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COUTHERNCALIFORNIA
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SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
SOVTHGRN- CALIFORNIA
BY- CHARL6SA- KeeLCR'
ILLVSTRAT6D ■ WITH ■ DRAWINGS
FROA- NATVR6 ■ AND ■ fROM ■ PHO-
TOGRAPHS-BY- Lovise-A- KeeLeR-
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RING • OVT- TH£ -OLD RING- IN- THG • NEW
TWENTY-FIFTH THOVS»ND
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LOS ANG6L6S ■ 1699- ^>
346877
Raymond & Whitcornfo Oo.
(Established 187!
TOURS AND TICKETS EVERYWHERE
Authorized
agents principal railroad ami
steamship lines.
Raymond and Whltcomb maintain at large ex-
peuse a bureau for supplying the traveling public
with Information about resorts, their hotels and
attractions, the best routes for reaching them, the
cost of railway and steamship tickets to all parts
of the world and other needful Information. I»e-
talled Itineraries of contemplated trips will be
prepared on request; these will give the train
service, the names of hotels, places where the
time can be spent to best advantage etc.
While this service is tree it is expected that
those who make use of I he fa ei li ties of this bureau
will purchase their tickets through the same
source, provided the rates are favorable.
Parlor, sleeping car and stateroom accommo-
dations reserved. Baggage checked from resi-
dence to destination. Foreign money, travelers'
cheques, letters of credit, etc.
25 Union Square, New York.
Telephone, 3138 18th St., connecting all
departments.
Cheeked
May 1913
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Introduction, ....... 7
The Desert, ....... 11
The San Bernardino Valley, .... 19
The San Gabriel Valley, .... 35
The Sierra Madre Mountains, 53
Santa Catalina Island, ..... 63
Riverside County, ...... 71
San Diego County, ..... 87
From San Diego to Los Angeles, . . . 105
Los Angeles, ....... 113
Santa Barbara, . . . . . . .123
The Missions, . .125
Conclusion, . . . . . . .139
INTRODUCTION.
IN his " Intellectual Development of Europe," Draper
calls attention to the fact that man first became
established in civilized communities, in regions
where agriculture was dependent upon a regulated
water supply, as in Egypt, where the banks of the
Nile were watered with periodic regularity by the
floods, and in Peru, where irrigation furnished an
unfailing and measured amount of moisture for the
land. Theorizing upon this circumstance, he maintains
tbat there is a relation of cause and effect between the
control of water for agricultural purposes and the high
degree of civilization thus early instituted, since the
uncertainty of the crops in a region relying upon rainfall
for their successful growth prevented the formation of a
stable community, which should increase in experience
and command of the arts from generation to generation.
The force of this theory is emphasized not a little by
a study of the conditions of life in Southern California,
for here also is a community with a regulated and pre-
dictable water supply, by means of which the art of
agriculture has been reduced to a science, so that the
growers of fruit do not need to watch "the
skies to know whether their crop is to be
lost or saved. Indeed, the great reservoirs
in the mountains, with their enormous dams
and their miles of irrigating canals, are the
vital center of all activity in Southern Cali-
fornia. By means of these canals vast
groves of oranges have supplanted the sage-
brush
prosperity
and the orange industry has brought ifew&'.-f.-. |^'iW,FeY,
rity and plenty to the country, build- '''.^pbf^^^^tl*i .'! ;■»
iug up the towns and making Los Angeles a metropolis
of modern life out of a Mexican pueblo.
Nor is the orange the only fruit industry of the
region, for here grow nearly all the deciduous fruits of
more northern countries in addition to the olive, fig,
walnut and loquat. Great vineyards supply grapes for
the table, for raisins and for wine, and already the raisins
of the El Cajon and wines of Cucumonga are known
throughout the land. The olive oil, too, has gained an
enviable reputation
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for its purity and free-
dom from adultera-
tion. Apiaries are
scattered all through
the country and the
honey made from Cali-
fornia wild flowers has
something of the wild-
ness and sweetness of the mountains distilled into it.
Great fields of grain, which do not require irrigation,
reach over many sections of the country as far as the
eye can follow, while the uncultivated tracts are given
over to stock and sheep. The sheep shearing, so pictur-
esquely described by Helen Hunt Jackson in "Ramona,"
is still a feature of the springtime in many districts.
Although tli£se pastoral pursuits form so large and
important a feature of life in Southern California, there
is another phase that has had a large share in the build-
ing up of the country. Stories of a wonderful climate,
of open-air life all the year round, of perennial sunshine
and of beauties of landscape became noised abroad over
the land. People heard that it was a good place for a
home, and they came and found that it was so. Invalids
came with their families, regained their health and
stayed. They wrote home to their friends at Christmas
time that they were enjoying the roses and violets and
orange blossoms, and the next Christmas their friends
came also to escape the blizzards and pneumonia of the
northern States. In this way the country has been built
up, health and pleasure seekers of one year becoming the
settlers of the next.
On New Year's day of this year I went to Pasadena
to see the Tournament of Roses. It was a vision of
beautiful, high-stepping horses garlanded with flowers,
of lovely children half hidden in masses of bloom, and
fair women riding in coaches of flaming blossoms.
There were men on horseback and boys on wheels, with
flowers over and around all. It was but a type of the
flower carnivals and fiestas which have been held in San
Diego, Los Angeles, Pasadena and Santa Barbara for a
number of years, and is an illustration of the love for the
beautiful things of out of doors which is yearly growing
stronger in the minds and hearts of the people of this
favored land.
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THE DESERT.
OUTHERN CALIFORNIA is by
no means one continuous garden
of fruits and flowers. Extend-
ing diagonally across the land from north-
west to southeast lies the San Bernardino
Mountain range, and in proportion as its coast-
wise slope is an earthly paradise, the laud which
it hems in from the sea is a vast and dreary desert.
In vain the moisture-laden clouds of the Pacific
attempt to glide over the snowy summits of San Antonio
and San Bernardino ; or, if perchance they do reach the
enchanted realm of the desert, they are generally dissi-
pated into imperceptible vapor by the heat of the sun.
The desert is a region of arid plains and barren moun-
tains. The soil is of saud incrusted with alkali, and the
mountains are bold, rocky and inhospitable, frequently
in the shape of abrupt, sharply pointed cones with miles
of disintegrated rock, known as talus, sloping away from
their bases. Again, great boulders are piled in chaotic
heaps, wrenched and wracked by the elements, worn by
the action of waves upon this prehistoric ocean shore,
and now standing as silent witnesses of the vast work of
ages. Indeed, there is always something cosmic and
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elemental about the desert. We
seem to be transported into some
earlier geologic time, when the
heart of nature lay bare to the action
of the elements, and the bleak
barren world knew not the songs of birds nor the glory
of flowers. And herein lies the wonder of it ! There
is a fascination in its very sterility — in its boundless
expanse and its haughty disdain of all that is tender and
lovely. It is terrible and grand. We may stand upon
an eminence and gaze for unmeasured miles through the
pellucid air at a diversified landscape where not a human
being dwells, where not a single spring or rillet can be
found to quench the thirst of man or beast, where blue,
snow-topped mountains lie off on the horizon, and lesser
crests of red and purple and gray rise all about us, while
overhead the pitiless sun beats down out of a cloudless
sky, and underfoot the glowing sand and rock reflect its
heat.
The desert is by no means wholly destitute of life,
inhospitable though it be. The grease-wood, a bush
with minute leaves of a dull olive-green color, grows in
considerable abundance, and a number of pallid grayish
or greenish shrubs spring mysteriously out of the sand
and rock. By far the most characteristic plants of the
desert are the yuccas and cacti, which seem to be im-
bued with the spirit of the place, being invariably armed
with spines, thorns, or tiny barbs which make them
wicked neighbors. The most conspicuous form of plant
life on the Mojave Desert is a }7ucca known as the Joshua
tree, a weird, fantastic form growing to a height of
about twenty feet, with long stiff bristling green daggers
all over its trunk and limbs in lieu of leaves, and with
its branches bent and twisted into strange shapes. In
patches on the desert this plant grows in sufficient pro-
fusion to form one of those paradoxes in which the
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region abounds — a desert forest, and a dreary, unearthly
forest it is ; but as a rule the yuccas dot the landscape
here and there, interpersed with thorny shrubs, sandy
wastes, cacti and piles of rock. There are countless
species of cacti found here, which to the casual observer
have but one constant feature — their spines as sharp
and as rigid as needles, which are a perpetual menace to
the unwary.
Many species of birds choose this waterless region
for a home, among the most striking of
which are the far-famed road-runner, the
cactus wren, the mountain mocking bird,
and several thrashers. There are mammals,
too, that have learned to live without water
— the little spermophile or chipmunk with
the white underside of his tail which shows
so conspicuously as he scurries away to
his burrow; and the pallid desert rat,
fawn-colored above and snowy white beneath, with large
eyes, long hind legs and conspicuous cheek pouches.
Nearly all the habitual residents of the desert have been
bleached to a very pale hue by the action of the intense
sunlight and aridity.
Corresponding with the yuccas and cacti in plant life
are the snakes and lizards among the animals — abundant
in number and variety, strange and uncanny in form and
color. They are peculiarly fitting dwellers in this strange
land. One must not be unmindful of the warning of the
rattlesnake when treading these heated sands and avoid-
ing the bristling spines of the cactus.
It would seem that a land armed with so many
devices for repelling the intruder and with so little to
temper the sternness
of environment would
be shunned by man as
a place accursed ; but
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what perils and privations will not be endured for gold !
It is the glitter of this talisman which has lured many
an unhappy prospector to his death on this waterless
wilderness. Today the road to the Rose Mine leads
around Dead Man's point where, years ago, the body
of a man was found who had perished of thirst within
two miles of the Mojave River.
The mining prospector is a product of this sterile
land. His whole horizon is bounded by mineral. The
golden sands are ever just beyond his grasp, and after a
life of toil, privation and disappointment, he is still san-
guine and contented with his lot which is just on the
verge of realizing the fondest dreams of his fancy.
Doubtless he was rocking the sands of the Sacramento
in the days of '49, and digging for silver in some dark
tunnel in Colorado twenty years later. Many a time
during the fifty years of his toil he has had a vein of
gold which was to make his fortune, until, alas, it
tapered off into the thickness of a sheet of paper a few
feet below ; but now, unshaken by past lessons, he is
more sanguine than ever. He has a claim which is
certain to prove a bonanza. The ore has not yet been
assayed, but he will tell you of it with as firm conviction
as if the gold were already stored away in the capacious
pockets of his coat, instead of in those mysterious pock-
ets of mother nature, which are so jealously hidden
away.
