walks," 
said a young lady to me. "I thought I had never 
seen such disreputable looking people. Their boots 
were muddy, their hair was dishevelled, their faces 
were flushed and sunburnt. But in a day or two I 
was coming in from long walks in just the same 
condition myself." But who that can walk and 
chmb would forego the thrilling pleasure of the 
long climb to Glacier Point, and the long climb past 
Nevada and Vernal Falls, and down again into the 
Valley? Who would miss the long climb up to the 
Yosemite Falls, where one from a perilous and yet 
protected vantage point just above the Falls sees 
that great volume of water launch itself for the 
awful plunge into the air, and so down into the 
Valley? Fortunately, there are sturdy mules and 
horses, sure-footed and plodding, for those who 
prefer riding to climbing. No one need miss the 
truly grand experience of the view from Glacier 
Point, where by staying over night at the hotel one 






uov- 




BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 103 

may have both sunset and sunrise. What a world 
of mountains one looks out upon! There is Half 
Dome, looking as if a gigantic hand had thrust it 
up through the earth and into the air, leaving its 
other half far, far below. There stretches before 
one a vast, upper country of irregular table lands 
and peaks, many still white with snow. One is 
really looking far out over the remote regions of 
the snowy, pine-covered, high Sierras. 

We took a day for a long excursion to 
Cloud's Rest. This meant twenty-two miles of 
mule riding, but it also meant an even more com- 
prehensive and exalted view from the mountain's 
top, of frozen lakes below, deep canyons, lofty 
mountain peaks where storms were raging far away, 
and solitary table lands. Only people of endur- 
ance can take such a jaunt, as one's joints grow 
very weary and aching from the slow riding hour 
after hour. When we were at Camp Curry, a party 
of some forty Germans, men and women, were 
there for the pleasure of "doing" the entire Valley. 
No climb was too hard for them. They were known 
as the "German climbing bunch." Every morning 
one might see them with their paper bags of lunch- 
eon and their climbing-sticks, walking gaily along 



104, ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

to the beginning of some one of the mountains 
trails. They entertained us at the evening camp 
fire with their German songs, and were altogether 
an energetic and genial company. 

The open air life and the grandeur of the trails 
were very hard to leave, but we came away one noon 
and once more drove back to Wawona. There we 
were detained for a week by a break in the car. We 
started out one morning when the rain was pouring 
to take the Mariposa road. We found that with 
no chains and with the machine slipping and slid- 
ing on the steep clay road, progress would be im- 
possible. I tried to help the matter by putting 
freshly cut branches of odorous balsam fir under 
the wheels to help them grip. I walked behind the 
machine with a log, throwing it under the wheels 
as they advanced foot by foot, T. fighting at the 
steering wheel like the pilot of a drifting ship. 
But it was impossible to make headway. We met 
some teamsters who had evidently been taking 
something hot to counteract the discomfort of their 
wet exteriors. One said solemnly of the sun when 
we expressed a wish that it would appear, "Yes, 
the sun is our father, and our step-father." Then 
he added, "I'd worship the sun if I were a heathen. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 105 

I kinder do, now." He went on irrelevantly, "I do 
think Roosevelt's one of the best men we've got. 
I do think so. I do so." We were close to a de- 
serted logging camp, which looked doubly melan- 
choly in the falling rain. There was the deserted 
runway, there were the empty cottages, with broken 
windows and doors swinging open. Back of the 
cottages were piles of tin cans. One cottage still 
bore its old name, "Idle Burg." All about were 
blooming columbines and the odorous balsam. 

There was nothing for it but to go back to Wa- 
wona, which we did. When we reached there, we 
found that we had a broken spring. We spent 
several days waiting for a new spring to come up 
from Raymond. In the meantime we discovered 
the loveliness of the Wawona meadows and ex- 
plored the walks about the hotel. We went down 
to the blacksmith shop to see the big stage horses 
shod and the smith handle them as if they were his 
children. "California is God's country," said he. 
"I came here forty years ago, but I aint done much 
for myself until the last two or three years." At 
last the motor car was ready, and we had once more 
a drive through the forest, stopping for a delightful 
dinner and evening at ]\Iiami Lodge. The next 



106 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

day we were dropping down from the high Sierras 
by the JNIariposa road. Turning to the right, be- 
fore reaching Raymond, the foothills of the Sierras 
made very rough, broken country for travel, and 
our road was indifferent. We passed poor little 
ranches dropped in among the rocks and gulleys. 
We saw lonely looking women sitting on the 
porches of unpainted wooden ranch houses, and 
finally we came to Mariposa, which reminded me 
of Bret Harte more than any other place I had seen 
in California. 

Mariposa is a mining town from which the miners 
have departed. In mining days it was a busy cen- 
ter, with miners eating and drinking, and walking 
up and down its little street. But some of the mines 
have been closed, the miners have gone to other dis- 
tricts, and the town is left high and dry. A few 
men were hanging idly about in front of the dreary 
looking little stores. The two places that seemed 
to be alive were a general department store kept by 
an Italian, and a little restaurant kept by a China- 
man. We bought our gasoline from Mr. Trabucco 
and went in to have some tea at John Chinaman's 
place. He was a shrewd looking, middle-aged Chi- 
naman in a very pessimistic mood. "You see dis 



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ASTOR 
TILDE N FO 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 107 

town? You see more'n I do," he said sadly. We 
assured him that we saw very little town. Indeed, 
Mariposa is just the sad little shell of a town from 
which most of the life has moved away, leaving the 
dingy little wooden buildings along the dusty 
street. Our Chinaman charged us fifteen cents 
apiece for a single cup ot tea, flanked by some very 
stale store cookies, which he took from the show 
window. He evidently felt that he should make hay 
while the sun was shining. From Mariposa, we had 
a long afternoon drive over lonely, rolling coun- 
try to Snelling. When we reached its one little 
hotel, we found that w^e were too late for supper. 
California has an eight hour law, and domestic ser- 
vants cannot be kept over time. In large hotels 
they have different shifts; but in country places 
the landlord must let his cook go at the ap- 
pointed time. However, our host was disposed to 
be accommodating. "The missus and I are always 
here," he said, and went over to buy a bit of steak 
for our supper. We were very tired after the ex- 
tremely rough driving in the foothills, and slept 
heavily. 

Snelling lies in a valley where there is evidently 
plenty of warmth and water. The fig trees are 



108 ACROSS THE CONTINENT ; 

wonderfully luxuriant. We passed some beautiful ] 

grain ranches the next morning and so came to j 

Stockton, where at the Hotel Stockton we saw the ; 

red, white, and blue sign that was to guide us across i 

the continent. We were at last on the Lincoln ' 

Highway, the old road with the new name which \ 
runs from ocean to ocean and which is destined to 

be one of the famous highways of the world. : 

The Stockton Inn is a beautiful modern hostel, i 

European in plan, with every convenience, not to ] 

say luxury. One should go up on its roof garden ] 

for an afternoon cup of tea just for the pleasure of \ 

looking down on the San Joaquin River, whose i 

headwaters run up into the town. Boats lie all i 

along the piers, and it looks very like a bit of | 

Holland. I could have easily believed that I was I 

looking down on an Amsterdam canal from ; 

the roof garden of the Stockton Hotel. All \ 

through California, but more particularly between i 

Monterey and Los Angeles and along the coast, I 

we had seen workmen tramping from place to place, ; 

sometimes alone, usually in bands of six or seven. ] 

They carried their blankets rolled on their backs, \ 

and many of them were clear-eyed, respectable >. 

looking men. We saw one such man in Stockton j 



TttE ^-^'^^R 



^U^ 



bUBUC 



. V-E' 



^^- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 109 

on his way to take the river boat. He had his 
blanket on his back, and he wore a somewhat bat- 
tered straw hat. His trousers were ragged, and 
he looked as if he had tramped many a weary mile. 
He was tall and bony, with a sandy beard.^ I took 
him to be a Scot. I was so anxious to help the poor 
fellow out that I urged T. to speak to him and offer 
him a suit of clothes. To our surprise the man re- 
fused them in a very free and easy, gf nial way. "O, 
nay, thank you," he said, "I'm doin' all right." 

Stockton is a city with wide streets, an open 
plaza, and a Courthouse surrounded by a bor- 
der of green lawn and palm trees. I saw a tur- 
baned Hindoo lying asleep under a palm tree in 
the afternoon sun on the Courthouse lawn. White 
men lay asleep near him. It was at Stockton that 
we saw our first rodeo or round-up. The rodeo is 
a part professional and part amateur Wild- West 
show. The cowboys wear their gayest shirts, of 
red and pink and variegated silks. They wear their 
handsomest "chaps" or riding trousers, cut very 
wide, and made of buckskin or of sheepskin with 
the wool side out. They have on their widest- 
brimmed, highest crowned sombreros and their 
most ornately stitched boots. The cowgirls are 



110 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

in brown or grey velveteen, or perhaps in khaki. 
They, too, wear broad-brimmed hats and riding 
boots with spurs. Some of them wear red silk hand- 
kerchiefs knotted about their necks. We saw such 
an exhibition of cattle lassoing and of roping and 
throwing steers, of rope spinning and of trick rid- 
ing as we had never before seen. Doubtless it is an 
old story for Californians, but it was all new and 
interesting to us. The most interesting feat was 
the roping and throwing of a steer. Two men ride 
down the steer, and as one of them approaches the 
beast he slips off his horse and catches the steer 
with a lightning stroke around his neck. He en- 
deavors by casting his weight on the beast's neck 
and by dexterously twisting it to throw the animal. 
Usually he succeeds; but sometimes a stubborn 
beast refuses to be taken by surprise, plants his 
feet firmly, and lowers his dangerous horns. Then 
follows a locked struggle, and it is a serious matter 
for the cattleman if his hold slips. 



THE NE\'^ 
PUBLIC LI 



ASTOR. LFNOX 
TILDEN FOUNDA'^IONS 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 111 



CHAPTER VII 

When we left Stockton we felt that the great 
adventure had really begun. We were now to tra- 
verse the Lincoln Highway and were to be guided 
by the red, white, and blue marks; sometimes 
painted on telephone poles, sometimes put up by 
way of advertisement over garage doors or swing- 
ing on hotel signboards; sometimes painted on lit- 
tle stakes, like croquet goals, scattered along over 
the great spaces of the desert. We learned to love 
the red, white, and blue, and the familiar big L 
which told us that we were on the right road. Had 
we taken the Lincoln Highway literally from ocean 
to ocean, we should have driven direct from San 
Francisco to Stockton. As it was we saw Cali- 
fornia first, and came in at Stockton. 

It was a bright, sunny day, the thirteenth of 



112 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

June, when we left Stockton for Sacramento. We 
drove along an excellent asphalt road, through 
grain fields and orchards, the almond orchards 
being loaded with their green, velvety fruit. It 
was late afternoon when we reached our hostel, the 
Sacramento Hotel. Sacramento is even to-day 
more or less a frontier town. Judging by appear- 
ances, there are more saloons in proportion to the 
other shops of Sacramento than in any other town 
in California, unless it be San Francisco. The town 
is well shaded. One sees many wooden buildings of 
old-fashioned architecture, the old mansard roof be- 
ing much in evidence. A most pleasant spot in Sac- 
ramento is the beautifully kept park around the fine 
State House. Its walks are shaded by a fine row 
of palms, another of magnolias which were in full 
bloom, and yet another of beautiful old cedars. I 
liked the "Sacramento Bee" building which has two 
interesting bas reliefs of printers of the Middle 
Ages working a hand press. Sacramento is very 
hot in summer, its stone pavements and asphalt 
streets radiating heat like an open oven. 

Leaving Sacramento, we drove across rolling 
plains, mostly grain fields, to Folsom. From Fol- 
som to the busy little town of Placerville we had 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 113 

more broken country and a decidedly bumpy road. 
We found the drive from Folsom to Placerville 
uninteresting, the forest being scrubby, the road 
dry and dusty. As soon as we left Placerville we 
came into beautiful country. We had stretches of 
distant mountain views and magnificent wooded 
hills all about us. A mountain stream, the Ameri- 
can River, green and foaming, roared alongside 
the road. The road was in excellent condition and 
ran on through the forest for miles, flanked by 
sugar pines, cedars, firs, balsams, and yellow pines. 
Squirrels darted back and forth in front of us. The 
wild white lilac was blooming at the roadside. 
Ascending hour by hour, we passed several pleas- 
ant-looking mountain inns and came at last to 
Phillips', a simple place where they gave us, out- 
side the main house, a tiny cottage all to ourselves. 
It had one room and from its door we looked 
straight away into the forest. They gave us some 
beefsteak, some fried potatoes, some canned corn, 
carrots, cake, custard, and tea for our supper. 

We left our door open at night, that the fresh 
mountain air might come in freely. I awoke early 
in the morning and saw the first lights on the hills. 
Away off in the forest I heard a hermit thrush call- 



114 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

ing. After breakfast we drove along through pine i 
forest, the snow on the hills not very far away, and j 
soon came to the summit of the Pass, 7395 feet. A ] 
party in a Reo car had been over the Pass three 
weeks earlier, toiling through the snow, and had 
posted several signs, painted in flamboyant red: 
"First car up May 25, 1914." Below us was the 
marshy valley surrounding the southern end of 
Lake Tahoe. We saw the exquisite green of these 
watery meadows and the lovely clumps of pines 
growing here and there in the valley. Beyond i 
stretched the great lake surrounded by lofty moun- 
tains — a glorious view. We drove carefully down I 
the steep hill on to the plain and past Meyers. The j 
road was very sandy, and as we drove among the \ 
pine trees it was in some places so narrow that the 
hubs of our machine just cleared the tree trunks, i 
We went first to Tallac, where there is a very pleas- j 
ant hotel on the lake. But it was full and we turned 1 
back to Al Tahoe, a hotel in a great open space at j 
the southern end of the lake, with pine trees scat- j 
tered here and there, and a little colony of cottages i 
outside the main building. We established our- 1 
selves in one of these cottages, a one-room house i 
with three wooden sides and a long curtain across its 



THE NEW YORK 
PUBLIC LIBRARY 



ASTOR. LENOX 
TILDEN FOUNDATIONS 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 115 

open side. The fourth side of the building had been 
hterally hfted up and was supported by wooden 
props. In this way it became a roof for the little 
platform of boards which stretched in front of the 
cottage, and a sheltered porch was thus improvised. 
At night we drew our calico curtain across the open 
front of our cottage, and so slept practically in the 
open air. 

From Al Tahoe one can make many excursions 
on foot or by boat. As there was still snow on the 
road we did not undertake the motor drive from Al 
Tahoe to Tahoe Tavern and Donner Lake. We 
did drive the nine or ten miles of mountain road to 
Fallen Leaf Lake, which is a most exquisite moun- 
tain lake right under the shadow of Mt. Tallac. 
The trails from the hotel at Fallen Leaf Lake are 
very numerous and attract many enthusiastic moun- 
tain climbers. The first rain that we had exper- 
ienced in all our long journey we had at Al Tahoe. 
When we left our hotel early in the morning to 
drive to Carson City the rain was still falling, but 
it cleared within an hour after our start, and we had 
no more rain until we reached Ohio. Lake Tahoe 
on our left was wonderfully beautiful in the morn- 
ing light. The rich manzanita and other bushes 



116 ACROSS THE CONTINENT i 

were shining with moisture, the tall pines were re- i 
fleeted in the clear depths of the lake, the shores ; 
were wild and lonely. The road rose high above i 
the lake, and in one or two places ran along the | 
edge of a precipitous cliff. After leaving the lake i 
we came into a rather desolate mountain region | 
where the whole character of the country changed, j 
The road was a narrow shelf along a barren, rocky \ 
mountain side. There were but few trees. The 
color of the rock and of patches of brilliant yellow 
flowers, growing along the roadside, gave variety J 
to the landscape. Otherwise it was somewhat 
dreary and forbidding after the rich forest foliage ! 
that we had just left along the lake. ' 

As we rounded mountain shoulder after shoulder i 
we began to look off into green cultivated farming i 
valleys. Next we were coming down a steep hill . 
and into Nevada's little capital town of Carson | 
City. The Capitol building stands at the foot of j 
this long hill road, and as one approaches from the 
top of the hill it looks as if one must drive straight 
through the Capitol. But the road turns sharply ^ 
to the left as one reaches the Capitol street. This | 
one long street with its hotel, its pleasant shops, and i 

I 



U- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 117 

its Capitol is about all there is of the town. We 
drove through the town straight on to Reno. 

Reno is a pleasant town, nobly situated on a high 
plateau with lofty mountains towering near. The 
Truckee River flows straight down from the heart 
of the snows through the center of the town and is 
spanned by a handsome bridge. The substantial 
Riverside Hotel stands on the bank of the river 
near the bridge. Somehow my impressions of Reno 
all seem to cluster around the swift river and the 
bridge. The library, the hotel, the Y. M. C. A., 
and other public buildings are close to the river. 
If you walk up the river you come to a little island 
in the center of the rushing stream which is a tiny 
Coney Island for the Reno residents during the 
summer. Bridges are flung from bank to island 
on both sides of the river. High above the river 
rise the houses of the well-to-do people of the town, 
some of them handsome structures. At the little 
hairdresser's where I had a shampoo in the delicious 
soft snow water of the river they pointed out to 
me the home of "our millionaire." So I crossed the 
river and went over and up to the higher side of 
the town, where was a very beautiful stucco man- 



118 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

sion surrounded by wide lawns, with a view over 
the river on one side and off to the mountains on 
the other. It was a charming situation, and its 
charm was enhanced for me by the fact that just a 
short distance away, outside the town, began the 
grey-green desert with its sage brush whose pun- 
gent, aromatic odor was to be in my nostrils for so 
many days to come. I asked my hairdresser whether 
Reno had many people in residence waiting for 
their divorces. She said that the new law, by virtue 
of which they must have a year's residence in Ne- 
vada, instead of the old period of six months, had 
cut down, so to speak, the business of divorces. She 
assured me that the Reno people deplored this as 
formerly the town was full of boarders and lodgers 
"doing time." I confess I was somewhat shocked 
by such a sordid point of view. I found myself 
looking quietly around the Riverside dining room 
to see whether I could pick out in the well filled 
room any candidates for divorce, and then I re- 
flected that they were probably looking at me with 
the same query in their minds. 

At Reno we followed our rule of visiting uni- 
versity buildings. We had seen the famous State 
University and the equally famous Stanford Uni- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 119 

versity in California, and wished to continue our 
study of college buildings and of the general atmos- 
phere of Western institutions. Unfortunately it 
was holiday time, but we were shown about most 
courteously by a young instructor. The Nevada 
State University buildings are modest and compar- 
atively few in number, but in good taste. They 
have a fine situation on a high plateau, wind-swept 
and mountain-surrounded, at the edge of the town. 
Westerners call these lofty terraces, which drop 
down one below another in step fashion at the foot 
of the great mountains, benches. 

We had seen the very noble School of Mines at 
the University of California, erected by Mrs. 
Hearst to her husband's memory. We were equally 
interested in the smaller but very pretty building 
erected by Mr. Clarence Mackay for the Univer- 
sity of Nevada School of Mines. A striking statue 
of Mr. Mackay in his miner's dress and with his 
miner's pick, stands in front of the building and 
looks down the green lengths of the open campus. 

Our guide told us that the attendance at the 
School of Mines varies annually with the fluctua- 
tions of mining fortunes. In good years when the 
mines are doing well, the University has between 



120 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

fifty and sixty students of mining engineering. 
In poor mining years the attendance drops off. 
He told us some interesting tales of the "good old 
days" when miners wore two shirts sewed together 
at the bottom, thus making a sort of bag, and helped 
themselves liberally to gold while in the diggings. 
He said that a miner had been known to pay a 
mine foreman a thousand dollars for the privilege 
of working in a rich corner of the mine, with the 
result that he would be able to make up the price 
of his privilege within two or three days. He ex- 
plained that there was a general rule to the effect 
that a miner should not be stripped for examination 
except to his shirt; with possible exceptions if he 
were under very strong suspicion. 

I was sorry to come away from Reno. I liked 
the little town, with the sound of the rushing river 
coming in at my hotel window, and the feeling of 
space and freedom that the high situation gave. 
Reno is 4500 feet above sea level. 