Such is the type of man who goes about the country
opening up new gold fields, or following in the wake of
an excitement. With his pick upon his
shoulder he wanders over the sterile
wastes looking for outcroppings of min-
eral ledges. He knows a smattering of
geology and mineralogy gleaned from
years of intercourse with mother earth
and her followers, and he can talk learn-
14
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edly of faults, ledges, veins and all that appertains to
his craft. Having located a vein which seems promis-
ing, he takes up a claim and goes to work, with a
partner, sinking a prospecting shaft. As soon as the
hole becomes deep enough to warrant it, a windlass is
rigged up over it, and while one man digs and fills the
bucket, the other hoists it and wheels off the rock in his
iron barrow. Thus they toil, blasting and picking, rais-
ing and lowering their bucket from morning till night.
A rough forge is one of the first requisites, for the rocks
soon wear off the point of the pick and it must be fre-
quently sharpened. If the ore looks promising enough
to make it seem worth while continuing at the shaft, or
if there is enough faith, money and perseverance back
of the enterprise, the windlass turned by hand gives
place in time to a derrick with horse power to raise the
bucket of ore.
Should the miners have success in their work, and
after months of arduous toil make a "strike," a flag is
triumphantly nailed to the pole surmounting the derrick
where a forlorn white rag has been fluttering. The
number of men has by this time been doubled or trebled,
and more outside capital has been invested in the enter-
prise. The boys of the camp have a great jollification
over the good news, and when work is resumed, the ^' \
task of digging out the ore and hauling it to the nearest }JjdItl
stamp mill is commenced. The prospecting hole has
become a mine, and, if successful, calls into being a host
of others about it.
The stamp mill is built upon a steep bank and the
ore is dumped at the highest point in the rear of the
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mill, working down through the
various stages by the force of gravity.
It is first crushed by the great steel-
shod stamps which rise and fall with
a deafening noise, pounding up the
ore and mixing it with a stream of
water into a liquid pulp. It then
passes over the steel plates coated with
quicksilver, and finally over the rub-
ber bands of the condensers, particles
of gold being extracted at each stage
of the process.
There are gold mines and rumors of mines scattered
all along the Mojave Desert, from The Needles to Victor,
including Oro Grande and the now famous camp at
Randsburg, but they do not by any means exhaust the
mineral resources of these wonderful mountains and
plains. The most extensive borax mines in the world
are located here, and salt is taken out of the mountains
in great crystallized blocks. Here too, are quarries of
marble, granite and lime, with innumerable other min-
eral treasures to be developed by the intelligent appli-
cation of brains and capital.
The mines, situated as they are from five to fifty
miles from the nearest railroad station, demand another
industry which is characteristic of the desert — teaming.
Water and provisions for men and horses, mining appli-
ances and the numberless necessities of a mining camp
are transported by freight teams across the long reaches
of desert, and for this purpose very large, heavily loaded
wagons are employed, drawn by from four to ten or
twelve horses or mules. Two wagons are frequently
fastened together, and the horses driven in one team.
Pack mules are also used for transporting supplies to
and from the mines, and a train of these patient little
burros with their great packs strapped securely to their
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backs but wobbling with every motion
of the beast, is an exceedingly pic-
turesque spectacle.
Nor do the resources of the desert
end with its minerals. Unaccount-
able as it seems, this barren, sandy
soil only needs water to make it bear abundant crops.
By the proper direction and application of the waters of
the Mojave River certain portions of the region can be
converted into a garden of wonderful fertility. Nature
has demonstrated this by the grove of beautiful cotton-
woods and willows which line its shores, and which in
summer form an oasis of refreshing shade upon leaving
the heat of the sandy wastes. This river is not like the
steady reliable streams of more favored lands. Rising
in the San Bernardino Mountains, it flows off over the
desert for some distance, a goodly stream of cold moun-
tain water, and presently disappears wholly from view.
After flowing for some distance as an invisible "sink"
it emerges again as a rather broad but shallow stream.
Finally it is once more dissipated in the desert sand and
gives up the unequal contest for supremacy, vanishing
forever, partly drunken up by the thirsty sand and
partly evaporated into the arid sky.
Stockraising is successfully carried on in places
along the Mojave River where the bunch grass grows.
Cattle seem to thrive on the scanty fare of the desert
when it might well be supposed that they would starve
to death.
The men of the desert are bronzed, hardy and
rugged, sickness being almost un-
known among them even during
the hottest sum-
mer weather.
The extreme arid-
ity, together with
•-00CA.
the tonic effects of a
moderate altitude, make
the climate most whole-
some and invigorating.
Nor is there quite the
monotony of weather
which one might be led to assume. During the winter
months the nights are cold and frosty, and there is an
occasional flurry of snow, although the days are usually
mild and even hot at noon time. The few spring
showers coax a great profusion of wild flowers into being
out of the warm sand, and for a few weeks the desert
blooms like a garden. The strong winds of March and
April at other times sweep over the country with clouds
of sand, and during the summer months cloudbursts
often occur, sending great torrents of water down dr)r
ravines, making deep cuts and deluging everything
within their track.
I have not touched upon a tithe of the wonders that
entrance and awe the observer in this strange land.
Here are sunrises of weird grandeur, when the sharp
peaks in shades of blue and plumbago jut into a sky of
transparent green and gold, and sunsets of crimson fire
above the blue, snow-crowned San Bernardino Range,
with fantastic yuccas sprawling their silhouettes against
the light, and blackbirds clanging in a throng at their
roosting place among the cottonwoods. Then the dark-
ness falls^aud the stars flash and scintillate in dazzling
splendor in the transparent atmosphere. Truly the
desert hath its charms for him who is not blind to the
ever-present wonders of nature !
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THE SAN BERNARDINO VALLEY.
OUNTAINS are a dominant feature in nearly
every Californian landscape. They com-
mand all approaches to the State, and he
who would gain this garden of the Hesper-
ides must first cross the desert and then
lUff^i&s scale the heights. The passenger on the
Santa Fe road, as on other transconti-
nental lines to Southern California, gets
his first impression of this noble State on
the desert. As seen from the railroad, it
is only too often but a hot, dreary, dusty
waste, uninteresting and barren, and in the
hurry of travel its unique picturesqueness
and vast undeveloped resources are alike
overlooked. But he approaches the blue
line of the San Bernardino Mountains, and
is told that once across them he will be in
tJSfcd the land of flowers and orange groves.
At Victor the ascent begins. The engine
labors and the train moves more slowly
over the desert. Hesperia, with its great
groves of yuccas, is passed, and still the
desert is about us. The grade becomes steeper as we
penetrate into the heart of the mountains which tower
many thousand feet above us. The vegetation gradually
changes, but still preserves the characteristics of the
desert. Another species of yucca is noted, locally known
as the Spanish bayonet — a bunch of stiff, spear-like
leaves springing from the rock}- soil, and one stalk bear-
ing the blossom, but often withered, growing out of the
midst of the clump to the height of several feet. The
19
long level sweeps of the desert give
place to intricate rolling hills, over
which the railroad establishes a uni-
form grade by means of numerous
cuts. Dry creek beds are here larger
and more numerous, showing that at
times the water of sudden storms is
carried away from the mountains in
roaring torrents. Here and there
clumps of mauzanita bushes grow,
and again huge rocks stand out
naked and grim on the face of the mountain.
We pass Summit through a cut in the mountains and
commence descending through the Cajon Pass. A few
stunted pine trees cling to the mountain sides, but in
general the soil is still sandy and scantily clothed with
vegetation. Is this, then, the far-famed garden land of
California ? Patience ! A few wild flowers spring from
the sand beside the track. A stream of water winds
here and there over its gravelly and sandy bed. We
pass the station of Irvington with its hives of bees, and
consider that where there are bees there must be flowers.
Yes, off there on the hillside is a patch of gold where a
bed of Eschscholtzias, commonly called California pop-
pies, has spread its radiant coverlet. We see below us,
now and then, glimpses of a valley, blue and beautiful
in its misty reaches, and before we realize it we are in
San Bernardino, situated in the midst of one of those
peerless valleys which are a wonder and a joy.
But, reader, do not expect to see San Bernardino
from a railroad train or from the station platform. You
might as well undertake to judge of a painting by
examining a strip an inch wide along its margin. Nor can
San Bernardino be seen from the windows of your hotel.
Go on foot, on horseback, on a wheel, in a carriage -
go in any way that you find most pleasant and conven-
ient, and get near to nature. California is essentially an
out-of-doors country, and can only be known and appre-
ciated by those who love nature and know how to get
acquainted with her on terms of intimacy.
It may be said of the inhabitants of the San Ber-
nardino Valley, as Caesar said of the Helvetians, that
they are hemmed in on all sides by the nature of the
country, except that in Caesar's time there were no trans-
continental railways running through Helvetia as there
now are at San Bernardino, and herein is an important
difference. But the mountains almost completely encir-
cle this broad, fair valley, rising on the north and east
to the height of twelve and thirteen thousand feet, in
such imposing peaks as San An-
tonio, San Bernardino and San
Gorgonio.
The town of San Bernardino is
the distributing and outfitting
point for a large mining district
to the north and east. It has a
commercial importance as a rail-
road center, and although oranges
are not successfully grown in its im-
mediate vicinity, it is surrounded
by one of the finest citrus belts in
the State. The car shops of the
Santa Fe road are situated here. This combination of
industries makes the town one of unusual activity for a
population of but little more than ten thousand, and its
main street is a bustling thoroughfare. The courthouse,
in spite of its unfortunate location, is a structure which
many a larger city might point to with pride. It is built
of rough gray stone, is well proportioned and richly
decorated.
In the main, however, the architecture here, as in
most of the towns and cities of California, north and
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south alike, leaves much to
be desired iu taste and refine-
ment. Still, nature quickly
atones for the inexperience of
man, and in a surprisingly
short space of time will hide
the most commonplace struc-
ture under a bower of lovely
leaves and blossoms ; and we
may also take comfort in the
fact that all over this Pacific
slope people are rapidly awakening to a realization of
the fact that architecture must be fitting to the land-
scape in which it is placed, and that what we need here
is more sympathy with our surroundings, more sim-
plicity, more thought in our buildings, both public and
private.
But if the houses of San Bernardino lack anything in
picturesque effect, much has been done to atone for this
by the unconscious taste shown in the improvement of
the landscape. Instead of marring the face of nature as
is so often the case with human interference, man has
vastly enhanced its beauties. Water has been developed
here in great abundance, both in immense storage reser-
voirs in the mountains, and in artesian wells, which are
numerous and flow in powerful streams. By means of
this abundant water supply, a country originally largely
covered with sand and chamiso — a hard,
ungraceful shrub — has been converted
into a park of Arcadian loveliness. He
^ who visits this spot in the springtime,
% when all over the country the fresh,
brilliant green grain is spreading abroad
its mantle, when the pink peach blos-
soms stand out in contrast to the deep
blue of the lofty mountains behind them,
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and the rows of
cottonwoods by
the roadside, and
the alders along
the a r r o y o are
leafing out in
delicate spring
green, when great
fleecy clouds
are piled about the mountain tops, making the sky
between them a deeper, more transparent blue than
ever — he who is so fortunate as to see the San Bernar-
dino Valley at this time will feel while he is under its
spell that it is the loveliest spot on earth. The meadow
lark by the roadside sounds its loud, sweet flute call,
and the irrigating ditch ripples along, reflecting now the
green of the meadow and again the blue of heaven. It
is a land wherein the poet may dream dreams and the
painter see visions. It is a land which ought in the
course of time produce a race of poets and painters — a
second Greece ! Here stretches the new vale of Tempe.
Aloft rise the heights of a second Parnassus and Olym-
pus. In such mountain fastnesses, impenetrable and
remote, where clouds rolled amid the mighty pine forests
or rested upon austere and barren summits of rock and
snow, dwelt the gods of Greece, and may not we, even
though born in a more credulous time, find here the
inspiration for a literature and an art which shall rival
that of old ?
As we leave the cultivated portions of the valley and
approach the San Bernardino Mountains, new forms of
beauty are in waiting. In the
springtime the sandy wastes are
converted into a boundless flower
garden — a cloth of gold woven
with a pattern of white, green,
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purple and blue. Approaching still nearer to the foot-
hills, we find canons creasing their sides, in which alders
and sycamores are just coming into leaf. Ranches are
nestled close up to the rugged slopes of the mountains
where oranges are grown and where bees store their
honey. The slopes of the mountain are largely over-
grown with the harsh chaparral, varied now and then by
patches of the fragrant yerba santa or an occasional
buckthorn bush, completely covered with delicate white
blossoms. Ascending still higher on the narrow moun-
tain road which turns and winds in and out and around,
we have glorious panoramic views of the vast reach of
valley and the far-away mountains melting into a blue
haze on the horizon. Here and there a pine tree, dwarfed
and forlorn, clings to the rocky wall of a canon, down
which flows a pure stream of mountain water.
On a level bench upon the side of the mountains, just
below the striking landmark which has given the place
its name, are the Arrowhead Springs — a group of hot
sulphur springs which flow from
the rocks, sending forth a perpet-
ual cloud of steam. It is not diffi-
cult to understand the association
with such phenomena as this, in
the minds of primitive men, of
spirits of the nether world, demons
and oracles. We are here brought
face to face with those mysterious
forces which have had so large a share in the fashioning
of this world in which we live. The hotel formerly
occupying a commanding site beside these springs has
been burned, and as yet has not been rebuilt.
Another road climbs to the crest of the mountains
where the Squirrel Inn is located. A few years ago Mr.
Adolph Wood, the manager of the Arrowhead Reservoir
Company, read Frank Stockton's story, "The Squirrel
25
Inn," and was so im-
pressed by its novel sug-
> gestiveness that he deter-
mined to carry out some
of its ideas. The result
was a club, with its head-
quarters on the topmost
ridge of the San Bernar-
dino Range, overlooking
the vast expanse of moun-
tain and valley below it.
The club building is a log house with a great rough
stone fireplace, and, surrounding it among the pines, are
smaller log cabins, the summer homes of the members,
whither they repair during the hot months to enjoy the
peace of nature and the balm of the pine woods. Every-
thing about the club has been left in a state of nature.
The architecture is singularly in keeping with the spot,
and much taste has been shown in the designing of the
artistic cottages which blend so perfectly with their sur-
roundings. The Arrowhead Reservoir Company is mak-
ing preparations to ac-
cumulate and distribute
water on an immense
scale throughout this
region.
Looking at the valley
in the springtime when
the ground is carpeted
with flowers and the air
is warm and soothing, it
is hard to realize that a
drive of two or three
hours would take the
traveler into dense for-
ests of pine, with snow
";^^m
-<**,
perhaps several feet in depth; but such is the case, and
a winter among these mountains is not unlike one in
Canada, even to the snowshoes or skees, which are indis-
pensable to locomotion. Such is Southern California!
A titan might make snowballs among these mountains
and hurl them down upon the heavily laden orange trees
growing at their base.
Nine miles southeast of San Bernardino lies the town
of Redlands in the midst of one of the great citrus belts
of Southern California. The growth of this district has
" "«»«„„
n*»^>
been phenomenal. Ten years ago the small village of
Lugonia, adjacent to the present site of Redlands, gave
scarcely a hint of the resources of the country so soon to
be realized. At that time a number of Chicago men
organized a company for the purpose of forming a set-
tlement in California, and the district about Lugonia
was chosen for their prospective town. Others were
soon attracted to the spot, and a village, almost a city,
was built in an incredibly short space of time. In the
business portion of the town the houses are of red brick,
the sidewalks of cement, and the streets paved with
vitrified brick. Upon leaving this section we come to
27
streets and avenues where palms, acacias and pepper
trees line the way for miles, while about the comfortable
homes of the inhabitants are groves of orange trees
loaded with their golden fruit. Everywhere are signs
of prosperity and contentment. The rolling hills for
miles about are covered with orange groves, mostly in
small holdings of from five to twenty acres, and all
showing a state of care and cultivation which speaks
well for the thrift of the people.
Despite the newness of the town, we are here in the
midst of associations with a varied and romantic past.
Just outside of Redlands, on what is known as the
Barton Villa tract, stand the crumbling adobe ruins of
the first building in the val-
ley. At some time during
the early part of the century
the peaceful Indians dwell-
ing in the San Bernardino
Valley applied to the Fran-
ciscan Fathers at the Mission
San Gabriel, requesting that
stock-raising be introduced
in their country. In the
year 1822 their request was granted, and upon the site of
the present ruins, the adobe walls, so characteristic of
the Spanish settlement, were reared. Tiles were baked
for a flooring, and the roof was of thatched tules.
Although an outlying post of the Mission San Gabriel
and under the direct supervision of the mission fathers,
it was not, properly speaking, a mission, and little
seems to be known of the details of its history. Stock-
raising was the only pursuit considered profitable then,
and for a long time to come, although small orchards
and vineyards were planted to supply the local needs.
In 1832, the Indians, becoming dissatisfied with their
restraint, rebelled, and destroyed the hacienda, but it
28
was promptly rebuilt. Shortly after this, however, the
padres were deprived of their authority by the decree of
secularization, and the entire district was divided into
extensive cattle ranches, controlled by Mexicans.
This state of affairs continued without interruption,
save for occasional Indian difficulties, for nearly twenty
years, when a new element was added to the life of the
valley.
Brigham Young wished to have a colony at some
point near the Pacific Coast, from which European
emigrants en route for Salt Lake City might start on
their overland journey, and after some negotiations with
the holders of Mexican grants in the San Bernardino
Valley, a large tract was purchased on credit. Accord-
ingly, in the spring of 1851 a party of Mormons camped
in the Cajon Pass and looked down upon the valley
which was to be their future home. There were some
fifty wagons drawn by oxen in this first train, followed
shortly afterward by other parties, swelling the number
in all to about eight hundred people. Soon after their
arrival, rumors of an Indian uprising were rife in the
valley. The new settlers left the highlands where they
were encamped for the more open part of the plain,
and here constructed a wooden stockade, within which
they made their camp. The Mexican settlers also
repaired to the fort or its vicinity for shelter, and their
cattle were herded near by. Truly this was a strange
mingling of families seeking shelter from a common
foe — the ardent Catholic and the zealous disciples of
Joseph Smith !
The Indian uprising did not prove as serious as was
anticipated, and, in the course of time, the Mormons
were located upon home sites v
about the valley. With char- . ..-■'--' ^VQ
actenstic energy they com- '. -STJ. J>f
menced their labors. A road s^^iM: l%-fS
PS
29 --^Oj
* "*'*:*-'-,
.-•»
■k.
3 i ^vtM^
was built to the top of the
mountains, where a sawmill
was erected and the work
of cutting lumber for their
homes commenced. Irrigat-
ing ditches were dug, fruit
trees were planted, and large
tracts were sown with grain.
The country became pros-
perous, and strangers were
gradually being attracted to the valley and settling
there. The Mormons did not assimilate with their
Gentile neighbors, and friction between the two ele-
ments had become so great by 1857 that serious difficulty
was apprehended, when an unexpected event largely put
an end to the trouble.
President Buchanan, desiring to take the control of
affairs in Utah out of the hands of Brigham Young,
appointed a governor for the territory, whereupon the
great Mormon leader prepared to resort to arms in sup-
port of what he conceived to be his right. He called
upon all the faithful to assemble in defense of their
cause, and a large majority of the Mormons in the San
Bernardino Valley, who were just beginning to realize
their hopes of a happy home in this fruitful region, sold
out their property at a sacrifice and started on the long
journey over the desert to fight at the command of their
leader in an unworthy cause. Some refused to go, and
the remnants of the baud still live about
Redlands and San Bernardino.
After the departure of the Mormons,
the country was largely given over to the
lawlessness of a town on the confines of
civilization. There were Indian incur-
sions and local brawls for many years,
lmt peace and prosperity at last pre-
30
C^aon Ccc*f~ "Dri
vailed. It is only of late that the great possibilities
of the country in the raising of citrus fruits has been
realized.