From Reno we drove on to Fallon, a little town 
where we spent the night. I took my last look at 
the high Sierras as we drove across the grassy plains 
in leaving Reno. There they were, still snowy, tow- 
ering above the town. We came along by the river, 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 121 

but left it later for a more or less hilly road across 
rather barren country. We stopped at a little 
roadside place where there was a small grocery next 
to a tiny dwelling, to ask for some luncheon. The 
groceryman was very dubious and non-committal 
and referred us to his wife. I had noticed that at 
our approach she fled to some improvised chicken 
coops back of the little dwelling. So I tracked 
her to her lair and found the poor little thing really 
standing at bay. She was a small woman, over- 
shadowed by an immense Mexican straw hat. She 
said to me somewhat defiantly and almost tearfully 
that she couldn't possibly do another drop of work. 
She explained that she had the railroad men to care 
for when they came in from the road, and that she 
had two hundred chickens to look after. "I carry 
all the water for them myself," she said tearfully. 
I looked around at the hot, dusty little settlement, 
with no spear of grass, and felt sorry for her. I 
told her that we wouldn't for the world inconven- 
ience her, whereat she softened and told me that if 
we would drive on to the next settlement we could 
get some luncheon. Which we did, and a very 
indifferent luncheon it was. However, it was 
spiced by an ardent conversation between T. and 



122 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

a railroad man on the foreign policy of the present 
Administration. A woman looks on at these en- 
counters, into which men plunge without a mo- 
ment's introduction or hesitation, and into which 
they throw themselves so earnestly, with admiration 
tinged with awe. 

As we drove along the dusty road a short, rather 
thick snake, its back marked by shining black dia- 
monds, wriggled hurriedly across the road in front 
of us, escaping to the sage brush. I asked later 
what this snake was, for I felt certain that it was 
poisonous. Sure enough, it was a diamond-backed 
rattle snake. We came soon to another little town 
where there was a good hotel. Hanging on the 
wall of the hotel was a painting of the proposed 
Lahontan Dam and the country which its life-giv- 
ing streams would touch. We decided, instead of 
going direct to Fallon, to drive across country to 
the Dam, making a slight detour. We were very 
glad that we did so, for we found the young super- 
intendent of the Dam construction, a Brown Uni- 
versity man, very courteous indeed. We went to 
look at the enormous pile of sand and clay which 
has been banked up day after day and week after 
week until the Lahontan Dam is the largest earth 



PUBLIC 



"^^^^RYl 



^-^S:: 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 123 

dam in the world. We saw cement spillways, one 
on each side of the earth dam proper, their tall 
steps planned to break the fall of the water 
at any time of great flood and pressure. We 
saw the lake itself with its measuring tower and 
gate already sixty feet under the rising water. Mr. 
Tillinghast told us that the lake stretches back into 
the hills and the canyon for twenty miles. We 
heard of the millions of fertile acres which this wa- 
ter, already beginning to be released in a rushing 
stream, was to make possible. Some miles back 
we had seen irrigated country, green and fertile, 
cut, so to speak, right out of the desert. Alfalfa 
was growing luxuriantly and was being cured in 
high green stacks under the sun. Settlers' little cot- 
tages were a visible promise of the future, just as 
they had been in California. We congratulated 
Mr. Tillinghast on his work, and told him that in 
days to come he should bring his grandchildren to 
see the Lahontan Dam, a splendid monument to his 
work and the work of the men with him. 

We saw where he and his assistant engineer lived 
with their families. They had small but comforta- 
ble quarters made of houses built of tar paper. 
Some chicken yards were near, and an improvised 



124 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

tennis court was in front of the little row of houses. 
Near by was a little schoolhouse for the children of 
the settlement. Here New England women, city 
born and bred, were living happily with their chil- 
dren while their husbands built the great Dam. 
One lady told us that her relatives in Providence 
commiserated her lot. "But," said she, "the boys 
are so well and live such a free and happy life in 
this glorious air that we really dread being moved 
to another piece of work when the Dam is finished." 
From Lahontan we picked our way across the des- 
ert with its sage brush and its spaces, to Fallon. 

When we left Fallon we had before us a very try- 
ing drive. The country east of Fallon, past Salt 
Wells Ranch and as far as Sand Springs, was in 
bad condition because of recent heavy rains. We 
met heavy wagons drawn by ten, twelve, fourteen, 
and sometimes sixteen horses and mules, strug- 
gling madly and almost hopelessly through the 
sticky mud. The drivers were cracking their whips, 
yelling and swearing, and the poor animals' flanks 
and bellies were thick with mud. The heavy wag- 
ons were piled high with bales and boxes. In some 
instances the horses of one team were being unhar- 
nessed to be added to another team where the wagon 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 125 

stuck hopelessly in the mud. A country woman 
told me later that she had seen the horses of these 
trucking teams come in at night, their flanks cov- 
ered with the dried blood which had streamed down 
from the wounds made by a pitchfork in the hands 
of a desperate and angry teamster determined to 
get his team started out of a mud hole. 

We had an advantage because of the broad tires 
of our machine, and got on very well by picking our 
way across the plain and keeping well to the left 
of a long stretch filled with salt water holes and 
with a fairly large salt lake. A new road had been 
made by travelers, far away from the regular road, 
which ran close to this small inland sea and which 
was a hopeless quagmire. The land about us was 
dreary and desolate and yet had its own charm. 
Off to the left were immense sand hills blown up 
by the wind, and barren, rocky hills, the Wind 
Mountains. We came at last to the little station 
known as Sand Springs, which is simply a lodging 
place for the teamsters and their horses for the 
night. We could look down from the plateau on 
which the little house and the barns stood, upon the 
white and clay-colored, desolate spaces of the salty 
valley below. The landlady welcomed us cordially 



126 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

and gave us a plain but hearty lunch. She was a 
Calif ornian and told me that she and her husband 
missed the green hills and fields of their own State. 
She said that they had wonderful salt for curing 
and packing their winter meats from the lake down 
in the valley. She said that the salt could be raked 
up in great heaps, white and coarse but with great 
strength and savor. She was mourning the loss of 
her cows, which had disappeared. They had been 
gone a month and she feared that in wandering 
away on the mountain ranges they had been driven 
off by "cattle rustlers." 

From Sand Springs we drove on through a more 
hilly country, the road winding along through an 
open canyon. We passed Frenchman's Flat, where 
there was a little restaurant and where a French- 
man came out to pass the time of day. He greeted 
us very pleasantly and would doubtless have given 
us a good meal if we had not already had one. We 
then crossed another great level and passed three 
ranches known as West Gate, Little Gate, and East 
Gate. We were coming into a much more fertile 
country, a high valley with mountains rising on 
either side. Ahead of us, marked by its tall cotton- 
wood trees, was Alpine Ranch, a part of the big 



THE Nr: 
PUBLIC LIBK 



I n.u<^N Fou 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 127 

Williams estate and our destination for the night. 
It was very cheering to drive through the paddock, 
cross a bubbling little stream, and come up along- 
side the long, low, pleasant ranch house. 

We had had as traveling companion from Fallon, 
across the Salt Flats and through the hills, a young 
commercial man from San Francisco driving his 
Ford car through to Utah., We were both glad 
to make the journey across the desert in com- 
pany, hoping to be of mutual assistance in case of 
any accident to our cars. Mr. N. now proposed 
to take supper at Alpine Ranch and to travel by 
night in order to gain time. We warned him that 
he might get into trouble, but he assured us that 
he often traveled at night and enjoyed the stillness 
and the freedom to speed along. We found Mr. 
and Mrs. Dudley of the ranch hospitable and will- 
ing to give us bed and board. It is very pleasant 
for those who are willing to forego luxuries to stop 
at farm houses and ranch houses, to take the fare 
and sleep upon the beds given them, and to enjoy 
the talk of the people and the contact with real 
ranch life. 

We had a delightful evening with the Dudleys. 
We ate our supper at a long table filled with ranch- 



128 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

men, and took part in an animated conversation on 
the merits of the present Administration. We ate 
from a red tablecloth, but that did not trouble us. 
After supper, in the soft evening air, we had a talk 
with the family as to the advantages of the govern- 
ment ownership of railways. A woman from a 
nearby town took an earnest share in the conversa- 
tion and showed herself well acquainted with the 
arguments for and against such ownership. The 
master of the ranch told us something of his diffi- 
culty in keeping men steadily at work on the ranch. 
He said that they came and went constantly in 
spite of good pay, steady work, and kindly treat- 
ment. He said that it was very difficult to get a 
man to stay more than two years. He would bring 
his roll of bedding, as is Western custom, take his 
place in the bunk house and at the table and in the 
fields for a time, but he could not be persuaded to 
stay long. The wandering habit had too strong a 
grip upon him. 

We went out into the ample paddock to see the 
mules and horses roving comfortably about. Two 
of the wild horses of the plains had recently been 
captured and brought in. Both were going through 
a course of discipline which the ranchman assured 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 129 

us would have to be made more severe later on. One 
was a beautiful young mare with her colt following 
her closely. She had a heavy yoke bar hanging by 
a sort of collar from her neck, and so arranged as 
to clog and trip her if she attempted to run. She 
was peacefully wandering about, but snorted with 
fear as we came near her. Her master assured us 
that she could easily be tamed, and that she was not 
to be driven or saddled, but was to be used as a bell 
mare. That is, she was to be the leader of the herd 
let out on the plains. The ranchman explained 
that a company of horses will not leave a mare with 
a young colt, consequently she is used to keep them 
from straying away long distances. The other 
horse was a fine animal but much less docile of 
spirit. "I feel sorry for him," said his master; "he 
has got a lot to go through with, but he must learn; 
there is no other way for him." The animal had 
both his fore legs and hind legs "hand" cuffed, only 
a short chain being used on the shackles. He was 
in this way so hobbled that he had to move by little 
leaps forward, first his fore feet, then his hind feet. 
By this clumsy hopping he managed to get about. 
"He must first learn to accept this and then we will 
go on with his education," said his master. He 



130 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

looked very wild and untamed of spirit, poor fel- 
low, and made frantic efforts to rush away as we 
came near him. But he had already found out that 
his cruel chains were inexorable. 

We walked out into the lovely valley and toward 
the purple hills that rose above it. One can never 
tire of the evenings and the mornings of the great 
Western plains and table lands. Nowhere else have 
I seen such wonderful sunsets; glorious in crim- 
sons, purples, violets, rose lavenders, ashes of roses, 
and finally soft greys. Nowhere have I seen love- 
lier dawns, the air so crystal clear, the morning 
light so full of rose and lavender mysteries, the 
whole day so full of wide and happy promise. 

Mr. N. had insisted on going on after supper at 
the ranch. We had seen him disappear down the 
valley, his machine finally hidden in acres of grey- 
green sage brush. 

The next morning we drove on, passing at the end 
of the valley through a short but rough canyon, 
with rocky walls to the left and right. There we 
saw a board sign marking "Water 100 feet down." 
Doubtless this was a boon to travelers in the old 
days. Once through the canyon, we came out into 
another wide valley, lonely and spacious. As we 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 131 

drove along, we saw ahead of us what seemed to 
be a small motor car by the roadside. 

"I believe that's N's car!" said T. As we came up 
to it we saw that the two left wheels were hopelessly 
down in a deep rut. Mr. N. had stuck his card in 
the windshield of the car, and had written on it, 
"Gone for some boards; wait until I come back." 
Soon we saw him coming across the desert with 
some loose boards in his arms. We found that the 
poor fellow had been there from ten o'clock the 
night before until ten o'clock in the morning, the 
hour of our passing. He had been bowling along 
comfortably and somewhat sleepily the previous 
night, when suddenly his car bumped into a muddy 
rut from which he found it impossible to extricate 
the machine. He told us that he had worked fran- 
tically and futilely until about midnight. Then he 
put out his lights, wrapped himself up as best he 
could, and slept until seven. He said that utter 
stillness and darkness were about him. "Not even 
a jack rabbit passed." At seven he again began to 
struggle with his car. He had the sure hope that 
we would come along sooner or later. He had cal- 
culated that we would arrive about eleven. When 
we found him he had just gone to a deserted, fall- 



132 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

ing ranch house to find a few boards to be used as 
levers. He and T., taking our machine, now drove 
to the ranch house and brought back a goodly sup- 
ply of boards and some heavier pieces of timber 
which they had torn from the dropping fences. 
The boards they put in the rut in front of the wheels 
in order that they might get a grip when once they 
started. The heavier timbers they used as levers. 
And so by dint of hard work and by the help of two 
young men who passed in their motor half an hour 
after our arrival, the front wheel was pried out of 
the sticky mud, and the car was once more gotten 
on firm ground. It was past one o'clock when we 
climbed up the bare road to the high town of Austin 
and went to the International Hotel for our lunch- 
eon. What with lack of sleep and his long fast Mr. 
N. was quite worn out. A good luncheon prepared 
by a Japanese cook and served by a natty and 
very debonair Japanese waiter put us all in better 
trim. 

Two miles beyond Austin we were 9000 feet 
above sea level. As we reached this height we 
could, looking back, see Austin below us. We also 
had a fine view of the desert mountains. Here I 
began to understand the conformation of the Ne- 



BY THE LliVCOLlSr HIGHWAY 133 

vada country. We were passing from one great 
valley into another, hour after hour. When I 
looked on the map of Nevada, I found a series of 
short mountain ranges. I could see what we were 
doing in our travel. We were descending into a 
valley, crossing its immense width, coming up on 
to a more or less lofty pass, usually bare, and de- 
scending into another valley. It was very fasci- 
nating, this rising and falling with always the new 
vista of a new valley just opening before us. 

But now came tribulations. Mr. N. had evi- 
dently wrenched his machine in his struggle to free 
it the night before. He began to have trouble, and 
traveled more and more haltingly a little way be- 
hind us. T. felt a personal responsibility for him 
and we were continually stopping to wait for him. 
Finally we halted at the head of a pass before 
plunging down what turned out to be a long de- 
scent. We had just climbed up from a wide valley 
and could see nothing of our fellow traveler on the 
slope behind us. T. left the car and went back; 
and while I waited, looking off at the mountains, 
two women reached my hilltop, the older one driv- 
ing the Ford car in which they were traveling. 
They looked like women of the plains, perfectly 



184 ACROSS THE CONTINENT I 

able to take care of themselves and to meet emer- ! 
gencies. They had food supplies with them, and ■ 
two dogs as fellow passengers. The one, a fox , 
terrier, was tied in a box in the tonneau and looked I 
very unhappy. The other, a spaniel, was running j 
back and forth on the rear seat and whining with \ 
anxiety to get out. His mistress told me that he j 
was one of the greatest hunters in Nevada, and 
that he was anxious to go off in the sage brush on ; 
a grand chase. Just here the two men came up : 
the hill with Mr. N.'s Ford car, weary and exhausted ! 
from going over its machinery and struggling to i 
get it moving. The women warned us that in the ■ 
valley at the foot of the hill was a very bad mud hole i 
which we must inevitably negotiate. They said that \ 
a stream from the mountains had in a recent \ 
freshet overflowed the plain and reduced both j 
the road and the adjoining country to the state of : 
a swamp. They assured us that we simply must go 
through the mud hole and that we were bound to ; 
get stuck in it. They cheered us, however, by tell- 
ing us that a nearby settler had a sturdy draught 
horse and that he would in all probability pull us | 
out for the sum of $2.00 a motor car. We 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 135 

thanked them for their warning and drove down 
the long hill into the next valley. 

I had been interested while waiting for Mr. N.'s 
machine to come up, to see the beautiful cactus blos- 
soms growing close to the ground on both sides of 
the road. They were of a rich yellow and a rich 
magenta color, single petaled and really beautiful. 
I saw them growing all along through the desert. 
In some places they made broad patches of color. 
Coming on to another wide valley stretching away 
for eighty miles and more, we saw the mud hole 
before us and carefully examined the sides of the 
road to see if we could not make a detour. The 
spongy, muddy soil assured us that it was hopeless, 
and that what the women had told us was only too 
true. In the meantime the settler, working with 
his wife and baby near at hand in his newly cleared 
field, kept an eye on us. But he did not come to 
our rescue until we called him. The Ford, being 
the machine of lighter weight, started first through 
the mud hole. Its wheels sank immediately and no 
turning on of power could push it forward. We 
then shouted to the settler. He came across the 
field with his big horse, and as he drew near we 



136 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

saw that he was a tall, good looking man with an 
open and kindly face. I was secretly glad that the 
poor fellow who had so recently cast his lot in this 
lonely and immense valley had a chance to earn 
some ready money. After a little pleasant dicker- 
ing he agreed to pull the machines out for $1.00 
apiece. The splendid big horse was harnessed to 
the machine and at the word he threw his weight 
against his traces and philosophically pulled away, 
while Mr. N. at the same instant turned on his 
power. The machine easily came out of the mud 
and was soon on dry ground. T. drove our ma- 
chine forward, was instantly imbedded in the mud 
and was pulled out in the same way. It was inter- 
esting to see how the big horse threw his weight 
into the pulling at just the proper moment and re- 
laxed as he felt the machine settle on the firm 
ground. His master told us that the animal had 
come with their little caravan from Colorado, seven 
hundred and twenty miles, without turning a hair, 
while the other horse sickened and died. 

This man had only his few supplies and the little 
tent in which they were living, together with a bit 
of the rich land already cleared and planted to a 
crop. He said that he had never seen richer land 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 137 

than this from which the sage brush had been pulled 
up and burned off. A thin muddy stream trickled 
across the road from the hills and was used both 
for irrigation and for drinking purposes. "But 
when you come back next year, I shall have a well 
down," said the brave homesteader. "And, by 
George, if the County Commissioners won't put in 
a bridge across this mud hole, I'll put one across 
myself ! Just come back and see a year from now !" 
We waved him goodbye and went on our way across 
the lone valley and up another divide. The valley 
was Monitor Valley, he told us. I can see him 
standing there in the lovely light of the late after- 
noon sun, he and his wife and their baby boy waving 
us farewell. I should like to pass that way again 
and to see whether he has replaced his tent by a 
little house and whether his virgin fields are green 
with a crop. 

Some day, I suppose, those wide, far-stretching 
acres will be dotted with houses and barns and 
stacks of alfalfa. It is difficult to convey the im- 
pression that these vast valleys with the hills in the 
distance, and with the rich coloring of the sunrise 
and the sunset, make upon one. They are lonely 
and yet they are not lonely. They are full of life. 



138 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

We saw hundreds of prairie dogs. Day after day 
they scuttled across our pathway, often narrowly 
escaping. Sometimes they sat on their hind legs by 
their burrows, waiting as long as they dared until 
the noise of the machine frightened them into their 
holes. Sometimes a whole village of them would 
watch us until we drew near, and then frantically 
disappear. Sometimes we saw a coyote, usually in 
the early morning or the late afternoon. We once 
saw one whose curiosity was so great that he halted 
perhaps fifty yards away, and looked at us from 
this safe distance as we passed. Once we saw a 
rabbit breathing his last near the roadside, his soft 
eyes filled with a look of far away consciousness 
and pain. And once we saw a beautiful antelope 
leaping and bounding over the sage brush so lightly 
that he looked in the distance like a phantom ani- 
mal made of thistle down. 

I can completely understand how the desert casts 
its spell over cattlemen and sheepmen so that they 
love it and its freedom and are continually drawn 
back to it. The mystery and glory of the desert 
plains have their devotees just as really as the mys- 
tery and glory of the great city have their worship- 
pers who never wish to be far from its lights. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY, 139 

The many stops of the day had made us very late 
and it was in darkness that we came through the 
canyon which makes a long gateway to the town of 
Eureka. There was something fearsome about 
those dark rocks, whose mysteries we had never 
seen by daylight, rising on each side of us, and about 
the deep chasm that lay in shadow down at the left 
of the road. We were glad indeed when the lights 
of our lamps flashed on the stakes with their fa- 
miliar red, white, and blue markings, the friendly 
signs of our beloved Lincoln Highway. It was 
nearly nine o'clock when we came into Eureka, and 
drew up at the dim lights of Brown's Hotel. 
Brown's Hotel seemed to be mostly a bar room and 
lounging place; at least that was the impression 
made upon me by the glimpse I caught of the 
lighted room downstairs as I stood on the wooden 
porch. But we were shown upstairs to a very com- 
fortable, old fashioned, high ceilinged room with 
heavy walnut furniture of the style of forty years 
ago. An aged ingrain carpet was on the floor, and 
a wreath of wax flowers such as our grandmothers 
rejoiced in, hung, set in a deep frame, on the wall. 
I thought to myself that these were relics of de- 
parted glories and of a day when there was money 



140 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

to furnish the old hostel in the taste then in vogue. 
A dim oil lamp assisted our toilet and we went 
downstairs and out into the town to a restaurant 
kept by an Italian and his wife. It was the only- 
place where we could get food at that time of night. 
Eureka is a most forlorn little town, perched high 
and dry, just as if the waves of traffic and of com- 
mercial life had ebbed away and left it far up on 
the beach forever. They told us that it was once a 
big and prosperous town. But like Mariposa in 
California, the mining interests have been trans- 
ferred to other localities and the town is left lonely. 
As we walked along its silent and dimly lighted 
main street, we saw the quaint wooden porches in 
front of the shops and houses, some high, some low, 
making an uneven sidewalk. Practically all of the 
shops were closed, only the saloons being open. 

The Italian had named his restaurant The Ve- 
nezia in honor of his native city. It was a bright, 
comfortable little room, the kitchen at the back of 
it lightly screened from the dining room. It ad- 
joined his hotel, quite a large building, where he 
proudly told us he had twenty-two beds. His wife, 
a stout, bright-eyed woman, cheerfully took our or- 
der. "I am poor," she said smilingly, "so I cook 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 141 

when other people ask me. If I rich I cook when 
I feel like it." A savory smell arose from her fry- 
ing pan, and we were soon eating excellent and gen- 
erous slices of ham, drinking very respectable tea, 
and enjoying some good bread and butter. It was 
a most refreshing supper after a long and somewhat 
trying day. We expressed our appreciation to our 
Italian friends and paid the very modest reckoning. 



142 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 



CHAPTER VIII 

The next morning we had breakfast at Brown's 
Hotel. The landlord called my attention to a robin 
who was building her nest in a tree in front of the 
hotel ; the only tree that I recall seeing on the bare, 
bald, yellow village street. 

In our long ride of the day before, we had come 
through Edwards Creek Valley, the Smith Creek 
Valley, the Reese River Valley, the Antelope Val- 
ley, the Monitor Valley, and other great valleys of 
whose names I was not sure. We had seen the Clan 
Alpine Mountains from Alpine ranch, the Toyabee 
National Range, and other ranges whose names 
were too many and too local for me to be sure of 
them. And I had read of 275,000 acres that had 
been placed on the market in Elko County alone. 
I had read in the Elko paper that "For years, there 



BY THE LINCOLiSr HIGHWAY 143 

was a popular prejudice in the East that Nevada 
was one grand glorious desert, the land worthless, 
and that nothing could be grown out here. But in 
later years the public back East has been shown 
that such is not the case, but on the contrary, we 
have the richest land in Elko County to be found 
anywhere in the United States, and that the crops 
here are the best and ahnost anything can be grown 
in Elko County." 

Having seen the rich land of our brave home- 
steader in Monitor Valley, I was ready to believe 
this outburst of local pride. 

It was the 23rd of June when the landlord of 
Brown's Hotel waved his farewell to us and we 
drove on. All day we were among the hills, not 
seeing them on far distant horizons, but continually 
climbing and descending among them. Twenty- 
three miles from Eureka we saw a wooded moun- 
tain, quite different from the bald grey hills we 
had seen the day before. Short, scrubby green 
trees, somewhat like our New Jersey junipers, 
grew on the mountain sides and gave this appear- 
ance of foilage and greenness. We saw many of 
them in our day's ride. When we reached Six Mile 
House, having passed Fourteen IMile House, we 



144 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

asked the ranchman's wife to give us some lunch- 
eon. She said that she could not accommodate us, 
having but few supplies on hand. She advised us 
to go on to Hamilton and said that she would tele- 
phone to the Hamilton House that we were com- 
ing. In accordance with her directions we took a 
turn to the right shortly after leaving Six Mile 
House and climbed up through a narrow, rocky 
canyon road. Finally, within a mile or so of Ham- 
ilton, when we had one more hill to climb, we came 
upon a morass made by the bursting of a water 
pipe. We could not go around it and we dared not 
attempt to go through it, no friendly settler with a 
powerful horse being in sight. So we turned care- 
fully about, went down the rocky road to the fork 
where we had turned off, and took the other branch 
of the fork. Then we climbed up another moun- 
tain road until we reached the summit of the pass, 
8115 feet. From here we had a grand view of the 
mountains and we also met the high ridge road 
from Hamilton. We pressed on down the hill past 
a deserted ranch house to Moorman's Ranch, a hos- 
pitable looking house by the roadside. At Moor- 
man's Ranch we found an unforgettable hospital- 
ity. Our host and hostess were Missourians, and 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 145 

to our question as to whether they could give us 
any luncheon at 2 o'clock, they gave us a most sat- 
isfactory answer. Mrs. Moorman soon had a laden 
table ready for us, and we sat down to fried bacon 
and eggs, potatoes, lettuce, radishes, preserved cher- 
ries, stewed prunes, milk, tea, and pie. How re- 
freshing it all was ! And how pleasant was the soft 
Southern accent of our hostess which she had not 
lost in the years on the plains. 

Moorman's Ranch is a large ranch with grazing 
rights in the hills near by. The adjoining ranch 
with its recently deserted ranch house is now a part 
of Moorman's Ranch, and there is a large acreage 
for the cattle. We learned that the wretched coy- 
otes come down from the hills and steal the young 
calves at every opportunity. Only a few days be- 
fore, a cow had gone to drink leaving her new born 
calf for a few minutes. When she came back, the 
Httle animal had been struck down by a waiting 
coyote. We learned too that the mountain lions 
come down from the hills and sometimes attack 
the young colts and kill them. 

It was with sincere regret that we bade goodbye 
to Captain and Mrs. Moorman. May their ranch 
flourish from year to year! 



146 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

Shortly after leaving the ranch and in crossing 
another wide valley, we saw a herd of several hun- 
dred wild horses feeding on the great plain — a beau- 
tiful sight. They were grazing in a rich part of the 
plain where the grass looked thick and lush. 

I must own to having an impression that the 
trail across Nevada could be marked by whiskey 
bottles if by no other signs. All along our road 
across the great State we saw the bottles where they 
had been thrown in the sand and dust by passers-by. 

Many times I thought of the "Forty-niners/* as 
we saw the sign, "Overland Trail." In coming 
along the Lincoln Highway, we are simply travers- 
ing the old overland road along which the prairie 
schooners of the pioneers passed. How much heart- 
ache, heart-break, and hope deferred this old trail 
has seen! I think of it as we bowl along so com- 
fortably over the somewhat rough but yet very pass- 
able road. I can appreciate now the touching 
story in a San Francisco paper of an old lady who 
came to the rear platform of a fine overland train 
after passing a certain village station, and threw 
out some flowers upon the plain. Near here, she 
told her friends, her little baby had been buried in 
the desert forty years before, as she and her bus- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 147 

band toiled with their little caravan along the trail. 
The years had passed and they were prosperous and 
old in California. And now as she went East on 
the swift and beautiful train she threw out her 
tribute to the little grave somewhere in the great 
desert. 

As we drew near Ely, the famous copper city, we 
passed the huge mountain of earth which forms the 
wealth of the Ely mines. The Lincoln Highway 
signs take one to the right on a short detour in order 
that one may see this mountain of ore, which is be- 
ing cut away by immense steam shovels, tier above 
tier. Returning to the main road, we drove on 
through a canyon and so came into the bright little 
town of Ely which has many evidences of prosper- 
ity. We found the Northern Hotel, European in 
plan, most comfortable. Next door was an excel- 
lent cafe where we had a supper of which a New 
York restaurant need not have been ashamed. 
Leaving Ely on the morning of June 24th, we drove 
through Steptoe Valley for some forty miles. 
Where we turned off from the valley it still 
stretched on for another forty miles. It looked as 
if it might go on to the world's end. Just out of 
Ely we passed through McGill and visited the im- 



148 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

mense smelting works. There we saw the "concen- 
trators," interesting machines to shake down the 
heavy grains of copper from the hghter grains of 
sand and earth. These big, slanting boards keep 
up a continual shake, shake, shake while a thin 
stream of water pours over them. They are a little 
less slanting than the board of a woman's washtub 
would be, and yet they lie somewhat like a wash- 
board. The shaking of the board and the action 
of the water combine to roll down the heavy grains 
of copper. It seems a simple process, and yet the 
regulation of the board's motion and the angle 
of its slant are calculated to a nicety. There were 
hundreds of these "concentrators" at work sepa- 
rating the copper from its native earth. We saw 
also the great smelting furnaces and realized how 
it must have been possible for the men who pre- 
pared the furnace for the burning of Shadrach, Me- 
shach, and Abednego to be burned to death them- 
selves. What a fearful heat rolled out as one 
of the furnace doors was opened and a molten 
stream of white-hot slag was raked into the gutter 
below! And how the copper glowed as we saw it in 
its enormous melting caldron! For the first time 
I saw a traveling crane at work. A characteristic 



I 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 149 

sign was near it in both English and Greek. It 
read, "Keep away from crane. Keep clear and 
stand from under." 

As we left Steptoe Valley and came down a long 
slope into Spring Valley, we crossed Shellbourne 
Pass under the shadow of the Shellbourne range. 
We passed some young people from Detroit, the 
gentleman driving his car. We also passed some 
men with their laden burros taking supplies to the 
sheepmen in the mountain ranges. These sheepmen 
live their lives apart from the world for months at a 
time, seeing only the man who brings their supplies 
at intervals. 

We had luncheon at Anderson's ranch, where they 
treated us very hospitably. I judged that this was 
a Mormon's household, as Mormon marriage cer- 
tificates hung upon the w^all and as the Deseret 
Weekly was evidently its newspaper connection 
with the outside world. Here our friend Mr. N. 
took on board a young man from the ranch who 
Avished to get back to Salt Lake City. This young 
fellow was delighted to have such a ride and Mr. N. 
was glad to have a traveling companion. Later in 
the day we passed Tippett's ranch and learned that 
its owner travels thirty-six miles for his mail and 



150 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

supplies. Toward evening we crossed the Utah 
border and immediately came upon bad roads. We 
had a rough stretch until we reached our station for 
the night, Ibapah. Ibapah consists of a very 
pleasant ranch house and of a general supply gro- 
cery, both house and grocery owned by Mr. Sheri- 
dan. We had a comfortable night at the ranch 
house and purchased some beautiful baskets made 
by the Indians and brought by them to Mr. Sheri- 
dan for sale. The air was so fine and the evening 
so delightful that we reluctantly retired. Never 
can I forget the crystal silences of those still nights 
on the high plains of the West. The next day, June 
25th, we had a drive of one hundred and twenty 
miles across rough and lonely country. From Iba- 
pah we went on through the valley in which the 
ranch lay, coming to an extremely rough canyon 
road, practically nothing but the bed of a stream. 
Then came Kearney's Ranch, where they warned 
us of some mud holes in the road ahead. We drove 
around a rocky point, picking our way carefully, 
some hot springs and a sulphur lake smoking off in 
the distance on our left. The mountains rose to the 
right above our route, bare and bald. We came to 
Fish Springs Ranch in the midst of this lonely 




M 






THE ft !:',«/ VOKK i 
PUBLICLIBRARY 



ASTOR, LENOX 
TILDEN FOUNDATIOMQ 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 151 

country and stopped for luncheon. Our host was 
a tall and powerfully built elderly ranchman in a 
blue jumper. A younger man lived with him and 
the two did their cooking and eating in a little log 
and stone house, near the main ranch house. He 
explained to us that he kept the little house because 
it was once a station on the Wells Fargo stage 
route. "Horace Greeley ate at this table when he 
came on his historic Western trip, and so I keep 
the place standing," he said. His young helper 
cooked our meal in the back room and our host 
served it in the front one. We had fried eggs, po- 
tatoes, pickles, cheese, bread, butter, and tea, and an 
appetizing cup cake cut in square pieces. I no- 
ticed a White House Cook Book lying on a little 
table near by. Our host was very hospitable. 
"Have some of them sweet pickles, folks." "Do we 
raise cattle here ? You bet we do. I have had this 
ranch over thirty years." As we left him he warned 
us that we were now entering the "Great American 
Desert" and that we would have sixty miles of dry 
plain with very little undergrowth and with no wa- 
ter. He told us that if we got into trouble we 
should start a fire and "make a smoke." "I'll see 
you with my glasses" he said, "and drive to your 



152 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

rescue with gasoline and water." I had seen near 
the ranch house a clear, bubbhng spring which 
doubtless gave its name to the ranch. 

We assured him that we were well stocked with 
gasoline and that we had on our running board a 
standard oil can filled with water. Wlien we were 
twenty miles away I could still see the ranch house, 
a tiny speck upon the horizon. At last we came to 
a well by the roadside which was marked "County 
well." The road, though somewhat bumpy, was in 
many places smooth and excellent, a sort of clay 
highway. Midway across the desert we met another 
car and exchanged greetings. 

Late in the afternoon as we were climbing up a 
slight pass, a dust storm overtook us. The sky was 
overcast, the mountains and plain were blotted out, 
and we could only drive along slowly and endure 
the choking clouds of dust until the storm had swept 
by. It was blessed to come again into clear sun- 
shine and to see the outlines of the mountains ap- 
pearing once more. Once over the pass, we came 
into a great ranch valley and saw that we had left 
the bare plains behind us. We reached the Kanaka 
Ranch in time for supper and were assured that we 
could have lodging for the night. The Kanaka 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 153 

Ranch of eight thousand acres is the property of 
the Mormon church. It is under the charge of a 
young manager who looks after the Hawaiians 
(Kanaka meaning a South Sea Islander) who have 
been converted to the Mormon faith, and who have 
been brought to the ranch to work upon its acres 
and to make their homes there under the friendly 
shadow of the church's authority. The manager 
was a dignified young man with a pleasant wife and 
four dear little children. They gave us a most ap- 
petizing supper and breakfast. "The difference 
betv/een your belief and ours," said our host to T., 
"is that you believe in a completed revelation. We 
believe in a continuous revelation." 

I heard him talking very fluently in the Hawaiian 
tongue to some of his disciples who had come in for 
farm directions. 

The next morning was wonderfully fresh and 
clear, a rain having fallen during the night. We 
had just a taste of what a rainy trip would be 
across country, as we slipped about on the greasy 
mud of the highway. One reason why our long 
journey was so ideal was because of the dry season. 
Day after day we came on over perfectly dry 
roads and under perfectly clear skies. Another ad- 



154 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

vantage of our journey was that we were traveling 
East. Every afternoon the sun was behind us, to 
our great comfort; and the beautiful light fell on 
the plains and mountains ahead of us. No wonder 
that we loved to travel late in the afternoon and 
that we had to make a stern rule for ourselves to 
follow, to the effect that no matter how tempted 
we were, we would not travel after sunset. 

By dint of creeping slowly along we passed the 
slippery stretches of road and enjoyed the fine open 
country with the mountains to the right and the 
farms to the left. After passing Grantsville we 
came by some large concentrators and smelters 
in the shadow of the mountain. Turning left we 
came around the shoulder of the mountain, and 
there to our left was Great Salt Lake, sparkling and 
blue-green in the morning light, a mountainous isl- 
and in the middle of it. We could see the Casino at 
the end of the long pier at Saltair, a favorite resort 
for Salt Lake City people. We passed the miners' 
homes at Magna and Garfield, someone having 
written facetiously the sign "Mosquito Park" over 
the entrance to a swampy district with its little set- 
tlement of cottages. Now we came into a beautiful 
upland country with fine farms and every appear- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 155 

ance of prosperity. Cottonwoods and tall poplars 
were seen everywhere on the landscape. They are 
very characteristic of this part of the country. 
They grow rapidly and the cottonwood sends its 
roots long distances in search of water. As we ap- 
proached Salt Lake City, it appeared to us to be a 
green, wooded city extending down a long slope on 
the mountain side. The new State House towered 
high at the upper end of the slope against the back- 
ground of lofty mountains, still snowy, which guard 
the city. 

I was charmed with Salt Lake City. It has a 
beautiful situation, high and picturesque. Its 
streets are very wide and this gives a certain state- 
liness and air of hospitality^ to the town. It is laid 
out on a generous scale. Many of the residence 
streets have green stretches of flower-adorned park 
running through the center. The open lawns of 
the homelike homes, the broad streets, the resi- 
dences of stone and brick, the masses of pink 
rambler roses climbing over them, all make a charm- 
ing impression upon one. Then there are delight- 
ful excursions into the canyons of the great moun- 
tains near the city. We took such an excursion by 
electric car line, fourteen miles up into Immigra- 



T56 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

tion Canyon. This is the old trail along which the 
Mormons came in 1847. At the end of the line is a 
delightful hotel, the Pinecrest Inn. Had there 
been time we could have taken many more canyon 
trips. 

**The Utah" is a beautiful hotel with every mod- 
ern equipment. A great bee hive, the Mormon em- 
blem, glows with light at night on top of the build- 
ing. Of course we saw the Mormon tabernacle and 
walked about its splendid grounds. I was particu- 
larly interested in the "sea gull monument," de- 
signed by Brigham Young's grandson, and erected 
in memory of the sea gulls that saved the crops the 
jfirst year of Mormon settlement by coming in flocks 
and eating the locusts that threatened to destroy 
everything green. We enjoyed the fine view from 
the State University buildings on the "bench" high 
above the town. 

In Salt Lake City I purchased some "canyon 
shoes" of a famous manufacture, and later I found 
them admirable for heavy walking trips. 

We left Salt Lake City by driving through Par- 
ley's Canyon, a deep gash in the mountains parallel 
to Immigration Canyon. It is a favorite local 
drive to go out throue^h Parley's Canyon and re- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 157 

turn to Salt Lake City through Immigration Can- 
yon. The roadway is very narrow, as it shares the 
canyon floor with a raiboad track and with a rush- 
ing stream, so one must drive carefully and keep a 
sharp lookout for trains. We met an itinerant Bap- 
tist missionary driving in his big caravan wagon 
into the country for a preaching trip. After leav- 
ing Parley's Canyon we came into open rolling 
country, and passed the substantial stone buildings 
of Stevens Ranch and Kimball Banch. Then came 
Silver Creek Canyon, more open than Parley's 
Canyon and with a fair road. We had luncheon at 
the Coalville Hotel. I was attracted to the little 
town of Coalville because there were so many yards 
where old fashioned yellow rosebushes were laden 
with bloom. We drove on through Echo Canyon, 
whose red sandstone rocks, chiseled in many forms 
by wind and weather, have very fine coloring. 
At Castle Rock the whole formation is like that 
of a massive fortification. Six miles before we 
reached the town of Evanston, we crossed the State 
line and were in Wyoming. It is a pity that these 
State boundaries are indicated in many places by 
such shabby, indifferent wooden signs, looking as 
if they had been put up over night. Doubtless as 



158 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

the Lincoln Highway is improved there will be dig- 
nified boundary stones erected to mark the State 
lines. 

Evanston is a pleasant little town 6300 feet high. 
Near Evanston is the Chapman Ranch, where many 
thousands of sheep are handled. We stopped in 
Evanston only a few minutes and then drove on 
through delightful desert country, open and roll- 
ing, grey-green and blue in its coloring. The 
Wyoming desert has a sharper and more vivid 
coloring than that of Nevada. The tableland is 
more rolling and the mountains are farther away. 
It is a wonderful sheep country, but the flocks are 
at present in the mountain ranges. Later, as the 
autumn comes on and cold falls upon their moun- 
tain pastures, the herders will bring them dovm to 
these plains over which we are passing. 

Mr. Dudley of Alpine Ranch told us that should 
we visit the ranch in autumn we would find the 
whole valley covered with sheep. We heard much 
"sheep talk" in Nevada and Wyoming. We 
learned about the "shad scale" which the sheep eat, 
and about certain kinds of sage brush that are very 
nutritious. Mr. Dudley had pointed out to us a 
low-growing white plant, somewhat like the "dusty 



x.afte^.iaiihiifiMiiBfiiiiiff Bliiiiiiiir li iiM 



.aMcom, 




1. Prairie Schooners, Westward Bound. 2. Lincoln Highway Sign in 
the Desert. 3. Sheep in the Wyoming Desert. 



,^ THE NEW YORK . 
PPBLICLIBRARY 



ASTOf?, LENOX 
l!!£ii^POUN0Ar,ON8 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 159 

miller" of our childhood, that is extremely nutri- 
tious for cattle. 

Here and there on the desert we see fine bunches 
of beef cattle, feeding in little oases; green, damp 
stretches of country in the midst of an ocean of sage 
brush. 

Now and then we pass a cattleman or a sheep- 
man riding with that easy give of the body which 
is so graceful and so characteristic of Western 
horsemen. I know nothing like it, save the easy 
posture of those immortal youths who ride forever 
in the procession of the Elgin marbles in the Brit- 
ish Museum. They have the same graceful easing 
of the body to the motion of the horse, and give 
the same impression of the harmony of horse and 
rider. Often we pass white, closely plastered log 
houses, just such as we saw in Nevada. We 
see white canopied wagons in the barnyards of al- 
most every ranch house, just as in eastern Nevada. 
These people think nothing of traveling long dis- 
tances in their prairie schooners with their supplies 
for roadside camping at night. They travel in 
their wagons to pay visits, to transact business and 
to buy supplies, and make long journeys in the 
summer months. 