There is little in the modern town of Redlands to
indicate the stirring history of the district. To be sure,
a wagon, driven by a swarthy Mexican wearing a broad
SMILEY DRIVE.
sombrero and bright red neckscarf, rumbles along the
streets of the town every now and then, and the burros
are an ever-present feature along the main throughfare,
but they all seem strangely out of keeping with the
elegant equipages which would do credit to Central
Park or Fifth avenue. Many people of wealth have
chosen Redlands as a home for at least a part of the year,
and it is a pleasure to note that some among them are
sufficiently interested in the place to spend their money
freely in public adornment and improvement. Among
31
these the most conspicuous are the Messrs. A. H. and
A. K. Sniiley, who have laid out an extensive and beau-
tiful park about their residences, and thrown it open to
the public. The drive through these grounds follows
the backbone of a ridge separating the San Bernardino
Valley, or the upper Santa Ana, as it is sometimes called,
from the San Timotheo Cation, a long narrow gorge
which is in the main as nature fashioned it. The out-
look along this narrow ridge is imposing and beautiful,
with the bare canon on one side, and on the other the
low rolling hills of Redlands covered -with orange trees
I i
and leading off by imperceptible degrees across the blue
reaches of the valley to the lofty snow-capped mountains
beyond. The road winds through a bewildering tangle
of tropical plants — palms, bamboos, acacias, sweet-
scented vines and flowers of brilliant color, making a
picturesque combination with the panoramas and vistas
leading to snow-topped mountains, that has given tbis
Canon Crest drive the name of being one of the features
of a trip to Southern California.
A large substantial building has also been erected by
these same public-spirited men as a gift to the town for
its public library. It is centrally located and surrounded
by a park. Another feature of Redlands which cannot
32
be too highly commended is the placing
of its grammar and high school build-
ings upon large plots of land laid out
in extensive playgrounds and tastefully
arranged parks. Altogether it may be confidently pre-
dicted that this town has a great future before it, with
its salubrious and health-giving climate, its wealth,
enterprise and great reaches of productive orange
groves.
It is a ride of but a few miles from Redlands to High-
lands, the road traversing the valley, with the mountain
range rising abruptly not far away. Between Mentone
and East Highlands the land is uncultivated and the
contrast is most striking after viewing the miles of
orange trees. Here the soil is sandy, full of boulders,
and half covered with harsh shrubs which are but one
degree removed from the plants of the desert. It is a
striking illustration of the change which has been
wrought throughout Southern California by the aid of
the irrigating ditches. At Highlands we are once more
in the midst of a productive orange district, which
extends for miles along the foothills above San Bernar-
dino.
This portion of the railroad forms the upper loop of
the famous Kite-shaped Track, which extends in the form
of a modern race track through the very heart of South-
ern California. The excursion over this track from Los
Angeles to San Bernardino, around the loop through
Redlands and Highlands and re-
crossing at San Bernardino to the
larger loop which returns to Los
Angeles by way of Orange, can be
made in a day, affording the trav-
eler an opportunity to scan a large
section of country. The Santa
Ana Canon between Riverside and
i ,% ST •
•
*..
<i
33
-Ji**.j* *
Orange is a lovely valley with the willow-fringed stream
hemmed in by gracefully rising mountain ranges, and in
charming contrast to the great areas of orange groves
and the intervening patches of unreclaimed mesa land.
Jffl&gfe , B-ji
\
34
THE SAN GABRIEL VALLEY
FROM San Bernardino to Los Angeles the railroad
traverses a succession of valleys which in effect
constitute one great basin, with the San Bernar-
dino and Sierra Madre Mountains hemming it in to the
eastward, and an irregidar range of hills and mountains
on the westward, now expanding and again contracting
the expanse of the level and fertile plain. The boun-
daries of the various sections of this great valley are not
very sharply defined, but in general the eastern division
is termed the San Bernardino Valley, the western section
the San Gabriel Valley, while the inhabitants of Pomona,
between these two, are proud to name all the land in
sight after their fair town.
Four miles from San Bernardino on the road to Los
Angeles is the town of Rialto, devoted to fruit culture,
and near by are great fields of cauaigre, a species of dock
which is used extensively in the tanning of bather.
Cucamonga, the next stopping point, is famed for its
vineyards and for the choice wines which are produced
there. As the train rolls swiftly on toward the great
center of activity of Southern California, North Ontario
next claims the traveler's attention. It is in the midst
of a great orange district and connected with Ontario
by an electric railroad which traverses the country in a
line as straight as a bee's flight for home, the car track
being continuously lined
with great pepper trees.
This line ends upon the
mesa north of town, at the
base of the great Mount
San Antonio, one of the
commanding landmarks of
the district. From this
mesa ma}' be had one of
those entrancing views of
the vast valley below — an
endless sweep of checkered
color and rnisty undulating i;^^';;
line. There are large fruit # . „".
packing houses at North
Ontario, where hundreds of ^5?
carloads of oranges, lemons
and dried fruitsareannually
packed for shipment.
Ontario is a peaceful, contented town. As in so
many other places in Southern California, its streets are
lined with pepper trees, palms grow in great profusion,
and the eucalyptus towers aloft in imposing columns.
The feverish, unwholesome days of the boom are hap-
pily long since over, the people have given up selling
town lots on the desert, and instead are now convert-
ing the wastes into orange groves. Nearly everyone
here owns a wheel, and the roads about town have
bicycle paths worn along their sides, making wheeling
very comfortable. There is also a regularly constructed
bicycle path beside the electric car line, shaded with
pepper trees. I saw many indications in Ontario of
quiet rural refinement, and an evidence of peace and
moderate prosperity. It is a place of homes and makes
no especial bid for tourist patronage or outside support,
although I found an excellent hotel and many Eastern
people who had escaped into this
eddy in the current of travel.
Pomona, which is connected with
North Pomona by
a little wheezy steam
to -''
dummy, is a considerably larger town than Ontario, and
likewise the center of the citrus and olive industry of
the adjacent valley land. From the San Jose hills to the
northwest of the town, a view can be had of the sur-
rounding country with its miles of orange trees, its
mountains, its hills, and houses embowered amid euca-
lyptus and pepper trees — a lovely country over which
the goddess Pomona may be truly said to preside. Like
Ontario, Pomona is essentially a place of homes and
quiet home life, of peace and contentment. It is such
communities as this that form the backbone of Southern
California's prosperity — a thoughtful, conservative,
industrious people, growing their fruit and gradually
working out a more defined
individuality and a larger in-
telligence.
Pomona College, a Congre-
gational institution situated at
Claremont, but a few miles out
| of town, exercises a strong up-
ward influence upon the people,
J^ and the schools are thoroughly
in touch with modern ideas
and equipment.
At Pomona, as at other spots
where the land is fertile and the
surrounding country beautiful, the Mexicans were the
first settlers, and traces of their occupation still remain.
A large clump of prickly pear is the infallible sign of
their settlement, which is confirmed by the adobe walls
not far removed. One of the houses, which is today
used as a residence, was originally a mission chapel, and
the adjoining home was built
by Don Palomares, the first
settler in the valley, who
received a Spanish grant
in the valley
#^|! fi
I
mm
w
» •^aSfe--- I "~" -* ''■ =*
&
7 p
which was equivalent to a small principality. The house
stands today embowered by the vegetation of years, a
lovely California home with its patio where, in the shade
of the porch, hangs the olla filled with spring water,
with orange groves surrounding the home, and the song
of the mocking bird still shaping those full, rich modu-
lations which charmed the light-hearted sefiorita and the
gay caballero of a bygone race.
From Pomona to Pasadena is less than an hour's run
on the train, passing through Lordsburg, Glendora,
Azusa, Monrovia, Sierra Madre and other towns devoted
largely to the culture of oranges, olives and grapes.
There are still many miles of desert waste between the
areas of cultivation, which are
only awaiting the application
of water to bring forth in prod-
igal bounty the wealth of grovi
and vine. These wastes are
not without a charm of their
own, however. Here is the
land as it looked when Father
Junipero Serra used to pace
its length from San Diego to
Monterey. Sagebrush, chamiso,
grease-wood and chaparral — a
vast expanse of dull green and gray bushes, generally
no higher than a man's waist, with sandy or adobe soil,
starred in spring with wild flowers, varied here and
there by arroyos, dry creek beds of gravel and sand,
where sycamores and live oaks form groves of rare
beauty — such is the scenery of Southern California
where man has not altered it. But the picture is incom-
plete if the blue mountains are omitted, or the far-away
views with hints of the mist of the sea and hazy islands
half visible on the horizon.
These reveries are interrupted by the appearance of
39
tfc
'■•■''i-'i'V S' , "' rT&hb^Wt^ffi-U-ii
■ .. ■-
P^^-cJcn^
_-_V»M«.
the houses of Pasadena, the whistle of the locomotive
and the stopping of the train at Pasadena station beside
a little park and at the back door of the magnificent
Hotel Green.
I write of Pasadena with the new wine of spring in
my veins. The linnet leaps into the air and sings from
tree to tree. The mocking bird pipes its full, richly
varied strain. The orange trees are decked with balls of
gold, and from the orchard the warm breeze bears the
scent of the blossoms. In every garden is a wealth of
bloom. Vines of white lamarck and banksia roses climb
over houses until the very gables nestle in bridal bowers,
and the gold of ophir opens its petals from a thousand
buds — a riot of color that is a wonder and a joy.
Pasadena, the crown of the valley ! A town on the
broad slopes that sweep up to the rugged sides of the
Sierra Madres, commanding, from its many points of
vantage, a vast panorama of valley covered with green
fields of grain, with the dark, dense rows of orange
trees and the far-away reaches of purple and blue, with
homes dotting the landscape, and clusters of eucalyptus
trees ; while away off to the east, down the valley, Mount
San Jacinto, with crest of snow, seems floating in a mist
40
of blue, and nearer rise in succession the peaks San
Bernardino, San Gorgonio and San Antonio, all topped
with snow ! Among its streets are Marengo avenue with
its arch of graceful pepper trees, Orange Grove and
Grand Avenues lined with large and costly residences set
in tropical gardens or surrounded by green lawns, and
Colorado street, leading from the business center of the
town out past many sightly residences to the country
districts of Lamanda Park, Sierra Madre and other towns
on the way to San Bernardino. Dropping sharply away
from the ridge upon which Orange Grove and Grand
Avenues lie is the beautiful Arroyo Seco, a rambling, dry
creek bed of sand and gravel, skirted with live oaks and
sycamores and flanked by rolling hills beyond which lies
the valley of San Fernando, named from the mission
which still remains as a silent witness of the days of
Spanish rule.
The San Gabriel Valley is teeming with historic
associations. Hither, in 1771, came Father Junipero
Serra, with a small band of devoted followers, to found
the fourth of the Franciscan missions in Alta California.