160 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

The smell of the sage brush, pungent and aro- i 
matic, is in my nostrils from day to day. I love it | 
in its cleanness and spiciness, and shall be sorry 
when we have left the desert behind us. We have 
to be watchful for chuck holes made by the inde- 
fatigable gophers or prairie dogs. They often bur- I 
row in the ruts of the road. Our local guide leaf- 
lets, furnished us by garages along the route, are 
full of warnings about "chucks." Once we come 
upon a badger, beautifully marked, who has thrown \ 
up a large mound of dirt in burrowing his tunnel 
just in the middle of the road. He sees us coming i 
and scuttles into his hole. We stop the car as we 
get near the hole and sit motionless. We wait pa- I 
tiently until finally his beautifully marked brown 
and white head is thrust cautiously out of his shel- 
ter. He is very curious to see what this huge black 
thing is, standing silent near his dwelling. Twice 
his head appears and his bright eyes peer out cu- i 
riously. Then the click of the camera frightens | 
him and he disappears to be seen no more. j 

Occasionally we pass motionless bodies of go- 
phers and rabbits that have been struck by the fly- 
ing wheel of some passing motor as they madly ] 
scrambled for safety. i 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 161 

Late in the day we passed Fort Bridger with its 
few old stone houses, probably barracks in the old 
days. Shortly before coming into Fort Bridger 
we came upon two draught horses feeding peace- 
fully by the roadside. As they saw us, they imme- 
diatelj^ came into the road and began to trot just 
ahead of our machine. First we drove gently, hop- 
ing that after their first fright they would turn 
aside into the great plain which stretched for miles, 
unbroken by fences, on each side of the road. But 
no, they trotted steadily on. Then we drove faster, 
hoping to wear them down and by the rush of our 
approach to force them off the road. Once they 
were at the side of the road we could quickly pass 
them and their fright would be over. To our dis- 
appointment they broke into a wild gallop and 
showed no sign of leaving the road. They were 
heavy horses, and we were sorry to have them thun- 
dering so distressfully ahead of us. Then we 
dropped into a slow walk and so did they. But as 
soon as we traveled faster, they broke into a gallop. 
For ten miles they kept this up. We were quite in 
despair of ever dropping them, when suddenly we 
came to a fork in the road. To our joy they ran 
along the left fork. Our route was along the right 



162 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

fork and we went on to Fort Bridger glad to be 
rid of the poor frightened beasts. 

A breeze sprang up toward sunset and we came 
in the twihght to the httle town of Lyman where 
the only hostel was The Marshal, half home and 
half hotel, kept by Mrs. Marshall. As we came 
into the town the high, snowy Wahsatch range was 
on our right. We had first seen its distant peaks 
about twenty-four miles out of Evanston. 

Mrs. Marshall gave us an abundant supper and 
we slept dreamlessly in a little upper room with one 
window. Upon what a glory of sunrise did that 
little upper window look out that morning of the 
first of July! The vast landscape was bathed in 
lavender light, the Wahsatch range and the moun- 
tains of our Eastern pathway catching the first 
glory of the coming sun, while the plains were in 
deeper lavender. 

The village street looked hke a pathway of lav- 
ender. The little wooden, painted houses, the barns, 
some red, some grey and unpainted, all glowed 
with transforming light and color. Robins and 
meadow larks were singing. Far, far to the north- 
east was a purple horizon line. The air was like 
wine. I stayed at the window until I was half 



NEW YORK J 
ICLIBRARVl 






BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 163 

frozen in the cool morning air, entranced by it all. 

It was at Lyman that we heard talk of the ever 
smouldering feud between cattlemen and sheep- 
men. Not far from Lyman is the "dead line" over 
which sheepmen are not allowed to take their sheep. 
On the other side of this stern boundary are the 
cattlemen, and they have issued a warning to the 
sheepmen which they have more than once carried 
out. A few years ago a sheepman either purposely 
or carelessly got over the dead line with his sheep. 
He was mysteriously shot and two hundred of his 
sheep were killed in one night. No one knows who 
the murderer was. Back in the shadows looms the 
threat of the cattlemen, grim and real. 

We had been told in Wyoming of the buying of a 
big ranch by adjacent ranch people in order that 
no sheepman might come in to share the water and 
the ranges with the cattleman. 

Cattle will not feed, they tell us, where sheep 
have fed, as the sheep tear up the earth and also 
graze very closely. It is impossible for sheep and 
cattle to graze comfortably on the same ranges. 

We left Lyman in high spirits after a good 
breakfast, driving along with the Wahsatch moun- 
tains on our right and with detached moimtains 



164 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

continually appearing on the horizon as we moved 
eastward. We were now in the region of what 
they call in the West "buttes," a "butte" being, so 
far as I know, a detached, isolated mass of moun- 
tain. The Wyoming buttes are wonderfully carved 
by wind and sand and weather and many of them 
present a mysterious and imposing appearance. 
Often they are table lands, rising square and mass- 
ive against the horizon like immense fortresses. On 
the way to Granger these massive table lands with 
their square outlines loom up against the grander 
background of the snowy Wahsatch range. 

The first thirty miles out of Evanston we had an 
excellent road. There was a charming desert flower 
growing in the dusty road and alongside, white and 
somewhat like a single petaled water-lily. Its buds 
were pink, and it sprang from a whorl of leaves 
like those of a dandelion. Its fragrance was most 
delicate. There was also the lovely blue larkspur, 
and there were clusters of a brick-red flower which 
grew rather tall. Then there were clumps of some- 
thing very like a dark scarlet clover. The fine 
mountain scenery, the fantastically carved buttes, 
sometimes like miniature canyons, the glorious air, 
all put us in delightful hmnour with ourselves and 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 165 

the world. At the Httle town of Granger on the 
railroad line we met two young pedestrians who 
were walking on a wager from Kearney, Nebraska, 
to Seattle. They were to have $500. apiece if they 
reached Seattle by the first of August. Their yel- 
loAV outing shirts bore the inscription, "Walking 
from Kearney, Nebraska, to Seattle." They told 
us they were able to make forty miles a day. When 
they reached Salt Lake City they were to have sub- 
stantial new walking boots from the merchants at 
Kearney, the bargain being that at that point they 
were to return their worn boots to be exhibited in 
the shop windows of Kearney. They had been 
halted at Granger because of lack of money, having 
miscalculated their needs. They had just had a 
telegram from home, sending them money and as- 
suring them of more help if they needed it. They 
looked strong and fit and were perfectly confident 
that they would win the wager. We also met two 
young motor-cychsts from Akron, Ohio, en route 
for the coast. 

There were several eating places at Granger, but 
it was too early for luncheon, so we pressed on to 
Green River, a Union Pacific Railway town. From 
Granger to Green River the road was poorer and 



166 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

more bumpy. Fine masses of rock and carved table- 
land rose on the horizon as we drove along. As 
we approached Green River a splendid red, yellow, 
and clay-colored mountain loomed on the horizon, 
which as we neared the town resolved itself into 
long lines of buttes back of the town. Teakettle 
Rock, an immense, isolated butte, rose to the left, 
and Castle Rock was just back of the town. The 
butte scenery both approaching and leaving Green 
River was very fine. The coloring was extremely 
rich; soft reds, yellows, browns, and clay colors. 
There were long lines of round buttresses and 
great concavities of rock, more like the famous 
Causses of southern France than anything I have 
ever seen. 

We had luncheon at Green River in the spacious 
dining room of the Union Pacific Station, and felt 
ourselves quite in touch with the East to be eating 
in the same dining room with passengers of the 
long overland train. 

Our drive from Green River to Rock Springs 
and from Rock Springs to Point of Rocks was 
through lonely, desert country. It was nearly six 
o'clock when we reached Point of Rocks, but the 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 167 

sun was still high. Point of Rocks is simply a wa- 
tering station for the trains and is marked only by 
a station house, a grocery, and a few little cottages. 
The young groceryman has fitted up the rooms 
over his grocery for passing travelers. We estab- 
hshed ourselves in the front one, lighted by one little 
window. It was very clean, though very simply 
furnished. The floor was bare and our furniture 
consisted of a bed, a chair without a back, a tin 
wash basin resting upon the chair, a lamp, a pail 
of fresh water with a dipper, and a pail for waste 
water. We had two fresh towels and felt ourselves 
rich in comfort. Next door to the grocery was a 
little cottage where a woman cooked for the few 
railway operatives and for travelers. Our bacon 
was somewhat salty and our coffee a little weak, 
but our supper and breakfast tasted good for we 
had the sauce of hunger. We met there a young 
railway operative who had come from the East to 
this high, dry situation for the climate. He told 
us that when he first came, the change to the still- 
ness and space of the plain from the busy city and 
from his life as a journalist was so great that he 
could not keep still. He said that he walked fifteen 



168 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

miles a day, driven by some inner restlessness; but 
that he gradually became used to the quiet and now 
he loved it. 

We had an evening talk in the grocery with a 
young commercial man, who said laughingly that 
these accommodations were somewhat different 
from the gorgeous Hotel St. Francis of San Fran- 
cisco. We assured him that we did not mind sim- 
plicity and were deeply interested in seeing our 
country under all sorts of conditions. He was 
spending some hours of his time before the solitary 
train came through in persuading the groceryman 
to commit himself for a large bill of goods. The 
commercial man said sadly that never before in his 
ten years of travel had he seen business so uncer- 
tain. 

The water at Point of Rocks comes from a thou- 
sand feet below the surface and has a slight sulphur 
taste. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 169 



CHAPTER IX 

We drove from Point of Rocks to Wamsutter, 
where we had luncheon. The road from Point of 
Rocks to Wamsutter is very rough and we were 
tormented by the plague of these roads of the 
plains; namely, gutters made across the roadway 
by running water in time of freshets. One has to 
be continually on guard for these runnels. Some- 
times they are very deep. They give the machine 
a frightful jar and if one comes upon them sud- 
denly they are likely to break an axle. One must 
possess one's self in patience and drive at a pace 
that will enable him to slow down quickly in com- 
ing on them. Chuck holes and these gutters across 
the road are the two chief difficulties of travel 
across the plains. However, many a backcountry 



170 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

road of the Eastern States is just as uncomfortable 
for motor travelers. 

On our way to Wamsutter we passed a fellow 
traveler, a gentleman from New York with his fam- 
ily. His son drove their car, a Pope Hartford, and 
they were seventeen days out from New York. 
They had ten days more in which to reach San 
Francisco if they were to help their friends win the 
wagers which had been made on the time of their 
trip across country. We assured them that they 
would be able to reach San Francisco in ten days, 
barring serious accidents, if only they would rise 
early and drive late, making ten hours a day. 

Just outside of Point of Rocks we had come 
upon another and a humbler caravan. A man and 
his wife were encamped in a canvas-covered moving- 
wagon by the roadside, having found a patch of 
grass that promised forage for the horses. We 
stopped to talk with them and learned that they 
lived near Pueblo, Colorado. Having planted their 
crop they had come away on a prospecting tour into 
northern Wyoming to look up better farming coun- 
try. They were now returning, traveling by day 
and camping by the roadside at night. They had 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 171 

had what is called mountain fever, due they thought 
to the bites of mosquitoes. 

They liked the Wyoming country they had seen, 
but deplored the heavy drinking. They told us of 
one man who had said that he did not mean to go 
into town on the Fourth of July. Everybody got 
drunk, said he, and he did not want to put himself 
in the way of temptation. They spoke of a lovely 
farming country in the midst of which was a little 
town where saloons were open all night and all day 
Sunda3^ They told us of one saloon keeper who 
had been hauling barrels of whiskey for days in 
preparation for his business of July 4th. He 
openly boasted that he meant to take in $3,000. on 
that day. 

As we drive along, we constantly see the remains 
of former camps by the roadside. Old tin teaket- 
tles, pieces of worn-out campstools, piles of tin cans ; 
these are mute and inglorious monuments to the 
bivouacs of other days. These immense Plateau 
States are very dependent upon canned foods, and 
all along tin cans mark the trail. We have many 
evidences, too, that we are in a sheep and cattle 
country. We pass the dried up carcasses of sheep 



172 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

and the bones of cattle and of horses as they lie 
upon the desert near the road. Often the fleece of 
the sheep, dried and shrunken by wind and weather, 
sticks to the bones of the animal. It lies where it 
fell, only one of a vast herd, sick and dying, per- 
haps freezing in a blizzard. We asked one coun- 
tryman what the sheep did in case of the fierce 
storms that sometimes sweep over the winter plains. 
"They just hump up and die," he replied. We saw 
many a shriveled carcass of some poor animal that 
had succumbed and fallen never to rise again. But 
so high are these plains and so dry is the atmos- 
phere, that nature quickly shrivels these carcasses 
and they are not offensive as they would be in damp 
climates. 

Out on the desert we waited for a long freight 
train to pass as it stood blocking the roadway. The 
train conductor came along and he and T. ex- 
changed greetings. "It's good to see you," said the 
conductor; "you motor people are about the only 
signs of life we fellows see out here on the desert." 

Coming into Wamsutter, and later coming to- 
ward Rawlins, we flushed numbers of grey-brown 
prairie chickens, almost as large as hens. They 
would fly up from the sage brush as the noise of our 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 173 

machine came near. There were some large flocks 
of young birds. Between Rawlins and Laramie we 
met late in the afternoon a large caravan of mov- 
ers. They looked foreign and were evidently in 
search of new farms and homes. They were drink- 
ing, and watering their tired horses at a small sta- 
tion on the railway. There were plenty of little 
children in the caravan. One woman dandled a tiny 
baby. A little farther on we came to a second and 
smaller camp. These people were traveling from 
Kansas to Washington. "There is good land there 
still that can be taken up by homesteaders, fine 
fruit lands," said they. One man had seen the land 
and was acting as guide for the others. Their wag- 
ons were drawn by horses and burros. The chil- 
dren were sweet, cheerful little people, but the 
whole party looked somewhat underfed. I would 
have liked to give them all the luxury of a hot bath 
in a big tub to be followed by a substantial supper. 
They had their water with them, having hauled it 
from the last point where water was to be had. 
They deplored the fact that they had camped be- 
fore knowing of the Union Pacific Station a little 
farther on. Water is a precious thing in the desert. 
We have passed two places where signs read that 



174 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

water could be had at the rate of five cents per 
beast and twenty-five cents a barrel. At the wa- 
tering stations on the Union Pacific Railroad, the 
wells are the property of the Road. Before we 
came into Medicine Bow, we passed through a little 
mining town, high and bare on the summit of a 
ridge. Just outside the town was a bare Httle cem- 
etery, the brown graves decorated with paper 
crosses and wreaths. An iron fence protected the 
cemetery, and outside its boundaries was an untidy 
litter of old wreaths and crosses which had been dis- 
carded and had been blown by the wind in tight 
heaps against the fence. 

Ten miles beyond Medicine Bow the character of 
the country suddenly changed. We came from the 
grey and brown desert into fine rolling uplands dot- 
ted with the new homes of homesteaders and green 
with the precious water of irrigation. This was a 
country newly settled and bearing every mark of 
prosperity. At one point on the road we had great 
difficulty in getting through. A careless settler had 
allowed the water of his irrigating ditch to run out 
upon the road. It was with the greatest difficulty 
that we succeeded in getting through the mud. 
Only the help of some fellow motorists from San 



THE NEW YORK 
IpUBLIC LIBRARY 



A8TOR. LENOX 
TILDFN FOUNDATIONS^ 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 175 

Francisco, who stopped to push the car while T. 
turned on its power, enabled us to get through. A 
few miles on we met the road commissioner who 
proudly called our attention to the work that was 
being done on the roads of his county. He told us 
that he was on his way to arrest and fine the care- 
less homesteader who had flooded the road. After 
this fine stretch of fertile country we plunged once 
more into a long stretch of desert. It was here 
that I saw and welcomed the beautiful yucca that 
I had seen growing in California. I saw too in 
Wyoming quantities of cactus blooming in broad 
patches of color, usually buff. 

All day we mounted one ridge after another, 
buttes to the left and to the right of us; driving 
through a vast country with practically no ranch 
houses and only isolated stations on the railroad for 
watering purposes. 

As we approached Wamsutter a wonderful great 
tableland lay to the right of us, very high and with 
an immense level top. It was like a fortress with 
its buttresses and ramparts carved by nature. To 
the left was a butte that was like a side view of the 
Sphinx, an immense pyramid rising beside it. As 
we came into Wamsutter, we drove along a ridge 



176 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

where the road had been laid to avoid a low marshy 
tract of land. 

Red Desert Station, just before reaching Wam- 
sutter, is well named, the buttes having wonderful 
color. 

The day was hot, and it was a rehef when the 
afternoon sun began to dechne. We felt that we 
were dropping with it. But we were dropping 
toward the East while it was falhng toward the 
West. In the afternoon, out on the great plain, 
we had crossed the Continental Divide. It had not 
been marked by any visible elevation of land above 
the surrounding country. All was open country, 
rolhng and vast, and yet we had ascended the West- 
ern slope and were now going down to the Missis- 
sippi Valley. 

We must soon begin to say farewell to the Pla- 
teau States. The long upward climb is practi- 
cally over. We look forward with the streams to 
the Atlantic, leaving behind the water courses to 
the Pacific. 

Shortly after crossing the Divide we came to a 
low head stone and a wooden cross at the left of 
the road, marking the grave of a man of thirty-five 
who died in 1900. It is a lone grave on this rolling 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 177 

ridge, yet it is destined to be passed by many trav- 
elers in future years. 

Some day the Divide will be marked upon the 
Lincoln Highway by a monument, and the trav- 
eler will have a satisfactory outward expression of 
the thoughts that fill his heart. 

Rawlins was our halting place for the night. It 
is a pleasant town with wide streets and plenty of 
sunshine. The post office is a beautiful little build- 
ing. We fraternized in Rawlins with fellow trav- 
elers, a lady and her son who were going on from 
Colorado Springs to Pasadena in a beautiful Stutz 
roadster. 

In Rawlins as in most Western towns, we stayed 
at a hotel managed on the European plan and ate 
our meals in a nearby restaurant. It is always a 
surprise to me to see the number of people in the 
restaurants and cafaterias of the West. Even in 
small towns these places are crowded. 

As we came into Rawlins we saw Elk Moun- 
tain rising nobly on the horizon beyond us. When 
we left Rawlins and traveled toward it, it grew 
more imposing. 

Instead of going on to Arlington, directly under 
the shadow of Elk Mountain, we elected to turn off 



178 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

to Medicine Bow, made famous by Owen Wister's 
book, "The Virginian." Elk Montain rises 12000 
feet, and Medicine Bow is 6500 feet, above sea level. 
It is only a railroad station, a tiny cluster of saloons, 
a still smaller cluster of shops, a big shearing shed, 
and a substantial stone hotel called The Virginian. 

The landlady of The Virginian told us that their 
hotel is always full of guests. 

It is a busy place. Here the woolmen come to 
trade and to export their wool, here the sheepmen 
bring their sheep for the annual shearing. Nearly 
sixty thousand sheep are shorn annually in the 
shearing shed, a few minutes' walk from the hotel. 
Here the plainsmen come from time to time to 
throw away in a few hours of drinking and gam- 
bling the money earned in months spent in the open. 

We had an excellent substantial lunch at the 
hotel and then went over to see the shearing. 
How hot and uncomfortable the poor sheep 
looked in the waiting pen, with their heavy fleeces 
weighing them down! They stood panting in the 
sun, their broad backs making a thick rug, so tightly 
were they wedged in together. And how half 
ashamed they looked when they came out from the 
shearing, thin and bare! 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 179 

In this establishment the shearing is all done by 
machinery. It takes a skillful man to run these 
rapidly clicking shears over the animal's body and 
make no serious wound. The overseer told us that 
in the case of an inexperienced man the sheep 
would "fight him all over the pen." The shearer 
reaches out his right hand and grasps one of the 
three or four sheep that have been pushed into a 
little compartment from the main pens. The beasts 
stand stupidly huddled together. The shearer 
takes one by its left hind leg, and by a skillful 
twist he throws it on its back and pulls it toward 
him. Then he yanks it into a sitting position with 
its back against his knees. Bending over it he takes 
off first the thick coat of wool on its under- 
body from throat to tail. It looks very easy, but 
only skill can guide the shears through that thick 
mass of wool, taking it off so cleanly and thor- 
oughly, and yet leaving the pink skin unbroken. 

Next come the fore legs, then the hind legs, then 
the wool is trimmed from around the eyes and from 
the top of the head. The workman moves very care- 
fully here. Then the sheep is righted and the wool 
is cut from its back and sides. It is interesting to 
see how quietly the animal submits to it all. 



180 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

Quickly it is all over and an attendant pushes the 
sheep through another aperture back into an outer 
pen. The men work very rapidly and a good 
shearer can easily handle one hundred sheep a day. 
Some expert shearers can handle nearly two hun- 
dred. These men are paid nine cents a head for 
their work. 

It was a picturesque sight in the long, airy shed. 
Six men were handling their sheep, the clicking 
shears moving rapidly over the big animals. A boy 
gathered up the wool as fast as it dropped from 
the sheep. Later it would be sorted into its dif- 
ferent grades. An important, happj^ sheep dog ran 
wildly about, eyes shining, tail wagging, his sharp 
nose lifted to his master's face. He seemed to be 
saying, "This is fine, master, but isn't there some- 
thing that I could do at this moment?" The over- 
seer stood at the end of the shed looking down the 
row of busy workers. 