He discovered a large Indian population in this lovely
valley who were at first hardly disposed to be friendly,
but, according to the early chronicler, were immediately
pacified when a large picture of the Virgin was unfolded
to their view. The mission bells were suspended from a
tree, mass was said, and the little band soon commenced
the work of constructing a mission. The original adobe
structure was deserted after a few years for a more favor-
able site some five miles away, and here in 1775 a second
mission was erected, to be replaced ere long by a stone
church a few hundred yards farther south, which stands
today, but little altered by the lapse of
time. It is the oldest of the California mis-
sions now standing in a good state of preser-
vation. It is situated in the middle of the t
I
41
H
-S*»n Gs-kr^L
^ i*J?~-_
rambling old Mexican town of the same name, and sur-
rounded by tokens of that strange life which is now so
completely a thing of the past. Back of it is the ceme-
tery with many a story written over its dilapidated
graves, and in front, just across the street, is the ditch
and remnants of the mill in which the Indian neophytes
ground the flour. This old mill was largely built by a
reformed pirate, the story of whose life forms one of the
romances of this romantic region.
In 1818, a privateer from Buenos Ayres was plundering
the coast of California in the vicinity of Santa Barbara.
A small boat containing some of the crew was capsized
in the breakers close to the shore when a party of mis-
sion soldiers, concealed near at hand, fired
upon the men struggling in
the water. Some of them
were shot, some managed to
swim to another boat, and
two, a negro and a Yankee
named Chapman, swam
ashore. They were captured
by the Mexicans, who cast
their riatas over them after a stout resistance. Despite
the proposal of some of the number to hang them to the
nearest tree, their lives were spared through the friendly
intervention of Don Antonio Lugo, who was attracted to
Chapman b}' his powerful physique and bravery.
Don Antonio lived in Los Angeles, and on his return
home he took the pirate with him, the two riding on the
same horse. Chapman was set to work in the Sierra
Madre Mountains with a party of Mexican wood chop-
pers, who were getting out timber for the church in Los
Angeles. So proficient did the stout Yankee prove him-
self at this work that he soon won the respect and
admiration of the padres and dons. Other tasks were
given him to perforin, the most conspicuous being the
42
construction of the mill directly
south of the mission. His neigh-
bors began to talk of finding a wife
for him, and so thoroughly had
he earned their friendship that
they considered the daughter of
one of the wealth}- ranchers near
Santa Barbara a worthy match. He was accordingly
escorted to the home of the fair senorita, having been
baptized into the church on his way, and ere long the
dark-eyed maiden had consented to his proposals and
was made his bride. For many years they lived at San
Gabriel, surrounded by a happy family. And thus it
appears that the first New England settler in California
came here as a pirate !
The mill which Chapman built is not the oldest one
in the valley, however. A mile or so north of the Mis-
sion San Gabriel still stands in an excellent state of
preservation — the oldest flour mill, not only of the val-
ley, but of the State. It was built by the padres and their
Indian converts about the year 1812, but through faulty
construction and on account of its distance from the
mission was abandoned as a mill after a year or two, and
used as a wine cellar. Just below it is Wilson's Lake, a
beautiful glassy pond which was used as a reservoir in
the early mission days.
Of the Pasadena of today it is difficult to write, for
there is so much to arouse the enthusiasm that one is in
— , //*■-*.
danger of conveying a
false impression. It
is not all sunshine and
flowers. There are
days that are cold, for
Pasadena, and days that are wind)' and disagreeable. In
winter there are some rainy weeks and in summer an
endless amount of dust. To one who comes here expect-
ing to find the Garden of Eden just as the Lord origi-
nally planted it, the first impression may be just a trifle
disenchanting. The ground under the orchards and in
the vineyards is bare. If one sees a California vineyard
in the winter season for the first time he is apt to
exclaim in surprise, for the vines are all trimmed away
s*ss J- JLt-\
J \
,*;.
,Vi*"
' «. *'..¥*<•.•. S^i 11 42,/. c - «PV_S& — •£—.
f1, .■;*■■? $'$1 v ?■•/ r; ,
/5"/r~A*.
to an insignificant stump, and all that he will see is a
vast field of bare soil with rows of these uninteresting
little knots of wood close to the ground. In summer
this becomes a tangle of green vines, and in autumn the
grapes hang in clusters so large and abundant that if
I am to retain rny reputation for veracity I had better
leave them undescribed.
But when the worst has been said of Pasadena it
remains one of the most charming of towns. Its climate
has been heralded the world over. Its people are refined
» '
AS
"' 'V,.' ' i
/i
11, II ,-—; „'-■: *■■■■■ {'ZJ-. -
J> _^|0-f*
^i*^,,
i ^S®:^-^
and cultured. It has good schools, a fine public library,
many churches, large and costly residences, and avenues
and streets which are decorated with an endless succes-
sion of palms and pepper trees. So many men of means
have been attracted here from the East that it is said
that more wealth is represented among its citizens than
in any other city of its size in America. Thousands of
health and pleasure seekers come here to spend their
winters, and from autumn to spring the streets present a
festive appearance, with the
many fine carriages, the
tallyho coaches, and gay
parties of tourists on every
hand. The commodious
Hotel Green, one of the fine
hotels of the Pacific Coast,
has been so overtaxed during
the winter months that an addition much larger than
the original is now in course of erection, connected with
the present building by a picturesque bridge across the
street. Another favorite Pasadena hotel, the Pintoresca,
situated upon the high ground in the direction of Alta-
dena, is taxed to the uttermost during the winter months
by the host of tourists who assemble here from all over
the land.
Pasadena is especially notable for its beautiful resi-
dences set in the midst of gardens which are often exten-
sive enough to give the effect of parks. Houses in the
mission style stand out as a feature of the local archi-
tecture, although many of the shingled residences are
graceful in line and broad and simple in treatment. It
is a place where money has been freely spent in beauti-
fying the homes and streets, with the result that Pasa-
dena has grown within the last few years into one of the
most attractive residence cities of the West. Its schools
are admirably conducted, and Throop Institute, a school
45
■*^5B5
hi
r-V., v< ft W.
f^3.'*"«f
H
.IT. v«^- ■"
' ** T T~l "' ' VH"1
•Jp f ka%
^#5
■ • -^ k St*™* ;
•V.
and college in which manual training receives a large
share of attention, has made for itself a distinctive place
in educational work. There is a Shakespeare Club with
a home of its own, an Oratorio Society, an Academv of
Sciences and many other organizations betokening the
interest of the people in the higher pursuits of life.
But for me the greatest attraction of Pasadena is its
location as the key to the lovely region which environs
it. There are endless drives off over the valley, each
more beautiful than the last, with points of historic
interest to investigate, and with the charm of nature
where mountains encircle the valley, beautified by the
cultivation of fields of grain
and groves of orange, lemon
and deciduous fruit trees.
The magic touch of water
has transformed a desert into
a teeming garden.
In driving along the edge •:
of the valley toward the east
we look up along the fertile
patches that nestle close to
the steep slopes of the Sierra
Mad re Range. Turning
at Lamanda Park directly toward the mountains we
ascend along an avenue of lofty eucalyptus and waving
pepper trees into an orange grove which is of less recent
planting than most of its neighbors, and finally emerge
at the Sierra Madre Villa Hotel, the oldest resort in
Southern California. From the veranda of the hotel, we
may look upon the tropical garden about us, over the
orange orchard, across a glorious panorama of valley,
and beyond the intervening hills, to the ocean and Santa
Catalina Island, with its two conical peaks making an
unmistakable landmark sixty miles away. The moun-
tains form an imposing background cut up by canons
47
#
i-
: f - .
saw- /^
FWJ
and rugged steeps, with solitary pine trees clinging here
and there upon the rocky slopes.
Another favorite drive from Pasadena is to Baldwin's
ranch, which can also he reached by the Santa Fe train,
being the next station beyond Lamanda Park. It is cus-
tomary in California to call any tract of land which is
used as a farm, a ranch, but this term was originally
applied to Mexican ranches of early days, which were
Spanish grants comprising thousands of acres. If size
be any criterion, the term is certainly appropriate when
used in connection with the farm owned by
/ E. J. Baldwin, which covers fifty-six thou-
sand acres of land, nearly all of which is
under cultivation. The home ranch alone,
, . upon which Baldwin's residence is
located, comprises fifteen hundred
acres. Here are orange orchards,
vineyards, an extensive winery,
fields of grain, and some of the
finest racing horses in the world.
But what appealed most strongly to
me were the miles of live oak trees
forming a vast natural park
, with the mountains for a back-
ground, with lovely vistas of
valley, and carpeted with the tender green of
the spring grain.
In the vicinity of the Baldwin residence are ponds
and tropic gardens, with groves of cypress, eucalyptus
and palm trees, under and around which grows in true
California wantonness a profusion of flowers. Upon this
ranch are many avenues of eucalyptus trees, tall, grace-
ful and dark, forming stately colonnades between which
the brilliant sunshine streams across the road.
Other drives there are out of Pasadena — to Garvanza,
where the beautiful memorial Church of the Angels is
4«
5?
located, to vShorb's exten-
sive winery, to Devil's Gate,
the head of the water supply
of Pasadena in the Arroyo
Seco, to La Canada and San
Fernando. There are also
points of interest and beauty
to be reached by the electric
cars — Altadena and the mountains beyond in one direc-
tion and the South Pasadena Ostrich Farm in the other.
There are several ostrich farms in Southern California,
at Norwalk, Pasadena and Coronado, but a description of
one will suffice for all.
The ostrich is one of the most ungainly, unlovely
creatures that walk the
earth. It is a relic of
an earlier geological
epoch handed down to
us in all its paleolithic
ugliness. Its great bare
legs support a massive
body to one end of
which is attached a
long, stiff neck ending in
a little crook in lieu of a head. This apology for a head
is flattened on top, and two great brown eyes bulge out,
ever looking about for something to eat — grass, oranges,
sand or newspaper — it makes little difference. When
its great, flat, clumsy beak is opened, there seems to be
nothing left of the head but a cavity, and its note is a
sudden open-mouthed explosion, half sputter and half
hiss. It also on occasion roars more vociferouslv than a
lion. Visitors sometimes ask the boy who shows them
about if he cannot make one of the birds roar, when he
invariably inquires in his shrill voice whether his inter-
locutor ever tried to make a rooster crow.
This same boy frequently amuses visitors
by going into the pens with the big male
birds and teasing them until they kick at
him, riding on their backs, and showing
off his pets in various ways.
The body of the male bird is glossy
black with plumes of white in the wings
and tail, and the wonder is that anything
so lovely can spring from so ugly a soil.