From Medicine Bow we came to Laramie, reach- 
ing there on the eve of the Fourth of July. Lara- 
mie boasts a good hotel which was crowded with 
people. Ranchmen had brought their families for 
the festivities of the Fourth. Tall cowboys lounged 
about, wearing their most ornamental tall boots. 



THE NEW YORK 
IpUBLlCLIBRARI 



A8TOR. LENOX 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 181 

their best silk shirts, and brightest neckties. The 
streets in the evening were full of people, some on 
horseback, some walking. Confetti, those noise- 
makers known as "cluckers," and the miniature 
feather dusters called "ticklers," were all in evi- 
dence. Everybody was in good humour and in a 
mood of expectation. 

The morning of the Fourth we drove out to the 
edge of the town to see the State University, a mod- 
est cluster of good buildings. Then we drove about 
the town to see the cowboys on their handsome 
horses, and the young women who accompanied 
them, riding easily astride. There was to be a 
morning exhibition of lassoing, racing, and other 
feats of skill and strength. We met many people 
riding and driving into town, all in holiday dress. 
But we pressed on Eastward. 

We passed Red Buttes, having a grand view of 
the wonderfully colored Buttes off to the left. 
Masses of blue larkspur grew in the fields and 
alongside the Highway. We had left our beloved 
desert behind us and were in rolling grass and grain 
country. Near the Colorado line we turned toward 
the south to go to Denver, thereby missing the 
Ames Monument on the direct route to Cheyenne. 



182 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

The mountains of Colorado now rose in the near 
distance; rocky peaks, pine clad and snowy. At 
this point we met some parties of travelers ; a motor 
party from Lincoln, Nebraska, and another from 
Lexington, Kentucky. Both motor cars were go- 
ing into Laramie for the celebration of the Fourth. 
The gentleman from Lexington, who was driving 
his wife and himself, had a beautiful Locomobile 
roadster, newly purchased in Chicago. His car had 
every modern equipment and convenience, and he 
was mightily proud of it. We all halted to enjoy 
the grand view of the country toward which they 
were moving and which we were leaving behind us. 
Miles of rolling, grassy country, clean and wind- 
swept, lay to the west. It was an inspiring pros- 
pect, and filled us all with a sense of exaltation. 
Said the Kentucky lady to me, "I felt as if every- 
thing bad in me was swept clear out of me when I 
first looked at this wonderful view." A third 
party of travelers came along from Cheyenne as we 
stood gazing. They had a unique outfit, a prairie 
schooner drawn by four burros abreast. The father 
and mother, several children, and a friend lived 
cheerfully in this moving house, making, they told 
us, about fifteen miles a day. When they were 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 183 

short of funds, they encamped in some town and 
the men worked to replenish the treasury. They 
had their household food supplies neatly packed on 
shelves running along the sides of their canvas 
canopy. 

"This is our home," said the husband and father. 
The children were gentle little creatures, but looked 
thin and underfed. All were bound for some un- 
known haven on the Pacific coast or in the North- 
west. They felt sure that they would find rich 
farming country there still open to homesteaders. 

What a contrast between the elegant Locomobile 
car and the humble prairie wagon, drawn by four 
shaggy burros, chosen because they could endure 
hardships ! Our friends of the wagon allowed us to 
take their picture, and we parted with mutual good 
wishes. 

We passed the Colorado State boundary marked 
by a very simple board sign, and came into a new 
country of rocks and hills. We came through a 
canyon where we found some movers encamped in 
a pleasant hollow by a mountain stream. South- 
ward we moved, passing some fine rugged buttes 
to our left. We took luncheon at a pleasant farm 
house hotel, known as the Little Forks Hotel. Our 



184 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

farmer host and hostess were very agreeable and 
gave us a refreshing meal. We left them to drive 
on through Fort Collins, a very pleasant town in 
the midst of alfalfa fields. 

Just south of Fort Collins we turned to the right, 
drove across the plains and entered the mouth of 
the Big Thompson Canyon. We were en route for 
the famous tract of mountain meadow, of forest and 
canyon, known as Estes Park. 

A long procession of motor cars was entering the 
park and another line of cars kept passing us. 
Many people were driving up the Canyon and many 
were leaving after a day spent in picnicking. For 
the most part the Canyon road ran very low and 
close to the bed of the brawling river. It was a 
most lovely road, winding and picturesque. Finally 
we came to the end of the Canyon and entered the 
green meadows which are at the beginning of the 
Park itself. 

We were told that the hotels and camps were 
crowded, it being holiday time, and that we would 
do well to stop at the simple but comfortable ranch 
house located near by. We found ourselves com- 
fortable indeed and were content to make the ranch 
house a base for our driving expeditions. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 185 

We were on the beautiful Lord Dunraven Ranch, 
with its rich meadows admirably adapted for cattle 
grazing. Our host was the manager of the ranch, 
now largely owned by Mr. Stanley, the manufac- 
turer of the Stanley Steamer. Farther up the val- 
ley was the beautiful Stanley Hotel. 

I had thought that Estes Park was a smooth and 
shaven park region, not realzing that it was 
a vast mountain territory, with high mountain 
meadows overlooked by lofty peaks and diversified 
by tracts of mountain forest. There are scores of 
miles of driving and horseback riding in the Park, 
plenty of hotels and camps in wonderfully beautiful 
situations, and glorious fishing and mountain climb- 
ing. One may gaze at the mountains from great 
open meadows and camping sites from 8000 to 
9000 feet above sea level. We lamented the fact 
that we had only a day in which to see Estes Park. 
We could have spent a week there in driving and 
walking about. 

Colorado is rich in mountain scenery and in beau- 
tiful camping places for the lover of hills and 
streams, the pedestrian and the fisherman. 

We came down from the high plateau of the Park 
by the canyon of the Little Thompson; a still more 



186 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

precipitous road than that of the Big Thompson 
Canyon. Reaching Lyons, we turned toward 
Boulder, driving along with alfalfa meadows to the 
left and the foot hills of the Rockies to the right. 
Our undulating road was an excellent one. 

We enjoyed the wide sky, the rich grassy plains 
stretching away to our left, with ranch houses 
marked here and there by clumps of Cottonwood 
trees. We knew that this was irrigated country, 
reclaimed from what was once a wide desert. After 
a time we passed a wagon, canvas covered, drawn 
by two plodding horses. I thought the driver must 
be foreign, as he turned out to the left when we 
came up behind him, but he quickly recovered him- 
self and turned right. We soon left him far be- 
hind us. 

But suddenly there was a grinding sound. The 
machine halted and refused to move. We were 
stalled on the road and no amount of effort availed 
to move us. Something had gone seriously wrong. 
There was nothing for it but to push the machine to 
the side of the road, and wait patiently for the trav- 
elers in the covered wagon. We were six miles from 
Boulder, and evidently had a serious break in 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 187 

the machine. Later it transpired that our gears 
were broken. 

After a time the wagon came toihng along and its 
occupants most hospitably invited me to drive into 
Boulder with them. Two men, one elderly, the 
other young, were on the driver's seat. In the 
wagon were their two wives and a troop of little 
children, the family of the younger pair, and the 
grandchildren of the older pair. A happy collie 
dog climbed wildly about over the children. "He's 
the biggest kid in the wagon," said his master. 

The party had been camping in a mountain can- 
yon for their holiday and were now on their way 
home. The men and women were English, the older 
couple having been thirty-three years in this coun- 
try. "I've dug coal for forty-five years," said the 
older man. 

"Tell them you rode with one of the striking min- 
ers, one of the sixteen who was put in jail. Put 
that in your book," he said with a grim twinkle. 
(How did he know I was writing a book?) 

"We're poor but we're gentlemen still. We 
wouldn't be slaves to Rocky feller," said the younger 
man. 



188 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

A little later he asked for the jug of spring wa- 
ter, and for "the bottle." The women looked at me 
dubiously, and tried to quiet him. "Come now," he 
said laughing, "there's no use delay in' matters. 
Where's the bottle?" So with some embarrassment 
on the part of the women and much laughing on 
the part of the men a full whiskey bottle was pro- 
duced. Each man had a nip of whiskey and a nip 
of cold water. 

The children were merry little creatures, climb- 
ing over one another and playing with the dog. 
The youngest little girl slept peacefully, being ten- 
derly watched by her mother and grandmother. 

When we came into the wide streets of the uni- 
versity town of Boulder, I offered as delicately as 
possible to pay for my six mile lift. But they would 
have none of it. "No, no," said the younger man 
cordially, "we're glad to help anybody in trouble." 
So I hastened over to the candy shop and bought a 
box of the best chocolate candy for the children. 
My last sight of them as they drove out of town was 
of the little faces crowding happily around the box. 

In Boulder we found The Boulderado a delight- 
ful place in which to lodge, and the Quality Cafe- 
teria a place for admirably cooked food. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 189 

We had several days to wait for our machine to 
be repaired, so we were free to enjoy Boulder and 
to take the interurban electric car for Denver. 
Boulder has a most picturesque situation, and is a 
town of delightful homes and of fine State Univer- 
sity buildings. I saw at Boulder the same soft sun- 
set colors, the same delicate blues, pinks, and greys 
that one sees in an Australian sunset. 

Later we drove to Denver in our own car and 
were free to enjoy the drives about the city. "The 
Shirley" is a very well kept European hotel, and 
if one wishes to take one's food elsewhere there is 
"Sell's" with its delicious rolls and excellent coffee, 
tea, and chocolate; and there is the Hoff-Stauffer 
Cafeteria, presided over by a woman and offering 
excellently cooked food to hosts of people. 

Every traveler should view the sunset from 
Cheesman Park in Denver. One can drive there 
easily over the fine streets of the city. Beside the 
pavilion, modeled on classic lines, one may sit in 
one's car and look off at one hundred and fifty 
miles of mountains, stretching from Pike's Peak on 
the south to Long's Peak on the north. It is a 
grand view and should be seen more than once 
to be fully appreciated. One may sit on the steps 



190 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

of the fine Capitol building just a mile above sea 
level, and enjoy the same view. 

Or one may take a famous mountain drive, 
winding up and up a stiff mountain road until one 
has reached the summit and can look down on miles 
of plains and on the city of Denver in the distance. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 191 



CHAPTER X 

Leaving Denver in the afternoon, we drove to 
Boulder ; from Boulder to Piatt ville and from Platt- 
ville due north to Greeley. All along to the left, 
between Plattville and Greeley, we had fine views 
of the whole line of mountains, and particularly of 
Long's Peak. Again we were impressed by the 
fertility of the Colorado alfalfa fields and by the 
rich green of its meadows. Greeley is a very attrac- 
tive town with wide streets and with pretty homes 
set in green lawns. It is well shaded, stands high, 
and looks off to the noble line of mountains to the 
south. Early on July 15th we left Greeley, taking 
a last look at the glorious mountains to the south. 
We passed through fields upon fields of alfalfa and 
of grain. Great stacks of alfalfa everywhere dot- 
ted the country. The greenness of the land was 



192 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

refreshing. Then we came into more rolling coun- 
try, less cultivated. We were plainly in a new 
part of the country, in this northwest corner of the 
State. The houses were new, and often small. In 
some places new houses stood alongside the old 
ones, the earlier ones being made of tar paper and 
looking like little cigar boxes. Some houses had 
tents erected near them for use as barns. Some 
houses were made of sod. There were very few 
trees, most ranch houses looking bare and bald. We 
passed quantities of a beautiful blue flower, grow- 
ing sometimes in great patches. Its bell-shaped 
flowers, sometimes rose, sometimes lavender, grew 
on tall green stalks. We also saw a beautiful 
starry white flower growing along the roadside. At 
Sterling we had a particularly good luncheon at 
the Southern Hotel on the main street. We ex- 
horted our host and hostess to put out a Lincoln 
Highway sign, so that none should miss their ex- 
cellent table. 

We saw our old friends, the Matilija poppies, 
growling along the roadside as we went along in the 
hot afternoon. This was one of the hottest days of 
driving that we had in all our tour, and in it we 
made our longest run, two hundred and eight miles. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 193 

We took early supper at the Commercial Hotel at 
Julesburg. Not long after leaving Julesburg we 
came upon a flamboyant sign which announced that 
we were nineteen miles from Ogallala, Nebraska. 
The sign also informed us with particular emphasis 
that Ogallala was "a wet town." We had crossed 
the State line and had left behind us Colorado with 
its mountains, its green meadows, its wild yuccas, 
its Matilija poppies, and its dark masses of pine 
trees. 

As we drove along in the dusky twilight, little 
owls kept flying low in front of our car, attracted 
by its lights. Sometimes a rabbit sat in the middle 
of the road, blinking and bewildered. We always 
gave him time to recover himself and leap into the 
shadows of the roadside. We had had another ex- 
quisite sunset with the same soft pastel shades that 
I had seen at Boulder. During the day we had 
seen many meadow larks, red- winged black birds, 
and doves. We had seen, too, man}^ sparrow hawks, 
sitting silent on the fence posts, waiting for the ap- 
proach of evening. In one place we saw a poor 
young meadow lark, hanging dead from a barbed 
wire fence. He had evidently in flying struck his 
throat full against one of the barbs and had hung 



194 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

there, impaled to death. At Ogallala we found a 
very comfortable lodging house, The Hollings- 
worth, built over a garage. We had a good room 
there, although it was impossible to find a cool spot 
on that broiling night. 

The next morning, as we took breakfast at a 
nearby restaurant, we learned that Ogallala had 
had a grand contest and had "gone dry" two weeks 
before. An enthusiastic gentleman who had taken 
part in the conflict told us that already the town 
was wonderfully changed. We congratulated him 
and urged him to see to it that the sign nineteen 
miles to the west heralded Ogallala as a dry town 
rather than a wet one. 

The next day was cooler. The mountains had 
disappeared, and only wide rolling fields, sometimes 
as level as a floor, lay before us. We were crossing 
Nebraska. We came by a rather poor road, really 
a grassy trail, to North Platte, where we had lunch- 
eon at the Vienna Cafe. As we were driving along 
between Ogallala and North Platte, the grass grow- 
ing high in the road tracks, we came suddenly upon 
a bevy of fat quail walking in the road. As they 
flew somewhat heavily, I felt sure that our wheel 
had struck some of them. So I went back to see. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 195 

Three of them lay dead in the road, having been 
unable to fly in time to avoid the wheels. The noise 
of our machine had been muffled by the fact that 
that we were driving over a grassy road and they 
had not heard us until we were on them. We were 
sorry indeed to have killed the beautiful little brown 
creatures. All through California and Colorado 
we had seen them, as they were constantly flying 
up in front of the machine and running off to cover. 
All along, the killdeer were darting about, calling 
loudly and piercingly. 

Beyond North Platte we came upon a country 
house which had been pre-empted by a jolly house 
party of girls from town. They had put out some 
facetious signs: "Fried Chicken Wanted" and 
"Votes for Women." We stopped to call upon 
them and told them of our trip across the country, 
while they insisted upon serving us with cake and 
lemonade. 

Late in the day we passed some groups of mov- 
ers, their horses and cattle with them. We saw 
glorious fields of corn and of alfalfa, and we 
saw fields dotted with little mounds or cocks of 
wheat and of millet. Four miles before coming 
into Kearney, we passed the famous sign which 



196 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

marks the distance halfway between San Francisco 
and Boston. We had seen a print of this sign, 
pointing 1,733 miles West to Frisco and East 
1,733 miles to Boston, on the cover of our Lin- 
coln Highway guide, issued by the Packard 
Motor Car Company. We stopped now to take a 
photograph of it. A woman living in a farmhouse 
across the road was much interested in our halt. 
She said that almost every motor party passing 
stopped to photograph the sign. 

We heard from her of two young women who 
were walking from coast to coast, enjoying the 
country and its adventures. Somehow we missed 
them in making the detour from Laramie to Den- 
ver. We had seen their photographs on postcards 
which they were selling to help meet their expenses. 
They were sisters, and looked very striking and 
romantic in their walking dress. They wore broad- 
brimmed hats, loose blouses with rolling collars, and 
wide trousers, tucked into high laced boots such as 
engineers wear. Each carried a small revolver at 
her belt. We were sorry to have missed seeing 
them against the picturesque background of the 
Wyoming plains. 

At Kearney we had supper at "Jack's Place," 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 197 

and went on in the twilight to Minden, where we 
proposed stopping at "The Humplirey." We passed 
through long fields of corn and over lonely rolling 
prairies. The cornfields with their rows of tasseled 
stalks were like the dark, silent ranks of a waiting 
army, caped and hooded, standing motionless until 
marching orders came. The air was clear and fine, 
and the electric lights of Minden shone from afar 
with the brilliance of stars. 

From Minden, we came by way of Campbell to 
Red Cloud, where we had luncheon at the Royal 
Hotel. 

We had made this detour to Minden and Red 
Cloud in order to call upon a friend who is enthu- 
siastic over his fine ranch near Red Cloud. Gal- 
loway cattle are his specialty, and he finds the roll- 
ing plains of southern Nebraska a fine place to 
breed them. From Red Cloud we came on in the 
afternoon through Blue Hill to Hastings, and 
through Hastings to Fremont. We were en route 
for Lincoln, where we hoped to spend the night. 
Between Minden and Red Cloud the country is 
very rolling, and sweeps away from the eye in great 
undulations. High on some of these ridges were 
fine silhouettes outlined against the sky: loaded 



198 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

wagons bringing in the sheaves of grain ; men stand- 
ing high, feeding these sheaves to the insatiable 
maw of the threshing machine; a boy standing in 
the grain wagon as the thick yellow stream poured 
into it, leveling the grain with a spade; all these 
and many other pictures of the Idyl of Harvest. 
For two hundred miles of our run the smoke of 
the threshing machines rose in the clear sky. 

Sometimes the fields were covered with stacks 
of wheat looking like great yellow bee-hives. Some- 
times the wheat was in rounded mounds or cocks. 
Surely we were seeing the bread of a nation on 
these vast Nebraska plains. 

Along the roadsides were quantities of "snow on 
the mountain," its delicate grey-green leaves edged 
with a pure white border. Across the fields the 
killdeer were flying, and calling in their shrill, clear 
notes, which always seem to breathe of the sea. 
They were not out of place, flying above these long 
billows of brown earth. The farmhouses were 
marked by clumps of cottonwood trees, and as we 
moved Eastward a few low evergreens began to 
appear. 

Around Blue Hill the country is very fine, being 
a great plateau stretching off into illimitable dis- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 199 

tances. As we climbed the hill to the little town 
we met a farmer in his wagon who had just des- 
patched a bull snake, a thick, ugly-looking crea- 
ture. We stopped to pass the time of day, and he 
told us that he came to Nebraska from Illinois in 
'79 in a covered wagon. He was enthusiastic over 
Nebraska. 

We made another stop to watch at close range 
the operations of a threshing machine. It was a fine 
sight. Two yellow streams came from the spouts 
of the machine ; a great stream of chaff which rap- 
idly piled up in a yellow mountain, and another 
stream of the heavy grain, pouring thick and fast 
into a wagon. One of the men told us that they 
had threshed fourteen hundred bushels the day be- 
fore, working fourteen hours in fine, clear weather. 

Everywhere the lovely grey doves were flying. 
There were hundreds of young meadow larks, too, 
and great numbers of red-winged blackbirds. It 
was on the 17th of July that I saw brown thrushes 
for the first time. It is interesting to watch the 
movements of the birds as the machine approaches. 
The doves in the road fly promptly. They do not 
take chances on being struck by the car. The 
sparrows wait until the last moment and then 



200 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

neatly save themselves. I often wondered how they 
could escape with so narrow a margin. We 
thought that the red-headed woodpeckers must be 
rather clumsy, as we saw a number of them that 
had been struck by other cars, and thrown just off 
the road. 

It was impossible to reach Lincoln that night, so 
we stopped at a country inn some miles away. Ris- 
ing early, we drove into Lincoln for breakfast. 
After a run about the city and a look at the build- 
ings of the State University, we drove on toward 
Omaha. Unfortunately we attempted to take a 
cross-cut and found ourselves in an odd situation. 
We were driving down an unfrequented hill road, 
in an attempt to cut across to the main road, marked 
by white bands on the telephone poles. We sud- 
denly found ourselves hanging high and dry above 
the ruts of the road. The rain had worn them so 
deep and the middle of the road had remained so 
hard and dry, that on the hillside we were literally 
astride the ridge in the middle of the road. This 
meant a long journey on foot to a farmhouse to 
borrow a spade and a pick. It also meant much 
hacking and digging away at the hard earth under 
the body of the machine to release the axles and 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 201 

drop the wheels to the road. Finally it was ac- 
complished. We picked up the farmer's children 
who had come out to see the rescue and drove down 
the long hill to the farmhouse. There we left our 
implements and our hearty thanks. How hopeless 
it seems when one is hung up on the road! And 
how blissful it is to bowl along freely once more! 
Still the doves flew about us by the hundred and 
the brown thrushes increased in number. We had 
more level country now, and it was only as we ap- 
proached Omaha that it became hilly. 

We left Omaha, after looking about the city, late 
in the afternoon and drove one hundred and eight 
miles to Carroll in Iowa. The first twenty miles 
out of Omaha the road was extremely poor and very 
dusty. The trees were much more numerous, black 
walnut, maple, ash, and catalpa being among them. 

Just as we felt that one could find his way across 
Nevada by a trail of whiskey bottles so we began 
to feel that one could cross Iowa on a trail marked 
by dead fowls. I had never before seen so many 
chickens killed by motor cars. Perhaps the expla- 
nation lay in the fact that all along our one hun- 
dred and eight miles from Omaha to Carroll we 
passed numbers of farmers driving Ford cars. As 



202 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

we approached Carroll, we came to a hill top from 
which we looked down on a valley of tasseled corn 
fields. It was exactly like looking down on an 
immense, shining green rug, with yellow tufts 
thrown up over its green surface. We saw but few 
orchards. This was a corn country. 

Carroll is a pleasant little town, with fine street 
lamps, and with a green park around its Court- 
house. We were surprised to find so good a hotel 
as Burke's Hotel in a small town. Its landlady 
and proprietor has recently made extensive im- 
provements in it, and it is a place of vantage on the 
Highway. The country around Carroll is very fine, 
being rolling and beautifully cultivated. 

We reached Carroll very late in the day and were 
obliged to take our supper at a restaurant near the 
hotel. We were interested in a party of four young 
people who were evidently out for a good time. 
The two young gentlemen, by a liberal use of twen- 
ty-five cent pieces, kept the mechanical piano 
pounding out music all through their meal. They 
were both guiltless of coats and waist-coats. We 
had seen all through the West men in all sorts of 
public assemblies, more or less formal, wearing only 
their shirts and trousers. So we had become some- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 203 

what accustomed to what we called the shirt-waist 
habit. 

Many customs of the West strike the eye of the 
Easterner with astonishment. This custom which 
permits men to be at ease in public places and in 
the presence of ladies without coat or waist-coat in 
hot weather ; the custom which permits ladies to sit 
in church without their hats ; these and others which 
belong to the free West, the Easterner has to be- 
come accustomed to and to take kindly. Several 
times in California, and in Nevada, when we asked 
a question we received the cheerful, if unconven- 
tional response, "You bet !" "Will you please bring 
me a glass of water ?" "You bet!" "We're on the 
Lincoln Highway, are we not?" "You bet!" 
These somewhat startling responses simply indi- 
cated a most cheerful spirit and a hearty readiness 
to do you any favor possible. 

Leaving Carroll, we come on through Ames, 
Jefferson, Marshalltown, and Belle Plain, into 
Cedar Rapids. Out from Carroll we have rather 
bumpy roads for some time. Then the road im- 
proves and is excellent from Ames on until we near 
Cedar Bapids. But all along work is being done 
on the roads and their improvement is a matter of 



204 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

I 
great local interest. We pass a point in Marshall ' 

County where they are working with a new machine 

for cutting down the road. I call it a dirt-eating 

machine. The commissioner is extremely proud of 

it, and calls our attention to the immense amount of 

work it can do, and to the huge mouthfuls of earth 

which it bites out from the bank, through which the ! 

wider road is to run. We are charmed with the : 

lovely country around Marshalltown, and with the 

very beautiful country between Belle Plain and 

Cedar Rapids. We drive through the campus and 

past the buildings of the State Agi'icultural Col- ' 

lege at Ames as we come into the town. 

We are passing beautiful farms. Here we see a ; 

group of splendid dappled grey Percheron draught I 

horses, the pride of a stock-farm. There we pass | 

reddish-yellow shocks of oats. The country is more I 

wooded now. We see maples, oaks, ash, willows, ' 

and black walnuts. Here and there are yellow ^ 

wild flov/ers, somewhat like black-eyed Susans. 

One thing we remark in all these Middle Western 

farms. There seem to be almost no flowers around 

j 

the farm houses. An Enghsh farmhouse or a I 
French farmhouse would have a riot of flowers ] 
growing all about and making a mass of color. We i 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 205 

miss this in our Western farms and wonder why it 
is that we see so little color. We see practically no 
orchards, and very few grape-vines. This is the 
country of wheat and oats. We have left the or- 
chards and the vineyards far behind us in lovely 
California. 

Cedar Rapids is a busy city with several hotels. 
Leaving the city on the morning of July 21st, we 
drive first through quite heavily wooded country. 
Then the view opens out and we are once more driv- 
ing over beautiful, undulating country with rich 
crops of oats and corn. The perfume of the corn, 
standing tall and green, is delicious. When we pass 
through Mt. Vernon, we take a look at the build- 
ings of Wesleyan College, which stands on a high 
ridge commanding a fine view. All the way to 
Clinton the country is attractive. After luncheon 
at the pleasant town of Clinton, we cross the broad 
Mississippi, looking up and down its green shores 
with delight. We are in Illinois now, and find Ster- 
ling and Dixon attractive towns on the Rock 
River, a stream dotted with green islands. The 
country is very open, with long stretches of prairie, 
green with standing corn or red-yellow with shocks 
of oats. We spend the night in De Kalb at a funny 



206 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

old hotel, built, they tell us, by Mr. Glidden, the 
"barbed-wire king." The hotel is called "The 
Glidden." Its ceilings are twenty feet high and we 
feel ourselves to be in "a banquet hall deserted." 
From De Kalb we make a short detour into Chi- 
cago, returning to the Highway at Joliet. 

Joliet is a smoky city, full of factories and 
busy with the world's work. It is late afternoon 
when we reach Joliet, and we drive on to Elkhart, 
where we put up at a beautiful hotel with every 
modern convenience. The Indiana roads are in ex- 
cellent condition and take us through a lovely roll- 
ing country of oaks and beech forests, and of fields 
of grain breathing pastoral peace and prosperity. 

All along through the Middle West we have been 
pleased to see the immense interest taken in the Lin- 
coln Highway. Everywhere one sees the Lincoln 
Highway signs used in abundance on the streets 
through which the Highway passes. The telephone 
poles, the garages, and sometimes the shops, all are 
marked with the familiar red, white, and blue. 
They tell us of a Western town whose citizens 
were so anxious to have their town on the Highway 
that they of their own responsibility painted red, 
white, and blue signs on the telephone poles lead- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 207 

ing into and through the town. Later they were 
reluctantly obliged to paint out these signs, as the 
Highway was not taken through their town. 

The names of the farms in the Middle West are 
many of them very interesting; as "Rolling Prairie 
Farm," "Round Prairie Farm," "Burr Oak Valley 
Farm," "Hickory Grove Farm," and "Hill Brook 
Farm." 

At the entrance to a farm in Illinois a farmer 
has nailed a shelf to a telephone pole near his gate, 
and on this shelf he has placed a small bust of Lin- 
coln. I fancy this is a prophecy of many monu- 
ments that we shall see along the Lincoln High- 
way in days to come. 

We come into Ohio through the pleasant town 
of Van Wert, and drive on through fields of corn 
and wheat to Lima ; and here we leave the Lincoln 
Highway for the present. We are to make a de- 
tour into Logan County, and from there we plan 
to travel southeast into the Old Dominion. 

We spend a number of days in Logan County, 
driving about over the hills and through the val- 
leys. This, too, is rolling country. I know it well, 
for here I spent my childhood. I know these for- 
ests of oak and hickory, and these rich fields of corn 



208 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

and wheat. I know the dehcious scent of clover 
fields in the warm suninier twilights. I recall the 
names that my girlhood friend and I used to give 
to the farmliouses as we drove about; "The Potato 
House," "The Dinner Bell House," "The Little 
Red House," and others. They are all there, and 
but little changed, although the people who live in 
them have probably changed. 

We are told by a friend, who is a motor enthu- 
siast, that she recently killed a turkey on the road. 
In all my motoring experience I have never seen a 
turkey, a guinea fowl or a duck, killed by a motor. 
But my friend tells me that they found it impossi- 
ble to escape this particular turkey, as he refused 
to get out of the way. 

We passed three little girls one day, all astride 
the same horse, driving the cows home from pas- 
ture. We asked them to stand while we took their 
picture. They were greatly distressed. "We have 
on our dirty clothes," said they. "Never mind," 
we said. "But our hair isn't combed!" they ex- 
claimed. "Never mind," we said again. "You will 
look all right in the picture." And so they do. 

The devices and pennants with which motorists 
advertise themselves and express their enjoyment 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 209 ; 

are very interesting. Some carry pennants with I 
the names of the towns or the States from which I 
they come. Others carry pennants with the names I 
of all the principal towns which they have visited. 
Whole clusters of pennants are fastened about the ! 
car, and float gaily in the wind. Some carry a pen- 
nant across the rear of the tonneau, which reads, j 
"Excuse my dust." Others carry a pennant in | 
the same place which reads, "Thank you." j 
We infer that this must be by way of courtesy j 
to those cars which turn out for them to pass and fly ] 
on ahead. We meet many tourists in the Middle 
West who have been for more or less extended tours 
in the States near their own. I 



210 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 



CHAPTER XI 

We were sorry to leave the wooded hills and the 
green valleys of Logan County and press on to the 
southeast. Driving through Delaware, Ohio, we 
stopped to see the campus and fine buildings of 
Ohio Wesleyan University, and then came on by 
way of Columbus to Granville. Leaving Colum- 
bus we found the road very wet and heavy from the 
recent rains, which had fallen after a drought of 
many weeks. We lost our way in coming into 
Granville, and had to inquire directions at the house 
of a farmer. He was so kindly that we were moved 
to express to him a hope that he might some day 
have a motor. "Well, I don't begrudge 'em to no- 
body even if I can't have one myself," said he cheer- 
fully. 

We came into the broad main street of Gran- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 211 

ville, the lights shining, the leaves of the maple 
trees glistening with the rain which had fallen ear- 
lier in the day. If ever there was a New England 
town in a Western State, Granville is that town. 
It was founded more than a hundred years ago by 
Connecticut people, and it bears the impress of its 
founders to-day. Its wide street, its old churches, 
its white houses with green shutters, its look of com- 
fort and cleanliness, all are typically New England. 
We had a most comfortable night at the old fash- 
ioned Hotel Buxton, and drove up on the hill in 
the beautiful clear morning to see the buildings of 
Denison University. The University is very finely 
situated on a high ridge overlooking the wooded 
town, and commanding a fine view of the green 
valley beyond. There is a brick terrace on the hill- 
side, with an ornamental sundial, where one may 
enjoy the rich champaign below. Back of the col- 
lege buildings, which look out over the valley, the 
hill plunges down into a fine forest of beeches. The 
student at Granville has beautiful surroundings for 
his years of study. Emerson said that the moun- 
tains around an institution should be put in the col- 
lege curriculum. Granville students certainly 
should include in their curriculum the beauty of 



212 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

beech forests and the richness of the Ohio farming 
country. 

From Granville on to Zanesville the country in- 
creases in charm. It is rich and fertile, gently 
rolling, diversified by fine beeches and elms. Here 
and there are plenteous corn fields. But Ohio farm- 
houses do not seem to cultivate more flowers than 
do the farmhouses of Iowa and Illinois. Reaching 
Zanesville we are greeted by a great sign suspended 
across the road above our heads. It reads, "Hello! 
Glad you came. Just drive carefully. Zanesville 
Motorcycle Club." In leaving we pass under a 
similar sign and find that it reads on its reverse side, 
"Thank you! Come again. Zanesville Motorcycle 
Club." We are on the old National Road now, and 
find it rather poor. It is uneven, and is rendered 
bumpy by the constant road bars. The country 
grows more hilly, and the towns are beginning to 
change character. Newark is an attractive little 
city, standing rather high. "Old Washington" has 
very old red brick houses, and St. Clairsville is an 
attractive old town. The towns remind one of the 
old Pennsylvania towns. The houses are built flush 
with the sidewalk just as one sees them in Pennsyl- 
vania. Many of the farmhouses are built of sub- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 213 

stantial red brick, with white porches. 

About nine miles from Wheeling, West Virginia, 
we come along a fine road to a most beautiful hill- 
top view. Prosperous farms and farmhouses are 
all about, the farmhouses standing high on the 
green, rounded tops of the hills. The National 
Iload being under repair, we take a detour in order 
to reach Wheeling. A hospitable sign at the en- 
trance to our roundabout road to the right reads, 
"This road open. Bellaire bids you welcome." We 
learn later that there are in this region what are 
called Ridge Roads and Valley Roads. We are 
entering Bellaire by a Ridge Road, and have fine 
views of hilltop farmhouses and barns, and of hill- 
top cornfields, all the way. We drop down a steep 
hill into Bellaire, turn north to Bridgeport, and 
from there turn east across the Ohio River into the 
city of Wlieeling. 

From Wheeling we drive on into Pennsylvania, 
through Washington, a hill city, to Uniontown. 
The whole country is hilly and we are constantly 
enjoying fine views. Around Uniontown many no- 
ble trees are dying. They tell us that this is the lo- 
cust year, and that these trees are victims of the 
voracious insects. Beyond Uniontown we sweep up 



214 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

a long hill, over a splendid road, to the Summit 
House. The hotel is closed, so we go on over the 
hills to a simpler hotel which is open all the year. 
This is the Chalk Hill House, and here we have 
true country comfort. For supper we have fried 
chicken, fried ham, fried hasty pudding, huckle- 
berries, strawberry preserves, real maple syrup, wa- 
ter melon rind pickles, cookies, cake, apple sauce, 
flannel cakes, and coffee. This is Pennsylvania 
hospitality. Chalk Hill is 2100 feet above sea level, 
and we have fine mountain air. We learn that 
Braddock's troops in their famous march to the 
West passed only 500 yards back of where the 
Chalk Hill House now stands. We ask our fel- 
low travelers at the inn about a very tall monu- 
ment which we passed, between Washington and 
Uniontown, on a hilltop. It is eighty-five feet 
high, and bears the name of McCutcheon. We are 
told that Mr. McCutcheon's will directed that all 
his money should be spent in the erection of this 
monument to his memory. So there it stands. 

Our route lies through Cumberland to Hagers- 
town, and from Hagerstown through Martinsburg 
to Winchester, Virginia. We are crossing the 
southwest corner of Pennsylvania, and coming into 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 215 

Maryland on the northwest corner ; passing through 
a small triangle of West Virginia, and entering 
Virginia by the northwest. 

Not long after leaving Chalk Hill House we 
pass on the left the comparatively new monument 
which marks Braddock's grave. A beautiful bronze 
tablet on one side of the granite shaft reads: "This 
bronze tablet was erected and dedicated to the mem- 
ory of Major- General Edward Braddock by the 
officers of his old regiment, the Coldstream Guards 
of England, October 15th, 1913." Another bronze 
tablet has been placed by the Braddock Memorial 
Park Association of Fayette Count}^ Pennsylva- 
nia. There is also in has relief a bust of Braddock 
in military dress. The great seals of the United 
States and of Great Britain adorn the shaft. The 
main inscription on the shaft reads: 

Here lieth the remains of Major- Gen- 
eral Edward Braddock who, in command 
of the 44th and 48th regiments of Eng- 
lish regulars was mortally wounded in an 
engagement with the French and Indians 
under the command of Captain M. de 
Beaujeu at the battle of the Monongahela, 



216 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

within ten miles of Fort Duquesne, now 
Pittsburg, July 9, 1755. 

He was borne back with the retreating 
army to the old orchard camp, about one- 
fourth of a mile west of this park, where 
he died July 13, 1755. Lieutenant Colo- 
nel George Washington read the burial 
service at the grave. 

We are on historic ground all along here. A 
little farther down the road we pass a tablet on a 
roadside boulder, erected in 1913 by the Great 
Crossing Chapter of the Daughters of the Ameri- 
can Revolution, to mark the old "Nemacolin's 
trail," so named from the Delaware Indian guide 
for the Ohio Company. The tablet records that 
Washington passed this way in 1753, 1754, and 
1755. 

On the right of the road we pass a very old farm- 
house of red brick, back of which in a swampy 
meadow is the site of the camp of Braddock's 
forces. We go down the cow lane to see the old 
camp, whose outlines are marked. 

We are in a region of fine old stone bridges, and 
of beautiful orchard country, alternating with roll- 




I5 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 217 

ing hills covered with heavy forest. At Grants- 
ville we pass the old Dorsey House, now called 
the Hotel Castleman. This used to be a hostel 
much frequented by the farmers. A small boy who 
is playing in the street and who is sojourning here 
for the summer gives us this information, and adds 
that at the Hotel Castleman you have "lots to eat, 
and plenty of it." We are sorry that it is not lun- 
cheon time so that we could put his statement to the 
test. Passing through Grantsville we cross the 
old Castleman Bridge, an immense single span of 
stone. Another fine old bridge with very solid 
buttresses spans Conococheague Creek. 

After luncheon in Cumberland, we press east to 
Hagerstown. We are advised that we will find the 
road far better if we drive east to Hagerstown and 
then southwest to Winchester, instead of taking 
the direct southeast route to Winchester from Cum- 
berland. We have an excellent road from Cum- 
berland to Hagerstown, and find the rich orchard 
country very beautiful. Ten miles from Cumber- 
land, we come upon a point of vantage from which 
we have a most lovely view. As we near the town 
of Hancock with its famous old inn the country 
is still more interesting. We look down on the 



218 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

gleaming Potomac, winding through green fields 
and beautifully cultivated orchards. This is fa- 
mous apple and peach country. Every year more 
of the virgin forest on the mountainside is cleared 
and planted to young apple and peach trees. The 
soil and the climate are most admirably adapted to 
the growing of fruit, and there are immense invest- 
ments in these beautiful orchards. What a fair, 
fair country! After we pass Hancock we look 
down on the canal near which our road runs. A 
canal boat passes, the mules walking leisurely along 
the towpath. A boy stands at the helm looking out 
on the beautiful landscape of forest, orchard, and 
field. Clothes flap from the clothes-line on the boat. 
It is a fine life, we think, this gliding along so se- 
curely between green fields and orchards and 
clumps of forest. 

Hagerstown is a pleasant town in which to spend 
the night. We enjoy walking about the streets and 
seeing some of the old houses. Even the main 
street of Hagerstown still has one fine old stone 
house, low and solid, painted yellow. It is the only 
residence left on the business street, its owner not 
yet having been tempted by its increased value to 
sell it. 




I. "Moore House" at Yorktown, Va., where terms were drawn up 

after the Surrender of Cornwallis. 2. Castleman Bridge, Md. 

3. Old Church Tower on Jamestown Island. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 219 

From Hagerstown there are fine shale roads in 
our drive south to Winchester. After passing 
through old Williamsport we cross the Potomac on 
a long bridge. All along these roads the motorist 
is annoyed by many toll gates at which he is halted 
to pay toll. These are the landmarks of other times 
and of old customs. These roads were originally 
built and maintained by private companies. They 
are fast being bought up by the State, and in a few 
years the toll gates will disappear. As we ap- 
proach Winchester the country becomes more pros- 
perous in appearance than it is around Martins- 
burg, West Virginia. Five miles from Winches- 
ter we pass two fine old red brick farm houses with 
white porches. We are at last in the Old Dominion, 
and look forward with high spirits to a tour among 
the Virginia towns and cities. 

Winchester is a very old town, with a fascina- 
tion that grows upon one. It is a simple little place, 
with a certain placidity and quiet that are very 
soothing. Here is the Winchester Inn with its 
wide porches and high ceilings. And here is Mrs. 
Nancy Cobles's private boarding-house, whose very 
appearance breathes of homelike comfort and 
Southern hospitality. The Winchester Inn an- 



220 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

nounces that it is "refurnished, refitted, reland- 
lorded." 

In Winchester is the little old building used as 
a surveyor's office by young Washington when 
he was working for Lord Fairfax. Here is fine 
old Christ Church, endowed by Thomas, Lord Fair- 
fax, whose ashes rest underneath the church. 

In Winchester I begin to see very interesting 
and perfectly clear traces of old Colonial days. 
There are quaint old names on the grave stones; 
"Judith," "Mary Ann," "Parthenia." Here is the 
old English name of Fauntleroy. And here are old 
houses with fan-lights over the doors. 

It is in Winchester, too, that I begin to sense 
the tragedy and awfulness of the Civil War, as 
traced by many a sad inscription on many a grave- 
stone. Hundreds of Southern dead are sleeping 
in the Winchester cemeteries. There are monu- 
ments to many unknown dead. "Unknown dead 
from Winchester battlefield," "Unknown dead 
from Cedar Creek battlefield," and so on. There 
are monuments to "the brothers Ashby," and to 
"the Patton brothers." How young are the ages 
given on many of these stones ! Nineteen, twenty- 
three, twenty-nine, 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 221 

Our most interesting call in Winchester is upon 
a lady who is the owner and manager of a farm of 
8000 apple trees, 7000 of which she has set out her- 
self within the past five years, "every tree in a 
dynamited hole, every tree pruned by a govern- 
ment expert." She tells us that all she knows of 
apple culture she has learned by a careful study of 
government pamphlets. Her orchard is about five 
miles from town, and she drives out daily from her 
pleasant home . She tells us that her apples are 
sent to Jersey City and there kept in cold storage. 
Late in the season she sells them, getting sometimes 
as high as $7.50 a barrel toward the end of the 
winter. As we talk with her we wonder why it is 
that more women do not go in for apple culture. 
Surely it is a delightful vocation, clean, healthful, 
invigorating, and profitable. 