The females and young are brown and
gray, the latter more or less mottled ; but
even at the most callow age they
have a mouth like a crocodile — it
hardly seems like a beak, so flattened,
broad and dull it is. Stand beside
the fence with an orange in your
hand and one of these great birds will
come stepping up to you with as
elegant and dainty an air as a fine
lad}- in satin about to be presented at
a court ball. There is something
extremely comical about the airs
of the creature. Pass over your
orange and you may see it work
its way down on the side of the
neck, or if there are enough
oranges to spare you may
see a dozen all slipping
down at once. Do not
fail to stand at a respect-
ful distance, however, for
that great toe is wielded
by a powerful leg, and is capable of inflicting dangerous
wounds.
This novel industry of ostrich farming has proved a
great success in Southern California, for the birds thrive
and multiply in this genial climate, and besides the sale
of the feathers, large numbers of sight-seers daily visit
the farms and contribute to their support.
•
- i sis
m\ ' ■'■■ %
Ijl -,J
THE SIERRA MADRE
MOUNTAINS.
F all excursions out of Pasadena, that
to the mountains is most wonderful
and enchanting. To the inexperienced
observer the Sierra Madre Mountains
may seem like great hills rolled up
from the valley, which could be
ascended at any point the climber
might choose to select. But in this
instance, familiarity, instead of breed-
ing contempt, breeds respect. The
Dearer we approach the mountains
the wilder and more rugged they
.Shadows that from a distance seem
to mark little pockets and creases in their sides,
open out into deep canons, with precipitous sides and
dizzy heights. A dense growth of chaparral clothes
the slopes, making travel excessively difficult, and great
walls of rock defy the nerves and skill of the boldest
climber.
The project of building an electric and cable road
directly up the face of this great range into the heart ot
the pine forests that clothe its summits was broached
some years since, but there seemed little hope of
accomplishing so difficult an undertaking. Finally
Prof. T. S. C. Lowe proposed the great cable incline,
and by means of his determination and enthusiasm
pushed the project to its completion. Today it un-
doubtedly stands among the great engineering feats of
the world, with many novel and daring inno
vations.
53
,
AT Low*. — -^^ '^' ■ '
Think of it ! in less than an hour's ride it is possible
to ascend from the orange groves and flower gardens of
Pasadena into the heart of the pine forests at an eleva-
tion of five thousand feet, where snow covers the ground
at times to the depth of many feet. The suddenness of
it, the thrilling grandeur of the ride, the rapid changes
of scenery and the boundless region over which the eye
can sweep make the excursion an event in a lifetime.
The ride from Pasadena to Altadena on the electric
cars is very beautiful, but we are already familiar with
the beauty of peach trees in bloom and orange orchards
studded with the golden fruit, with the lovely San Ga-
briel Valley leading away into the blue haze of the Puente
Hills or, farther still, off toward Mount San Jacinto. At
Altadena we change cars and ride over an uncultivated
country close to the base of the mountains. The cars
pass vast fields of California poppies, washes of sand and
stones and wastes of chapparal, with a constantly
expanding view below and the mountains towering
above. Rubio Pavilion is reached where the great
incline cable road commences. Many timid eyes look
up into the air with a questioning glance. What, we're
not going up there? But the car stands in waiting, the
. timid are assured that they are as
safe as when seated in an easy
chair by their parlor fire, and away
we go, slowly and impressively —
sixty-two feet up in the air for
every one hundred feet forward.
Rubio Canon, a great gorge in the
mountains, plunges off at one side,
while miles and miles of valley ex-
pand beneath as the car ascends.
At Echo Mountain we catch our
breath and look off spellbound.
Is this really the face of the earth
54
upon which we walked with firm foot so recently ?
Directly below is the broad plain of the San Gabriel Val-
ley, with great squares of green fields and orange groves
and little specks of houses. There lies Pasadena among
its trees, and beyond the Mission Hills, Los Angeles.
We look upon the water of reservoirs, upon Eastlake
and Westlake parks in the suburbs of Los Angeles, and
beyond all this upon the misty ocean with an archi-
pelago of islands marking the horizon line. It is all on
such an overpowering scale that we seem half in a
dream — the whole wide earth seems lying at our feet.
Again we change cars, this time for an electric road
which winds back and forth up the face of the mountain,
around the edge of precipices, with canons below and
around, and with incomparable vistas through forests of
oak and pine of the far-away regions of the plain. We
look down upon the tops of mountain ranges and into
great valleys — La Canada and San .1
Fernando lie beneath. We pass : j»l^k~ " * _
through granite cuts, over circular f*\*n
bridges, winding and climbing as I . ,
believe no mountain road ever wound
and climbed before, and finally come £<
nook amid the '*W&
upon a 'lovely sylvan
pine trees where a rural inn is set in
the midst of the forest.
The Alpine Tavern is in perfect
55
* ^W
;.
1
keeping with its name and
surroundings. It is simple
and unobtrusive, following
the contour of the mountain
:= slope and gracefully yield-
ing precedence to the pine
1 trees. It is built of pine
with open timber construction and with a foundation
of granite. Enter its broad doors and all is generous
mountain hospitality. The great stone fireplace with
its crane and pot, and motto above, tables covered
with books and magazines, and a hearty welcome from
the genial host, all tell the stranger that he has found a
resting place w here he is to be at home. But who could
stay indoors in such a spot ? All about lie the mountains
to be explored, with trails penetrating the secret places
and here and there vistas leading away into the blue
depths of the plain below. Inspiration Point is not far
away and can be reached with a carriage. The pine
woods are cool and delicious even in midsummer, and
the air is bracing and exhilarating. Here the morose
and embittered become happy and break into song.
Mother nature is a great healer. Everywhere in these
mountain fastnesses we are in a strange wonder world of
beauty and delight. From the summit of Mount Lowe
the Landscape which lies spread out beneath is said to
cover a range of a hundred miles in even- direction
where the mountains do not intercept the view. And
all this with the tumult of a big city but an hour and a
half away ! The graceful tree squirrels scamper about
the pine trunks, fearless and
light-hearted. The wood-
pecker calls gaily from the
heights and we catch the
-/- -i , inspiration of joy and ex-
hilaration on every side.
3*. *w ^
&z
■:&:>:■■
Is t ■ i.. to G^1o
:\
'('
Then to return to Echo
Mountain ! to watch the
sun go down and the blue
shadows creep across the
wilderness of plain ! to
see the great world swoon
softly into darkness, and
, finally to see the stars
-t-~> _ come out above, matched
on the p 1 a i n by the
twinkling electric lights of two cities !
It is a strange experience to be so suddenly lifted
from the plain to the mountain heights in an hour's ride,
but the sensations are of quite a different nature when
these same rugged mother mountains are climbed on
muleback or on foot. It is a feeling of power and pos-
session which dominates the mind of the traveler. The
remote places are to be won by toil, and every foot of the
way is scanned in the ascent. We glory in the freedom
of it, our hearts expand with the view, our horizon
widens as we lift our heads into the region of cloud and
sky. The illimitable reaches of the plain become famil-
iar to us, as we look not across them, but down upon
them, in an endless level of
blue. Mountain ranges are
creased up here and there, but
they seem hardly more than
mole hills wrinkling the sur-
face of the plain. Here is the
workshop of the Almighty,
where the granite cliffs are
split and tossed down into the
plain, where cloud and peak
meet in familiar intercourse,
and where the giant pines ela>p • ,V j*j&
the rocks with their might v :\;r >$'fi'' » •'■ ,-•>;
57 «Jr§^
Ai^**j /0%frc* /i*~t
roots to hold them for a brief span from the disintegrat-
ing powers of time.
The new trail to Wilson's Peak is broad and firm,
rising by slow and uniform grade out of Eaton's Canon
across the face of the mountain, back and forth through
the chaparral, in and out among the scrub oak of the
exposed mountain side, where the fragrant mountain
lilac blooms and the wren tit trills in the thicket, where
-H***^.^ ,'*A*J£»JU .
the sun beats down with unobstructed force, and the
view widens beneath by slow degrees.
The mules of the Mount Wilson trail are patient,
long-suffering beasts, who pay less attention to an ener-
getic prodding than to the bite of a fly. They are quick
to interpret any exclamation such as "oh," or "ho
there," into a " whoa," and sometimes come to a stand-
still without even this lame pretext ; but, withal, they
climb the mountains sure-footedly and ploddingly, and
one has only to keep at them with determination and a
stout stick to get along.
It is refreshing and delightful to turn off from the
exposed mountain side and dip into the cool shadow of
58
oak and fir. The milt: boards seem a
long distance apart on this trail, but
it is good to linger by the way and
catch the fragrance of the pine and
the song of the mountain chickadee.
It is good to see the tempered lights
of the woodland — nature's vast cathe-
dral— with the golden rays stream-
ing through the tracery of the pine
boughs. The lithe gray squirrel is
here, and at our feet grows the
hounds'-tongue and the baby blue-
eyes.
In the higher reaches of the trail
the scenery is bolder and more rugged. We stand upon
granite crags that command a world-wide view. Tbe
plain stretches off to the coast line, the ocean leads off
to the islands, while near at hand the mountains shoot
aloft into bold headlands, and tumble away into canons
below. It is suggestive of the pictures we have seen of
the passes of the Andes, where the road is cut along the
face of a rock wall winding up into the dizzy heights.
Wilson's Camp, formerly called Martin's Camp, is
located on the backbone of a ridge a mile from the
summit of Mount Wilson. The veranda of the house
commands a panorama of both ends of the San Gabriel
Valley, with Pasadena, Los Angeles, and Santa Monica
on the southwestern side, and Monrovia, Azusa, and
Pomona to the southeast. To the southward the ridge
ascends to a point of rock called Mount Harvard, where
the entire San Gabriel Valley is visible in one superb
sweep. One cannot but regret the prosaic architecture
of the camp, but the glories of the view dominate the
mind. Mount Lowe, Markham's Peak and Mount San
Gabriel rise in succession to the northwest of us, and
farther away to the east lie the giants of the range —
59
already familiar landmarks — San Jacinto, San Gorgouio,
San Bernardino and San Antonio.