Our friend tells us laughingly that so far as her 
experience goes, negro servants are "still proving 
to their former owners that they are free." She re- 
lates an experience with a young negro maid, who 
after eight months of happy service with her, during 
which time she had the best of training, suddenly 
left her. She took a new position just across the 
street and for exactly the same wages as her old 



222 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

situation had given her. When her former mistress 
asked her why it was that she was leaving, she gig- 
gled and said demurely, "I mus' do de bes' I kin 
fo' myse'f." 

From Winchester we drive to Staunton over a 
fine road. From the fine country about Winches- 
ter, dotted with beautiful orchards, down through 
Harrisonburg in the midst of great grain and hay 
farms, we are passing through the famous Shenan- 
doah Valley. We see it at a disadvantage, for the 
months of dry weather have burned the fields brown 
and dry and increased the dust of the roads. But 
it is beautiful still, a fair and prosperous farming 
country. We pass through Harrisonburg on court 
day, and the town is filled with farmers who make 
of this day a general market day. 

As we approach Staunton we come again into 
orchard country. We have been passing through 
many miles of farms devoted to grain. On the left, 
as one enters Staunton, is Chilton Hall, standing 
high above the town. Chilton Hall, kept by a wo- 
man, is a fine new private house, transformed into 
a tourist hostel. It looks most attractive. We go 
on into Staunton as we wish to be in the heart of 
the town. We establish ourselves very comfortably 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 223 

for a few days at "The Shenandoah," also kept by 
a woman. Here we have for a very moderate price 
a room with a private bath. We enjoy fresh milk 
and cream, home-made butter, jams, and jellies, 
and all the good things of a hospitable Virginia ta- 
ble. We visit the famous Mary Baldwin Seminary, 
an exquisitely kept institution. We also see the 
Episcopal Church school in its fine old building, 
Stuart Hall, and we walk past the Presbyterian 
manse where President Wilson was born. We visit 
the fine cemetery and read the sad inscriptions on 
the head stones. One, erected to a young officer 
of thirty years, reads, "Here lies a gallant soldier," 
and adds that he fell fighting "in the great battle 
of Manassas." In this cemetery there are 870 
Southern dead whose names are given. There are 
also about 700 soldiers lying here, "not recorded by 
name." The inscription speaks of them as "un- 
kno^vn yet well known." There are quaint names 
of women on the old stones here, as in Winchester; 
"Johanah," and "Edmonia." And there are old 
English names; as Barclay, Warwick, Peyton, 
Prettyman, Eskridge, and Darrow. 

During our stay in Staunton we take a day for a 
drive to the Natural Bridge. It is charming coun- 



224 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

try through which we drive, growing more broken 
and wooded as we go farther south. We find the 
road bumpy and dusty, but not at all impracticable. 
We have our luncheon with us, and after paying a 
somewhat exorbitant fee of one dollar apiece for 
entrance to the natural park which includes the 
Bridge scenery, we walk along the ravine beside the 
little river, to the mighty arch of the Bridge itself. 
It is a noble span of rock, of an enormous thickness, 
on so grand a scale that it is difficult to realize its 
height and width. We have our luncheon beside 
the stream in the forest, and drive back to Staun- 
ton. The wooded Virginia hills and the fields are 
beautiful in the afternoon sunlight. 

In returning to Staunton we stop in Lexington 
to see the old cemetery where Stonewall Jackson 
lies buried, and where his statue looks out from a 
terrace over the open country. We also visit the 
very beautiful campus of the Washington and 
Lee University, and the hilltop situation of the 
famous Virginia Military Institute, where another 
statue of Jackson stands in commanding position. 
Were there time, one could linger for hours on the 
University campus and in the old Lexington cem- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 225 

etery. I find a very interesting inscription on a 
simple stone, which reads thus: 

Samuel Hays. In loving remembrance 
for faithful service ; this stone is erected by 
the desire of his master. He was loved, 
honoured, and trusted, by three genera- 
tions. 

The buildings of Washington and Lee Univer- 
sity are of classic type, and the whole campus with 
its fine trees and its many white porticoes gleam- 
ing through them, makes an impression that is best 
expressed by the old phrase, "classic shades." Some 
of our more modern universities impress one by 
their very architecture and atmosphere as being 
magnificently equipped institutions of business. 
Washington and Lee University has the old atmos- 
phere of study and of the quiet, ordered life of the 
scholar. The Virginia Military Institute is par- 
ticularly interesting to the traveler, because of the 
vault in its chapel crypt where rest the ashes of the 
Lee family. Here are buried Lighthorse Harry 
Lee, and his distinguished son General Robert E. 
Lee. And here there is a beautiful recumbent 



226 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 1 

statue of General Lee by Valentine; so realistic; 
that the dead man seems to lie before one wrapped j 
in marble sleep. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 227 



CHAPTER XII 

We are sorry to leave the hospitable "Shenan- 
doah" when the time comes to go on to Charlottes- 
ville. We drive from Staunton out past the Na- 
tional Cemetery which stands on a hill overlookinsf 
the valley. We are soon to cross the ridge between 
the Shenandoah Valley and the other great valley 
known as Piedmont, the crossing point being at 
Rock Fish Gap. This is the historic point where 
the early settlers first saw and laid claim to the 
Shenandoah Valley in the name of the King of 
England. 

The view from the top of the Gap, which is 
reached by a very easy climb, is strikingly beauti- 
ful. On one side is the Shenandoah Valley from 
which we have just come up, stretching far into the 
distance. On the other are the fertile rolling hills, 



228 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

and the miles of green orchards, of the Piedmont 
section. Here is a view which shows us the smihng, 
fruitful Virginia of which we have dreamed. We 
descend from the Gap by a very fine new road, and 
shortly after we cross a bridge which is in the last 
stages, so far as traffic is concerned, of tottering 
decay. At each end of the old wooden structure 
there is a card posted by the county commissioners 
to the effect that they will not be responsible for 
the safety of travelers crossing the bridge. It 
strikes one as rather incongruous that they should 
warn people against using the bridge, save on their 
own responsibility, and yet offer no alternative. 
Just beyond Yancey Mills we pass an old, old farm- 
house at whose gate there hangs an attractive sign, 
"THE SIGN OF THE GREEN TEA-POT." 
We decide to go in for a cup of tea. It is a charm- 
ing little place, kept by a woman of taste and 
arranged for parties to sup in passing by, or for a 
few people to make a short stay. We admire the 
simple, dainty furniture, the home-like little par- 
lor, and the attractive dining-room. Everything is 
beautifully clean and we sigh that we cannot make 
a longer stay. They give us one of the best cups of 
tea that we have had in all our long joui^ney. The 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 229 

views about the place are charmingly pastoral, and 
we feel that with books and walks we could spend 
an idyllic fortnight here. Coming into Charlottes- 
ville we pass the fine campus of the University of 
Virginia. 

Now comes a delightful week in old Charlottes- 
ville. To begin with, we insure our comfort by 
staying at a private boarding house on Jefferson 
street, where we have the delicious cooking that 
makes the tables of the old State famous. We find 
the boarding houses in Virginia to be very pleasant 
places indeed. We enjoy our Virginia table neigh- 
bors and we enjoy the homely comfort of these 
estabhshments. When we do not know the address 
of a boarding house we are accustomed, upon enter- 
ing a town, to make inquiry at the best looking 
drug store. We have found this plan admirable, 
and are indebted for some very kindly and prac- 
tical advice. 

While in Charlottesville we drive about the coun- 
try over the red clay roads which are so beautiful 
in the midst of the green meadows and orchards. 
This is the scenery that is so charmingly described 
by Mary Johnston in "Lewis Rand." Charlottes- 
ville is in the midst of a famous apple country, 



230 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

where are grown most delicious wine saps. All 
along in our Virginia travels we have seen evidences 
ol a bumper crop of apples. Never have I seen so 
many apple trees bowed to the ground with their 
rosy crop. Each tree is a bouquet in itself; and a 
whole orchard of these trees with their droopmg 
sprays of apple-laden branches, many of then: 
propped from the ground, is a charming sight. I 
wish for the brush of a painter to transfer all this 
color and form to an immortal canvas. 

On a hill near Charlottesville we have a never- 
to-be-forgotten view. Across a Httle valley on an- 
other hilltop is Thomas Jefferson's "Monticello," 
or Little Mountain. Just in front lies the town of 
Charlottesville upon its many knolls. And on be- 
yond, rank on rank, stretch 150 miles of the Blue 
Mountains. The hill on which we stand has a bald 
top and just below this is a fringe of beautiful 
young apple and peach orchards. The trees do well 
on these hills. Lower down is the Pantopps or- 
chard, which once belonged to the Jefferson estate. 

One day we drive, by virtue of an introduction, 
to "Edgehill," a fine old estate where lived Martha 
Jefferson Randolph, Thomas Jefferson's daughter. 
We are only a short distance here from "Castle 




1. Conococheague Creek Bridge, Md. 2. "Edgehill," near Charlottes- 
ville, Va. Old Home of Martha Jefferson Randolph. 3. "At 
the Sign of the Green Teapot," near Yancey Mills, Va. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 231 

Hill," the old home of the Rives family and the 
present residence of the Princess Troubetskoy. I 
Another day we drive, by a stiff hill road winding , 
through the estate, to "Monticello." The trees on 
the lawn of "Monticello" are our special delight, : 
as are the views from the hilltop plateau on which \ 
the house stands. From here Jefferson could see in 
the distant trees the tops of the buildings of the ! 
beloved University which he had founded. No I 
wonder that it is on record that Thomas Jefferson | 
spent 796 days in all at "Monticello" during his ' 
two terms as President! In a family cemetery on j 
the hillside, not so very far from the hilltop lawn, j 
rest the mortal remains of Thomas Jefferson. He 
sleeps with the members of his family about him, 
and on the plain shaft of Virginia granite are these 
words, which were written by Jefferson himself and ' 
were found among his papers : i 

'*Here was Buried i 

Thomas Jefferson, ; 

Author of the Declaration of American i 

Independence, 
Of the Statute of Virginia for Religious 

Freedom, \ 

And Father of the University of Virginia." ! 



232 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

We spend some time at the University of Vir- 
ginia, wandering about the campus, and admiring 
the old buildings of classic architecture. Every 
visitor should stand upon the terrace of the 
library, which commands a beautiful view of the 
quadrangle, flanked by long lines of professors' 
houses with classic white porticoes and enclosed at 
its further end by a hall of assembly. On the lawn 
of the quadrangle stands a statue of Homer. The 
bard is represented as sitting with his lyre in his 
hands while at his feet is a youth in the position of 
a rapt listener and learner. 

As we wish to see as much of Virginia as possi- 
ble we drive from Charlottesville to Culpeper, re- 
turning from Culpeper to Riclimond. In leaving 
Charlottesville we drive past Keswick, a little set- 
tlement around which the country has been taken 
by many beautiful estates. Our route runs by Gor- 
donsville and Orange through Madison Mills to 
Culpeper. Not far from Keswick we pass a sign 
at an attractive farm gate, which reads, "Clover- 
fields. Meals for tourists. Golf." We are sorry 
to be unable to test the hospitahty of Cloverfields. 

Although our road is more or less indifferent, we 
are passing through beautiful country. Around 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 233 

Keswick the fields are beautifully kept, and the en- 
trances to estates are marked by i\y-coYered posts 
of yellow stone, rough hewn. Some of the houses 
are red brick with white pillars, others are of stucco. 
There are plenty of turkeys and chickens, and 
hounds, as everywhere else in Virginia. We begin 
to see clumps of pine trees from time to time. The 
oak trees of the forest are very large, many of them 
of noble height. The juniper trees are in blossom, 
their blue-green berries making them look as if they 
wore an exquisite blue-green veil. In Virginia, one 
is everywhere impressed by the richness and luxur- 
iance of the foliage. All along the roadside banks 
are clumps of hazel bushes, heavy with clusters of 
nuts in their furry green coats. The chestnut trees 
are full of fruit. About a mile north of Gordons- 
ville we pass a plain shaft of light pinkish-grey 
granite on the roadside bank at the left. The name 
Waddel is on the shaft and the following inscrip- 
tion; 

Near this spot while yet primeval forest 

stood the church of the blind preacher 

James Waddel. 

A devout man of God and a faithful 

minister of the Presbyterian Church. 



234 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

Born 1739— died 1805. 

Socrates died like a philosopher, but 
Jesus Christ like a God. 

From his sermon as narrated by Wil- 
liam Wirt. 

This country has just the charm that I should 
expect it to have from my reading about Virginia. 
Here are late-blooming honeysuckles in the hedges. 
Here are men drawing wagon loads of produce 
along the rather heavy clay highways to market. 
Sometimes they drive two horses tandem. The rear 
horse is saddled, and the driver rides him and so 
guides the team. Sometimes a heavy wagon is 
drawn by four horses, the driver astride the near 
horse in the rear. Sometimes we see farmers 
ploughing with three horses or mules, flocks of tur- 
keys or chickens following in the wake of the plough 
and picking up the luscious morsels thrown up by 
the ploughshare. Sometimes we see fine Hereford 
cattle grazing in the fields. Then come the reddest 
of red pigs feeding contentedly in big fields of al- 
falfa. Once we pass a farmhouse with late-bloom- 
ing yellow roses climbing over the stone posts at 
the farm entrance. Once we see a man ploughing 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 235 

in the fields with a mare, her mule baby running 
by her side as she plods along. Near Madison 
Mills we cross the Rapidan river, a rushing, yellow 
stream. As we near Culpeper the wooded coun- 
try opens out into a beautiful grazing region, the 
land rising and falling in long undulations. Here 
and there in the great fields are clumps of trees giv- 
ing a park-like effect to the country. All this is 
very beautiful, and one's joy would be undimmed 
were it not for the traces of the great conflict of 
fifty years ago. We are coming now to the region 
of Cedar Mountain which is locally known as 
Slaughter Mountain. Here is the site of a bloody 
battle. The Confederates were intrenched in a po- 
sition of vantage on Cedar Mountain and the Un- 
ionists were advancing across the fields and through 
the forest into a sort of basin below the mountain. 
It is quite easy to understand the heavy slaughter 
of the Union troops ; for on both sides of the road, 
here and there in the fields, are stones marking the 
spots where certain oflicers and certain groups of 
men fell. Here is a stone near the road marking 
the spot where Colonel Winder of the 72nd Penn- 
sylvania fell as he was advancing. 

As we see these stones the present peace and 



236 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

prosperity of these rolling grass lands is emphasized 
by the bloody background of the past. 

We stay in Culpeper at the old railway hotel, 
"The Waverly." In the morning we drive about 
the rich country and are decided in our own minds 
that if we wished to come to Virginia for a great 
grazing establishment, this is the part of the coun- 
try to which we should turn. We hear tales of one 
farm where the owner has made seven cuttings of 
alfalfa in the course of one year. 

We make a hurried trip to the National Ceme- 
tery at Culpeper. 12,000 Union soldiers sleep in 
this cemetery; and Maine, Massachusetts, New 
York, Ohio and Pennsylvania all have monuments 
to their dead. The granite pillar of Pennsylvania, 
with its bronze tablets, keystone shaped, is particu- 
larly fine. The noble inscription begins: "Penn- 
sylvania remembers with solemn pride her heroic 
dead who here repose in known and unknown 
graves." 

In leaving Culpeper we retrace our path as far 
as Gordonsville, and there turn toward Mechanics- 
ville, on our way to Richmond. Again we come 
through alternations of open, rolhng, exquisitely 
pastoral country and lush forest. Between Cul- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 237 

peper and Madison Mills we notice particularly a 
little old red brick church set in the forest trees by 
the roadside. A tablet on the building tells us that 
this is "Crooked Run Baptist Church. Organized 
1777, rebuilt 1910." Crooked Run, a swift, clay- 
red creek, hurries along through the forest near the 
church. 

One thing that interests us in Virginia is the fre- 
quency of family cemeteries, quiet plots near the old 
farmhouses and mansions. Sometimes they are sur- 
rounded by low brick walls, over which the honey- 
suckle climbs. Sometimes they are open plots on a 
knoll in some field near the house. After we pass 
Gordonsville the fine road changes to a compara- 
tively poor one and the open country with its park- 
like appearance gives way to long stretches of rich 
forest. There are many fine oaks and clumps of 
green pines. After passing Louisa we are more 
than ever in what seems to be back country, lonely 
and apparently sparsely settled. We drive over 
long stretches of old corduroy road, the planks now 
much rotted. Here and there is a comfortable look- 
ing negro cabin, and here and there a negro is clear- 
ing land. The soil looks very rich and fertile after 
it has been opened to the sun. At a somewhat 



238 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

lonely point we come upon three little negro boys 
and tell them that we wish to take their pictures. 
I stand them in a row while T. gets his camera, as- 
suring them that each boy is to have two pennies 
for standing quietly. They are somewhat awed by 
the occasion; and when T. produces a tripod and 
begins to pull out its long legs preparatory to get- 
ting a high stand for the camera, they are terrified. 
The face of the oldest one melts into tears, but we 
reassure him and the picture promises to be a suc- 
cess. We tell the proud mother of the oldest boy 
that we will surely send her a picture and we are 
glad to keep our promise later. 

Farther on we pass some forlorn looking negroes 
in a field, clearing the land. By the roadside sits 
the baby, a round little pickaninny in a rustic baby 
carriage made of a soap box on wooden wheels. 
We stop the car and ask if we may take the baby's 
picture. The older man looks very troubled and 
saj^s, "I'm afraid not. You see I ain't got any 
money. I just got this heah land." We assure 
him that we don't want any money and will be 
only too happy to send some pictures of the baby 
if our photograph turns out well. But he is still 
dubious and troubled, and the baby's brother says, 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 239 

"The baby's mother ain't heah; we dursent do it 
when she ain't heah." Evidently they think that 
we mean to involve them in some financial obliga- 
tion or to cast some sort of spell over little black 
baby, contentedly sucking her thumb. I don't like 
to be beaten, but we cannot stay to convince them 
that they are mistaken, so we say "Good-bye," and 
drive away. From time to time we pass patches of 
tobacco, very green and thrifty looking; but there 
is much uncleared land and there are long stretches 
of lonely country. 

We reach Richmond at six o'clock and are so for- 
tunate as to have the address of a charming board- 
ing house on Franklin Street. Richmond has 
some excellent hotels; and she also has some 
very attractive pensions. "Where do j^ou come 
from?" asks our hospitable hostess, as she shows us 
to our big, comfortable room. "From California," 
I respond, and create quite a sensation. 

Richmond is worthy of a longer stay than we can 
possibly make this time. But we drive for a morn- 
ing and enjoy all that we can of the old city. We 
go up to Monument Hill and have the fine view 
from there, looking down on the winding James 
and on the green fields of Chesterfield County and 



240 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

Manchester beyond. We drive out to the National 
Cemetery where 6573 Union soldiers sleep, 5678 of 
them unknown. We go to Church Hill and see old 
St. John's Church, where Patrick Henry's pew in 
which he made his famous speech is marked with a 
brass plate and an inscription. We drive to the 
other end of the city and see the new part of Rich- 
mond with its wide streets and fine equestrian sta- 
tues of General Lee and General Stuart. The old 
houses of the town, built of red brick and adorned 
with white porches, with pink crape myrtle bloom- 
ing luxuriantly in their door yards, are particularly 
attractive to us. 

But we must leave the old city and drive on fifty 
miles to Williamsburg. The road is sandy and 
somewhat muddy in shady spots, under the heavy 
forest foliage. Nine miles out from Richmond we 
pass through the village of Seven Pines, the region 
of the bloody battle of Seven Pines. All about are 
extensive forests of pine; and on the left, after we 
pass through the village, is a National Cemetery 
surrounded by a brick wall, just as are those of 
Richmond and Culpeper. This is a smaller ceme- 
tery, but there are rows and rows of little white 
headstones, marking the graves of the fallen. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 241 

We drive for miles through the forest, the fine 
trees growing close to the road. There is a special 
fascination in driving through open forest. Here 
are willow oaks, live oaks, and green, green pines. 
Here is a heavy undergrowth of young dogwoods. 
And here by the roadside are persimmon trees, 
loaded with fruit. Wherever the land is cleared it 
is rich and fertile. As we come nearer to the sea 
the forest growth is heavier. Here and there are 
negroes working in neat little clearings or sitting on 
the whitewashed wooden porches of their tiny 
cabins. 