The high mountains seem like holy ground. The
bigness of everything, the silence, the solemnity of
the pines, the blue shadows of the mountains on the
plain, the play of lights — it is all impressive, awe-inspir-
ing, terrible. Standing upon Echo Rock with a wall of
granite plunging down upon three sides into the depths
of the Santa Anita Canon, the immensity and sublimity
of the scene is overpowering. Far down in the chasm
are great pine trees, dwarfed and dim in the distance ;
rolling hills are creased up on the opposite side, that
swell and mount and tower as they recede into great
mountain ranges, and to the south the canon opens out
into the San Gabriel Valley, over fifty miles of which
the eye can range with a single imperceptible tremor
of the muscles. The air was so still that I longed for
some sound to relieve the tension of sight. A butterfly
fluttered past on noiseless wings. Then came a little
low wail of the wind in the pine trees overhead, and a
robin sounded a loud cheery note. I turned from the
scene and plunged into the heart of the woods.
The old Wilson trail is not as broad and comfortable
as the new, but it is wide enough for the sure-footed
little burros which are used upon it and its irregularity
enhances its picturesqueness. It winds down the moun-
tain upon a steep grade into the Santa Anita Canon, and
follows the course of a cold, sparkling mountain stream,
through the cooling shade of pines and great live oaks.
It savors more of the mountains than a graded road,
and leads the traveler into lovely nooks where ferns
anil mosses cling to the banks and where the silver voice
of the brook is matched by the sweet trill of the chip-
ping sparrow. The fragrant bay leaves lean out over the
trail and brush against the face of the wayfarer. Great
oaks spread their graceful arms above the path, while
60
here and there grow sycamores and alders leafing out in
the bewitching tenderness of spring green. The silver
thread of the brook slips over the rocks in waterfalls
and lingers in crystal basins by the way. At last it
mysteriously vanishes underground and a dry creek bed
is all that remains. The trail emerges down a long,
open and precipitous way on the side of the canon, and
terminates in a little grove of eucalyptus trees at Sierra
Madre. Again the valley, and the mountains but a
mysterious dream !
.
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61
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SANTA CATALINA ISLAND.
THE) mountains and the sea are the two great reve-
. lations of the power and majesty of nature —
the mountains passive and serene in their
incomparable reach toward heaven, and the sea, tumul-
tuous and passionate in its moods, elemental in its bois-
terous supremacy. With the soughing of the pine trees
and the illimitable panorama of the plain fresh in mind,
it is a wonder to step upon the little boat that steams
bravely out of San Pedro Harbor for the island of Santa
Catalina, and feel the broad, strong, even swell of the
Pacific — to hear the cry of the gull and catch the salt
sea smell. Small boats of every description lie at anchor
in the little land-locked harbor, or dance merrily over
the waters. Outside is a large schooner with a deckload
of lumber awaiting a tug to tow it into port. A coast-
ing steamer is lying at the wharf discharging its cargo.
The water is blue and peaceful, and everyone is happy
and confident of a quiet run out to the island, which is
dimly seen through the haze, twenty-six miles off the
coast.
Our little steamer rolls about somewhat as we pass
out from the shelter of the harbor, but an obliging fel-
low-passenger explains to the ladies that it will be calm
>**n 1 <i dro
Sj
again as soon as we are well outside. It is quite amus-
ing to all but one or two who are beginning to succumb
to the swelling sea. The steamer plows ahead with the
regular throbbing of her en-
gines, unmindful of the emo-
tions of her passengers, and
soon stands well out in the
open channel. For some rea-
son the rolling does not cease,
and one by one the passengers
become subdued, the ladies
seeking their pillows and the
men lounging about in an effort
to appear composed and not look pale. The steamer
rolls in the trough of a very ordinary fair weather sea,
but to the landsman it seems as if she were having a
trying time of it. He may even wonder why the officers
and men stand about with such an indifferent air when
they ought to begin to seem a trifle anxious. Now
and then a wave slaps up against the ship's side and
throws a shower of salt water on the lower -deck, wet-
ting the unwary passengers who are sitting too close to
the windward rail. One by one the unfortunates suc-
cumb, leaving only the few unsusceptible ones to walk
about the deck and look as if they enjoyed the voyage.
The Captain will no doubt tell you that this is the rough-
est passage in months, but, after all, he doesn't more
than half mean it. It is only a little playful romp of the
mighty sea, the joyful assertion of freedom accompanied
by blue sky and white, glistening waves.
In an hour or two the steamer is well in the lea of the
island, the rolling is less
4-
marked, and the passengers
cheer up. They begin to
look about for the spout of
the California gray whale,
exclaim over the splash of a porpoise, and are finally
restored to their normal equilibrium by the appearance
of a school of flyingfish, skimming over the water with
the lightness of a bird. Avalon, in its little half-moon
bay, is now plainly visible, and the bold headlands fall '
off abruptly into the sea.
The little town of Avalon, nestled in its sheltered
cove, with the mountains rising back of it on all sides
and the sea sleeping at its feet, is the only settlement on
the island. Along its main street are stores where curi-
osities, chiefly relating to Western life, are exposed for
sale — shells and shell ornaments, Indian baskets, Mexi-
can hats and photographs. The Hotel Metropole, where
excellent accommodations may be had, stands out as the
most conspicuous structure in the town, while all about
are boarding houses, and, during -*.,..
the summer season, a village of. — -o^'-^-^i^
tents where thousands of city peo-.-^lj^C;"' >s»>,=:»
pie live for a happy month or two. m^V'-^'-- - vvH~ '"'*'*■%
For those who are fond of sport \' ':..
the fishing is the great attraction, 'v^^M^2f /.. . »
and such fishing as it is! Here ^^^j^sks^^^4^^i ''---■• -
may be caught finny monsters _ .*^iy|^a|j
that weigh from one to five *:H3i!£J-
hundred pounds. The black sea "- -~
bass, or jewfish as it is popularly
termed, is the largest of its tribe which is captured
here with hook and line. It is exciting sport to be
towed by one of these great creatures, and after a long
fight to land it; but, after all, the pride of conquest is
the only reward, for the fish is not fit to eat when
caught. There are, however, plenty of edible fish to be
taken both with a hand line and rod and reel, which
afford the fisherman all the sport he can ask for, and fre-
quently more. Yellowtails, barracuda, rock bass and albi-
core are caught by the boatload during the fishing season.
65
How often, in looking over the blue waters of the
ocean, we wonder at the mysterious life of its depths,
and imagine the strange creatures which dwell there.
Poets have described their fancies of it, scientists have
written down in their exact language its characteristics,
but what a revelation to see it for one's self ! The glass-
bottom boats are unique in California, I believe, although
but an adaptation of the marine observation glass which
has long been in use. From these boats it is possible to
look down into the water to the depth of from fifty to
one hundred feet and observe
the life as clearly as we look
about us on land. Rowing
over the kelp beds, the ob-
server is suddenly transported
into a wonder world which
surpasses his most fantastic
iome.J "tosCt" dreams. Great trees loom up
out of the gloom and spread their broad corrugated
leaves of amber in the bright sunlight. They wave
and sway with the gentle motion of the water, and
in and out swim the fish, now darting into the shadow
of the kelp and again flashing in the sunlight. Schools
of little fish glide with lithe motions back and forth.
The golden perch glistens in its radiant armor. Now
and then the iridescence of a little rainbow fish shim-
mers in the sun ray. The boat floats over flower beds of
red, green and blue seaweed, and over rocks which are
alive with the strange creatures of the deep — spiny sea
urchins, sprawling starfish, floating jellyfish, and those
interesting low marine creatures, tunicates. All is silent
save for the gentle lapping of the waves on the boat's
side, but we are looking into another world with the
same curiosity ami awe that the inhabitants of Mars
might look into ours. It is a fascinating, never-to-be-
forgotten scene.
66
The mainland, too, is not without its charms. Dur-
ing my visit in April the island had a rather barren
appearance, but the unprecedented dryness of the season
was accountable for the parching of the verdure which
should have clothed the hills at this season with an
emerald robe. Prickly pear grows abundantly on the
hill slopes and in the numerous canons flourish scrub
oaks and sycamores. In some of the more remote por-
tions of the island's twenty miles of mountain scenery
are streams, and trees of considerable size. Many of the
plants upon .Santa Catalina differ to a greater or less
degree from the mainland forms, and there are even
slight variations to he detected in some of the birds.
Of these latter a goodly company is represented, for,
besides the gulls, cormorants and many other sea birds
on the coast, there are ravens and bald eagles, while in
the shubbery the mocking bird and linnet are in song,
together with a numerous array of our smaller land
birds.
Goats have been turned loose on the island and are
now wild, inhabiting the more inaccessible regions,
where they are hunted for sport by the indefatigable
Nimrods who come to the island. A stage road has been
built across the island and the ride over it is a memor-
able experience. The road winds in a serpentine trail tip
the hare mountainside, narrow and precipitous most ot
the way, with exhilarating views of land and sea. It is
a slow, laborious ascent all the way to the summit, and
the six horses pull with unremitting effort. The bold
promontory upon which we finally rest commands a
superb view of the blue, unruffled sea, with the shore
line to the north and the far-away range of the Sierra
Madre Mountains. I did not continue to the opposite
side of the island, which, with the return trip, is an
all-day's ride, but nevertheless found the journey an
inspiring one.
When all are in the coach ready for the descent the
driver gathers the reins of the six horses in his hands,
cracks his whip, and away we go at a brisk trot. The
light, intelligent leaders prick up their ears and seem to
enter fully into the spirit of the run. The driver holds
the brake with one foot, and as we swing round a curve,
deftly gathers in the reins and turns his six trotting
horses on the very brink of a precipice. Bowling down
the road at a merry pace, we come upon a precipitous
headland where the road turns in an ingenious loop.
The horses seem about to plunge off into space, when
the leaders suddenly turn and gracefully round the
curve, starting off on the next stretch of road on the
homeward run. We wonder at the skill of the driver
and the intelligence of the horses, while the stirring
grandeur of mountain and ocean fill us with awe.
Santa Catalina is a lovely spot in which to rest and
dream away the summer days in a climate that is balmy
and tempered, where the gentle breeze just ripples the
undulating surface of the bay, and where the unending
succession of fair days is a constant inducement to out-
68
of-door life. In this sheltered retreat
of Avalon we are on historic ground,
for here, centuries ago, the Indians
lived in peace and caught their fish
and hunted among the rocks for aba--'
lones; here came the discoverer of Alta
California, Cabrillo; and later, he who christened it with
its present name, Vizcaino. Still later it formed a retreat
for the buccaneers of the coast, and then the Franciscans
came to induce the Indians to leave their happy home
and dwell and toil about the missions. At least this is
the supposition, for the Indians have vanished from the
island and left behind them only their mortars and other
implements of stone and shell. In this quiet bay of
Avalon the Indian fisherman has paddled his canoe, the
Spanish caravels have sought refuge from the tempest,
the freebooter has lain in wait for his prey, and today
pleasure boats glide over its waters and the shrill
whistle of the steamer sounds to warn us that the hour
has come to leave for San Pedro.