We are in water-melon country and great wagon- 
loads of the fruit are being taken to the nearest 
station for export. All along the road we see the 
pink and green fragments of discarded fruit. Peo- 
ple eat water-melons at this season as we eat 
oranges in the North. We can see the remains 
of many an open air banquet, by the roadside. We 
stop by one wagon-load and I ask a boy who is driv- 
ing what a water-melon will cost. "Oh! fifteen 
cents." "We don't want such a big one," say I. 
"Can't you sell us a smaller one for ten cents?" "I 
reckon so." And he picks out a huge watermelon, 
and passes it over. As we drive along we cut out 



242 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

cubic pieces of the pink delicacy. Never have we 
tasted such a water-melon. It has not been wilted 
by a long, hot train journey, but has just come 
from the field, and is fresh and delicious. 

At Williamsburg we stay at the Colonial Inn, a 
most pleasant hostel, on old Duke of Glouchester 
Street. Williamsburg, known then as Middle 
Plantation, was the settlement to which the James- 
town settlers moved when they found Jamestown 
Island too damp and malarial for permanent occu- 
pancy. It is one of the most interesting Colonial 
towns in the United States. In Williamsburg I 
realize that many of our Virginia forefathers were 
Englishmen of the aristocratic class. The coats-of- 
arms on the old stones in the cemetery; the quiet 
elegance of the old parish church with its hand- 
somely draped governor's pew — all the marks of 
early days' ceremonial are here. A service in Bru- 
ton Parish Church is an experience, and it is also 
an experience to see the communion plate of solid 
silver and the old prayer-book used in Colonial 
days. One can see for one's self the pages in the 
prayer-book where "King of kings" has been scored 
out and "Ruler of the universe" has been written in 
on the margin. In this prayer-book the prayer for 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 243 

the king has been pasted over, a prayer for the pres- 
ident having been written on the paper covering the 
printed prayer. The parish register of the chuich 
has many interesting and amusing entries. In one 
entry twin slaves have been registered by their 
master as "Adam" and "Eve." 

Miss Estelle Smith, a lady who lives in a most 
interesting old house on Palace Green, knows the 
history of Williamsburg thoroughly, and is a very 
charming guide. Miss Smith's house, where a few 
paying guests find gracious hospitality, is known 
as "Audrey House." It was this house that Mary 
Johnston used as the setting for her heroine, Aud- 
rey. On one window-pane of the "Audrey House" 
an unknown hand traced with a diamond long, long 
ago these words: "Nov. 23rd, 1796. O fatal day." 
On another pane there is a name and the date 1734. 
Miss Smith says that no member of her family 
knows what the fatal day was, away back in 1796. 
No tradition or record of that unhappiness has de- 
scended. 

In Bruton church yard, I am interested to read 
on a family gravestone a special inscription to 
"Mammy Sarah, devoted servant of the family who 
died aged sixty years." 



244 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

The gallery of the old church is known as "Lord 
Dunsmore's Gallery." Lord Dunsmore retired 
here from the seats of the Burgesses on the floor 
below, shortly before the Revolution, not being in 
sympathy with their revolutionary attitude. Later 
the gallery was assigned to the students of William 
and Mary College, and its old railing is covered 
with their initials, cut deep into the wood. 

One can read fine old names, and very great 
names, on the brass tablets which adorn many of 
the pews and many wall spaces in Bruton church. 
George Washington, Peyton Randolph, Patrick 
Henry, and many others. As we read them we 
feel that we are in a distinguished and patriotic 
company, silent and yet present. 

It is pleasant to wander about the old streets of 
the village, shaded by gnarled mulberry trees and 
fine elms. Masses of pink crape myrtle embower 
some of the old houses, and waxen leaved magnolia 
trees shade the door yards. At one end of the vil- 
lage there is an interesting stone to mark the site 
of the old Capitol. We read that "Here Patrick 
Henry first kindled the flames of revolution by his 
resolutions and speech against the Stamp Act, May 
29-30, 1765." "Here June 12, 1776, was adopted 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 245 

by the convention the immortal work of George 
Mason, the Declaration of Rights and on June 29, 
1776 the first written Constitution of a free and 
independent State ever framed." 

We drive out past the shaded campus of William 
and Mary College and over eight miles of sandy 
road through the forest, to Jamestown Island. We 
cross a rickety rustic bridge over the saltwater 
stream which separates the island from the main- 
land. Driving across grassy fields we come to the 
present church, incorporating the old tower and 
surrounding with its brick walls the precious foun- 
dations of the early church. The present church is 
really a protection for these low, broken founda- 
tions which are railed off from the possible vandal- 
ism of tourists; and the repository of certain old 
tombs and of an ever increasing number of memo- 
rial tablets upon its brick walls. One tablet which 
pleases me much, reads : 

In honour of Chanco 

The Christian Indian boy 

whose warnings saved 

The Colony of Virginia from destruction 

In the Massacre of 22 March, 1622. 



246 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

Erected by the Society of Colonial 
Dames of America in the State of Virginia. 

Another interesting tablet reads : 

To the glory of God 

An in grateful remembrance of 

The adventurers in England 

and 

Ancient Planters of Virginia 

Who through evil report and loss of fortune 

Through suffering and death 

Maintained stout hearts 

And laid the foundations of our country. 

A fine statue of Captain John Smith stands on 
the greensward, near the church, looking out over 
the broad waters of the James. The Captain is 
represented in the dress of his day, his wide trous- 
ers tied with ribbons at the knee, his broad boot 
tops falling over in picturesque fashion. On the 
monument is a simple inscription, "Captain John 
Smith, governor of Virginia, 1608." A graceful 
statue of Pocahontas is to stand near that of Cap- 
tain Smith, facing the water. 

Not far from the church and in an open posi- 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 247 

tion stands the tall, fine granite shaft which com- 
memorates the first settlement. Its main inscrip- 
tion reads: 

Jamestown 
The first permanent colony 

of the English people 

The birthplace of Virginia 

And of the United States 

May 13, 1607. 

Jamestown Island contains 1600 acres, and is 
some three miles long. It is owned by Mrs. Bar- 
ney, who lives upon it and who conducts a farm 
on part of its acres. She and her husband gen- 
erously gave the portion of the island containing 
the church yard to the Society for the Preserva- 
tion of the Antiquities of Virginia. It is less than 
fifteen years since the restoration and care of the 
old Jamestown settlement site has been under- 
taken. Before that the graveyard was neglected 
and overgrown, the foundations of the old church 
were falling to pieces, and the whole place was 
utterly forlorn and forsaken. 

From Williamsburg we drive on to Yorktown, 
now a small village. One short street, a few old 



248 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

houses, a shop and a Httle inn or two are all that 
remain of Yorktown. No railroad reaches it, and 
it is therefore rather inaccessible to tourists. The 
village is most nobly situated on a high bluff over- 
looking the broad waters of the York River, which 
stretch away like a great bay. The Yorktown mon- 
ument, quite as fine and imposing a shaft as the 
Jamestown one, stands high on the river bank in a 
striking and dramatic situation. We hear a pretty 
story of how the President of the United States 
came down with a party of gentlemen some months 
ago and walked about the village. No one recog- 
nized him save a young girl of fourteen who volun- 
teered her services as a guide, took the party about 
and explained to them the points of interest. They 
remained with her nearly two hours. At the end 
of this time when they were bidding her farewell, 
she said, nodding to the President, "You are Pres- 
ident Wilson, are you not?" We drive out from 
the village to an old farmhouse known as the 
"Moore House," where terms of capitulation were 
drawn up after the surrender of Lord Cornwallis. 
We go into the room where the terms were made, 
and feel that we are really in the birthplace of our 
great nation. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 249 

From Yorktown we cross by ferry to Glouces- 
ter County, for we purpose to see something of the 
famous section known as Tidewater Virginia. As 
Tidewater on Chesapeake Bay is a region where 
creeks and inlets make a thousand indentations in 
the coast, the ideal way to see it all would be by 
motor boat. But our purpose is to drive along the 
sandy roads and through the forests of Gloucester 
County for some thirty miles, until we reach the 
region of Mob jack Bay. As we drive along we 
pass many negroes, respectable looking people in 
comfortable buggies and light open wagons. Some 
are driving mules, and others have very good horses. 
We find that we must drive slowly, as many of the 
animals are afraid of our car. We pass old Abing- 
don Parish Church, and stop to read the names on 
the tombs with the coats-of-arms in the church yard. 
A little farther on we turn down a long lane and 
drive for a mile and a half through fields and trees. 
Then we come through a gate on to the green lawn 
of "Newstead," an old estate where they are good 
enough to take a few paying guests. Sheep and 
turkeys walk calmly about on the grass under the 
shade of noble oak trees. Before us are the blue 
waters of the Bay. We are on that particular arm 



250 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

of Mob jack Bay known as the North River. Here 
is the enchanting region of which Thomas Dixon 
Jr., wrote some twelve years ago when he described 
his own home in a book called "The Life Worth 
Living." A long motor boat ride convinces us tliat 
Mr. Dixon's descriptions are not exaggerated. 
All along the river (which is really an arm of Ches- 
apeake Bay) stand pleasant homes surrounded by 
green lawns and shaded by fine trees. It is so shel- 
tered here that one has the advantages of the real 
country, as well as of the real sea. 

The chestnut oak, the magnolia, the willow oak, 
the crape myrtle, the fig and the grape all flourish 
luxuriantly. The grass is thick and green ; and yet 
sail boats and motor boats ride at anchor at private 
piers and your man can dredge your own oysters 
from your own oyster-bed just in front of your 
grass and flowers. The estate of which Mr. Dixon 
wrote so delightfully is only ten minutes by motor 
boat from "Newstead." 

A mild climate, rich vegetation, fertile soil, birds 
and flowers and fruits, the best eating in the world, 
what more does Virginia need to make her a para- 
dise on land and by sea? Only good roads, and 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 251 

then the motorist will enjoy her rare charms as 
they have never yet been enjoyed. 

We retrace our journey through the thick woods, 
past fine oaks and beeches to the Yorktown ferry. 
Crossing again to Yorktown we drive on to Old 
Point Comfort, taking a little time to visit the ex- 
tensive buildings of the famous Hampton Institute. 
At Old Point Comfort we take the boat for Cape 
Charles City. It is our plan to drive straight up 
the JMaryland Peninsula, having first spent the 
night in a comfortable little hotel at Cape Charles 
City. 

It is a lovely September morning, clear and 
bright, as we drive north along bumpy roads, 
through beautiful forests of pine and oak. We are 
in Accomac County, Virginia, on the southern end 
of what is called the Delaware-Maryland- Virginia 
Peninsula. This seems to be a lonely country 
through which we are driving, somewhat sparsely 
settled. And yet between Cape Charles City and 
Pocomoke City there are twenty-seven prosperous 
banks, they tell us. And here in Accomac County 
is harvested ^ve per cent, of the entire sweet potato 
crop of the United States. The climatic condi- 



252 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

tions for fruits and vegetables are almost perfect 
on this peninsula, and the soil is extremely fertile. 
All this country is destined to be an immense pe- 
ninsula garden. As we drive along we see great 
heaps of yellow sweet potatoes waiting to be packed 
away in barrels. We see long rows of baskets filled 
with scarlet tomatoes, stretching down the fields, 
alongside the denuded tomato plants. What glo- 
rious color it is! I should like to come here and 
paint a tomato field just after the fruit has been 
picked, the whole field marked by lines of color. 
First a row of green tomato plants, somewhat grey 
and dusty in the bright sun; then a row of baskets 
of scarlet fruit glowing in the sunshine; then a 
stretch of brown earth. Then another row of the 
grey-green plants and another row of baskets piled 
high with scarlet fruit ; and so on across many acres 
of browns and greens and scarlets. We pass im- 
mense wagon-loads of tomatoes being hauled to the 
canneries and to the station. The fruit is placed 
in the wagon in double decker fashion; the first 
platform of baskets being surmounted by a second 
platform upon which the second rows of baskets 
rest. The wagons are drawn by sturdy mules, 
sometimes four strong. At Pocomoke City we have 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 253 

an excellent luncheon at the little hotel. We have 
crossed the Maryland boundary, and our route is 
to lead us through Princess Ann and Salisbury off 
to the northeast to Easton. The country is less 
heavily wooded now, but the soil is of the same fer- 
tile quality, and the cultivated fields are beautiful 
to see. We are driving along the famous Eastern 
Shore, where many people have their country seats. 
The towns through which we are passing, from 
Cape Charles City clear along the peninsula, show 
their age. They belong to the days of early settle- 
ment. 

At Easton we take a day or two to drive about 
the open country and see the charming country 
estates, the houses standing on the shores of creeks 
and inlets, and having the double charm of the coun- 
try and the sea, just as they do in Tidewater Vir- 
ginia. We drive out to "The Wilderness," the home 
of a Pittsburg gentleman. One approaches the old 
brick house through a long avenue of trees. The 
house faces on a green lawn which slopes to the 
waters of a broad stream, with glimpses in the dis- 
tances of a wide bay. About the house there are 
broad fields with rich, fertile soil capable of high 
cultivation. Fine roads run all through the coun- 



254 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

tryside and there are charming places on the creeks 
and inlets, each commanding a beautiful water view. 
You may take your launch in the late afternoon if 
you are weary, and run about in sheltered water 
vv^ays commanding fine views of pretty homes set in 
lovel}^ lawns and trees. Or you may take a sail, 
venturing out from a small inlet to a wider bay, 
and so on into the great open water of the Chesa- 
peake. 

I know a green lawn on a certain inlet, shaded 
by luxuriant oak trees, where the sound of bells 
comes across the water from the village spires of an 
historic old village. The family boat is just be- 
hind the house, rocking gently on the waters of a 
little stream, which runs up from the larger stream 
into the mainland. The situation is ideal. 

We drive about Talbot County and on into Prin- 
cess Ann County. Everywhere we find the same 
fertile, level fields, the same water ways with their 
lovely glimpses of broader water beyond. Wliere 
could one wish for a better luncheon than the one 
served us at an unpretentious little inn called 
Queen Cottage, in the old village of Queenstown? 
Delicious oyster soup, the oysters just out of the 
water, an omelet that would have done justice to a 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 255 

French chef, candied sweet potatoes cooked as only 
a Southern cook knows how, fresh peas, hot bis- 
cuits, excellent coffee, and the pink heart of a cool, 
unwilted watermelon ; and all for a most reasonable 
sum. Queen Cottage would be a sweet spot in 
which to spend a little time of retreat, bountifully 
fed and free to wander about quiet streets and fer- 
tile open country. 

We pass, in driving about, the largest oak tree in 
the county, standing in the door yard of a country 
place, and carefully preserved and watched over. 
Perhaps I should say watched under, as it is an im- 
mense green tent of huge spreading branches, each 
one a tree in itself in its girth and diameter. 

From Easton we drive north and northwest to 
Wilmington over fine roads. The State of Mary- 
land is improving her roads and will in a few years 
have highways that will be among the finest in the 
country, while her scenery is that of a smiling coun- 
try becoming more and more cultivated. On from 
Wilmington to Philadelphia and from Philadelphia 
out to Byrn Mawr ; and from the parked and shaded 
beauty of Byrn Mawr over the rolling farming 
country of Pennsjdvania with its beautiful culti- 
vation and its substantial stone farmhouses, up 



256 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

through Trenton and Newark and across the ferry- 
to New York. We are once more on the Lincoln 
Highway as we travel northeast from Philadelphia. 
It is a joy to travel again by the familiar red, white, 
and blue signs. We know the pleasant open coun- 
try of New Jersey through which the noble High- 
way runs for these last miles, and are at last At 
Home. 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 257 



CHAPTER XIII 

The Lincoln Highway is destined to be a much- 
traveled road. Already the motorists of the West 
are turning the hoods of their motor cars to face 
the East and the motorists of the East are starting 
Westward. Happy is the man who has his hotel or 
inn situated on the road marked by the red, white, 
and blue. The traveler is bound to come his way, 
and the traveler is bound to alight at his door if 
only he has something to offer that is worthy of 
the name of hospitality. But he can no longer 
afford to be careless. There is an unwritten rule 
of the open road which reads that the traveler shall 
tell his fellow traveler of places at which to halt and 
of places to avoid. It is inevitable that in the course 
of a short time the slovenly and careless inn-keeper 
must be supplanted by a better man. 



258 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

The tourist does not enjoy looking out of his 
hotel window on piles of old tin cans and heaps of 
barrel staves and discarded packing boxes. Nor 
does he enjoy looking at mounds of ashes, and 
quantities of vegetable parings. He will not long 
endure a soiled table cloth, horrible green tea, and 
indifferently cooked food. Nor will he endure a 
lack of hot water and utterly careless sanitary ar- 
rangements. He may say little about them to the 
landlord who entertains his party, but he will very 
soon see to it that better inns take the place of the 
old ones of careless and indifferent management. 
The hotel keeper congratulates himself that his 
open door looks out on the Lincoln Highway, and 
that his own sign proudly bears the three distin- 
guishing bars of red, white, and blue. He must have 
more than this to make his inn a success. It is sur- 
prising how fast the news of a clean, well kept inn, 
with excellently cooked food, travels from mouth 
to mouth. 

In France there is a roll of honour for inn-keep- 
ers under the direction, if I mistake not, of the 
Touring Club of France. Only those inn-keepers 
whose houses and whose tables attain a certain 
standard, not of style but of simple cleanliness and 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 259 

of wholesome excellence of food, are admitted to 
this company. I have seen the certificate of the 
roll of honour hanging on the walls of more than 
one country inn in France. 

It is to the credit of the many places in which 
we halted for the night that in only one did we find 
conditions impossible. We slept in a rather indif- 
ferent bed-chamber, having reached the inn late. 
But when we saw the dining-room the following 
morning, we paid our bill and fled; driving on 
twenty miles farther for a late breakfast. Surely 
the average commercial man of the United States 
who travels in country districts year in and year 
out must have a charmed digestion and an iron-clad 
constitution. He may well rejoice that the days 
of motoring have come, for with the motorist is 
coming not only the broad Highway, but the clean 
and comfortable inn. Not necessarily the fash- 
ionable hotel, with its expensive and extravagant 
accessories ; but the clean, immaculately kept coun- 
try inn, with its excellent cooking of the abundant 
food in which our country is so rich. Perhaps we 
shall need to import some Swiss inn-keeper to tell 
us how to do it. Whether we do or do not, the man 
who knows how and the man who is willing to live 



260 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

up to his knowledge will inevitably displace the inn- 
keeper who is careless and indifferent. The big- 
gest bid for a motor tourist is a clean bed-chamber, 
a comfortable bed, and a well cooked though simple 
dinner. 

If I were crossing the Lincoln Highway again I 
should take with me a spirit lamp, a little sauce pan, 
some boxes of biscuits, some excellent tea, some co- 
coa and other supplies. Not that this is a necessity. 
But it would be very pleasant to have a luncheon 
or a cup of afternoon tea al fresco, now and then. 

For our own comfort and convenience we laid 
down for ourselves certain rules of the road. 

First : We did not wear our good clothes. The 
long, dusty journeys are very hard upon clothing, 
and for a lady a comfortable light weight tweed 
suit with plenty of washable blouses with rolling 
collars, covered by an ample motor coat, gives the 
greatest comfort and satisfaction. The dust of the 
plains is ground into one's clothing and one should 
be ready for this. The requirements of the hotels 
along the road are very simple, and a fresh blouse 
will usually be all that is needed. We took care to 
use only such dust robes to cover our luggage as 
could not be injured by the wear and tear of the 



BY THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY 261 

journey. We did not take with us our best rugs 
and robes. 

Second : We did not travel by night. We found 
it very delightful to travel in the late afternoon, 
when the lights were particularly fine, but we 
avoided as much as possible traveling late into the 
evening. In this way one does not miss the scenery 
of the country, and one is not over fatigued. We 
found that when we were obhged to arrive late at 
our inn, it was wiser to eat supper at the proper 
supper hour wherever that might find us. 

Third: We did not as a rule travel on Sunday. 
Partly because we wished to attend church in what- 
ever town we might be, partly because we found 
ourselves fresher for enjoyment and sight-seeing 
after the rest and quiet of a day. 

Fourth: We resolved at the outset to take the 
days and the roads as they came; not looking for 
luxury and well satified with simplicity. It is sur- 
prising how one is fortified for the vicissitudes of 
the road by such a dehberate attitude of mind. 

The Lincoln Highway is not as yet a road for 
those motorists who wish only luxurious hotels, fre- 
quent stops, and all the cushioned comfort of the 
much-traveled main roads of the favorite tourist 



262 ACROSS THE CONTINENT 

parts of Europe. It is, however, perfectly practi- 
cable in its entire length of 3200 miles, and rich in 
interest and charm for those who care for what it 
has to give. 

We drove a Studebaker car as far as Denver and 
a Franklin car from Denver to New York. In all 
the distance traversed we were not conscious of 
braving any dangers or of taking any particular 
risks. 

The End. 



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