^s^
,- v
69
70
RIVERSIDE COUNTY.
ONLY three miles south of San Bernardino lies
the town of Colton, surrounded by fruit trees
and in the midst of an agricultural district.
Riverside, the mother of the orange culture of Southern
California, extends along the valley of the Santa Ana
River, six miles beyond. It is surrounded by rugged
hills and mountain ranges which rise in striking contrast
to the tropical verdure of the valley. All about the
lowlands are orange groves and avenues of shade trees,
broad irrigating ditches and gardens of flowers, while
great boulder-covered hills rise from this verdant plain,
bearing aloft a sterile waste which can only be paralleled
on the Mojave Desert. Farther off, across the valley to
the north, lies the San Bernardino Range, colored by the
atmosphere a purplish blue, a beautiful ever-present
background for the picturesque valley.
When I speak of Riverside as the mother of the
citrus industry, I do not mean that the fruit was first
grown here, but that this colony made the first and most
conspicuous commercial success of orange raising, and
first introduced the now famous Washington navel which
has been distributed from this point throughout the
citrus district. The two original trees grown from cut-
tings which had been imported at Washington from
Brazil, still stand in the Riverside orchard, the parents
of nearly all the orange groves of the State. For many
years Riverside supplied half of the orange
crop of Southern California, but the recent ^ > £ ::
development of new districts has reduced ^"'".2^2
this proportion to about a third. The actual ?V^;;|fc%.
number of carloads exported has, however, >i'-- \ ;
3.
"i ■
e
7i
Irv. ,*T.n«( C*^*l
steadily increased, until it is estimated that the crop of
the present year will exceed three thousand cars.
The orange is the staff of life in this district. It is
the golden yield for which all men toil. Its culture has
been reduced to a fine art, and I venture to say that,
search the wide world over, no spot could be found
where the cultivation of the soil is conducted more intel-
ligently, more scientifically, more beautifully. The
fruit growers of Riverside came here largely from the
East and middle West, and the brains and labor which
the}- have expended with unremitting zeal is an indica-
tion of American character of which the whole country
may well be proud. The original intention of the colony
was to grow the mulberry tree and propagate the silk-
worm; but this plan was soon abandoned and the people
turned their attention successively to the raising of Aval-
nuts, deciduous fruits and grapes. When the Wash-
ington navel orange was discovered and its success
demonstrated, practically all the farms of the country
were planted with this tree.
The first requisite for success in the culture of the
orange is an abundance of water. In this section as in
so many other districts of Southern California, which
were found a desert occupied by a scanty, unprogressive
Mexican population, and which have been made by
Saxon industry perennial gardens of verdure and bloom,
the irrigating ditch has been the magic wand of trans-
formation. At Riverside tbere are three canals for irri-
gating the adjacent country. They are broad, even
streams flowing from the headwaters of the Santa Ana
River and led in cement channels down through the
higher parts of the valley, to be tapped all along the
tfc
A » •'-
lrno,jJino CisnM
,11/e.p >idt-
way by smaller rivulets which supply the orchards.
They are exceedingly picturesque in their windings and
turnings, now flanked by orchards, and again with rows
of palms bordering the ever-flowing water. Here rise
imposing groves of eucalyptus, their dark foliage and
white stems reflected in the placid stream; there extends
a bank of pampas grass, its white waving plumes bend-
ing over the water; and again the ditch winds serenely
down an uncultivated reach of plain where the rocky
mountain slopes are full in view.
The orchards are irrigated from four times a year to
twice a mouth according to the location of the land,
little rills of water being directed between the rows of
trees, where they flow from twelve to twenty-four hours
continuously. After irrigating an orchard it is always
cultivated and the ground is left perfectly level and
finely pulverized. The trees are watched and tended
with the same scrupulous care that a millionaire's trot-
ting horses receive. As a temperature of 250 Fahr.,
which is about the minimum in the orange district, is
low enough to damage the fruit and new leaves, fires are
lighted throughout the groves whenever the thermom-
eter threatens to fall so low, and the
temperature is increased by this dry
heat to the safety mark, which is
about 380. The soil is enriched with
Jj,
,.'-^-
L
73
M*W£ • sin
ym iff te /J*.
•'h^A&i-anf.'CS:^-
GU-
^V^&^SBBS 'Li,
fertilizers from time to time and the trees are trimmed
with great regularity and uniformity.
As the orange ripens throughout the winter months
at varying intervals, fruit is being constantly picked
and carried to the packing houses at this season. Both
white and Japanese labor is employed in this work, but
the cultivating, plowing and general care of the trees is
as a rule done by the owner of the orchard. At the
packing houses, twenty-nine of which were in operation
during the past season, the oranges, which are brought
loosely packed in boxes, are weighed and, if necessary,
cleaned by groups of young men and women who scrub
the fruit to remove the scales or any surface imperfec-
tions. It is then thrown into the grader, a device for
automatically assorting the fruit in lots of uniform size,
and as it rolls into the various compartments it is taken
out by hand, incased in tissue paper by a dexterous toss
and twist, and packed ready for shipment. Each box is
then put under a press where the bulging covers are
nailed down, and it is read}- to take its place in the
freight car which stands at the door. Here the boxes
are stood on end with an air space between each row,
and all are securely fastened with braces. When the
75
cars are packed the}- are scut to San Bernardino to be
iced and thence on their long journey to give refresh-
ment to countless multitudes in the snow-encompassed
cities of the North and East.
It need not be a matter of surprise that a community
which has shown so much ability in bringing the orange
-■ - Uw-i.
] T p/o^ n u, C^naJ
industry to this high degree of perfection is a settle-
ment of intelligent, dignified men and women, justly
proud of what they have accomplished, but nevertbeless
ready and eager to grow in strength and culture. They
possess a fine school system, including a large, well
equipped high school, and saloons are not tolerated in
their midst.
Aside from the beauty of the great reaches of orange
groves and the garden plots about the homes, in the
setting of rugged mountains, the most picturesque
feature of Riverside is Magnolia avenue, a broad double
street extending for miles down the valley. Along its
center is a continuous line of pepper trees, with twisted
and spreading brandies bearing their vivid green stream-
ers of foliage, drooping, and waving with every breath of
wind. In vivid contrast are
the great eucalyptus trees,
lofty and dignified, witb
Straight bare trunks one after
another in stately defile down
76
-
one side of the avenue. Upon
the other side are rows of lofty
palms, their great trunks amply
sheathed in a garment of dead
leaves, and high in the air the
clusters of large fan-shaped leaves,
picturesque with their ragged edges. The border of
palms is varied from time to time by magnolias,
cypresses, grevilias and other ornamental trees, while
orchards and gardens extend back to the half-hidden
homes along the way. It is a most imposing avenue,
without a parallel in its grace and repose.
So then, while the air is heavy with the perfume of
the orange blossoms, while the oriole is singing his sum-
mer song in the grevilia and the people are keeping cool
as best they may in canvas coats, let us glance over some
other portions of the district named after its county seat,
Riverside.
From Highgrove the train for San Jacinto winds up
the mountains over a desert wraste. It is not quite like
the desert across the San Bernardino Mountains, for
there is some indication of green in the landscape, and
in an occasional gully a few small sycamores maintain
an unequal struggle for existence, but in the main the
hill slopes are covered with great boulders and the mesa
land with sand and sagebrush. There is, however, a
77
Tw«<"s>i<J
bigness and freedom and promise about even these waste
places of the mighty West that to the initiated is full of
inspiration and exhilaration. A sun-burnt rider lopes
carelessly over the mesa land. A road-runner darts
through the chaparral. A parting glimpse is revealed
of the green Santa Ana Valley about Highgrove and
Riverside. Far to the southward lies the mighty San
Jacinto — the dominating landmark of this section. It
is Southern California unchanged by the benediction of
water and the toil of man.
Perris is the first town beyond the divide separating
the Santa Ana from the San Jacinto watershed. It is a
small settlement of a few hundred people, but important
as a base of supplies for a number of gold mines in the
adjacent mountains and as the center of a large agricul-
tural district. From this point on to San Jacinto the
valley is one vast grain field, interrupted here and there
by orchards and garden plots. At Hemet a flour mill,
well equipped with modern appliances, has been erected,
and an excellent little brick hotel is located but a few
minutes' walk from the depot.
The Hemet orchard and farm lands are supplied with
water by one of those wonderful irrigating systems by
means of which Southern California has made herself a
power in the land. Far off in the mountains, at an ele-
vation of over four thousand feet, the San Jacinto River
flowed through a granite gorge, and modern engineer-
ing has contrived to build a great dam here, over a
hundred and twenty feet in height and a hundred feet
in thickness at the base, imprisoning a lake of water
nearly three miles in length. The water is carried in
pipe and ditch a distance of twenty miles, being stored
in a receiving reservoir on the way and thence dis-
tributed with great uniformity and accuracy over the
Hemet lands.
San Jacinto, which is the terminus of one branch of
79
the railroad, lies in the midst ot a prosperous farming
district but a few miles beyond Hemet. Grain is the
staple product. It is grown on a large scale and is cut
and threshed by great harvesting machines with their
train of ten or fifteen horses and as many men. It is a
striking contrast to the methods in use by the Mexicans
but little more than a generation ago, when, according
to a chronicler of the events of the mission days, the
grain was piled in a corral, into which a band of wild
horses was turned. The shouting and gesticulating of
the vaqueros kept the horses plunging about until the
■■ k
threshing was accomplished. The winnowing was
effected by selecting a windy day and throwing the
wheat and chaff into the air, thus allowing the latter to
blow away.
In addition to the grain growing and raising of
deciduous fruits there are large flocks of sheep and herds
of cattle roaming the hills and the borders of the San
Jacinto Valley. Higher in the mountains grow the pine
woods in such considerable forests that Lumbering is
carried on extensively. Here also is a favorite resort,
Strawberry Valley, where people from all over the
So
heated lowlands
repair during the
• ^ ;.%c
summer months to
enjoy the freedom
of forest life.
A few miles
east of San Jacinto "'*•<
lies the quaint little
Indian village of Sobobo. The road to the settlement
traverses the bed of the San Jacinto River, which, in
fact, is normally no river at all hut a wide level trench
of gravel bordered with willows and cottonwoods, and
with clusters of wild verbena growing in the sandy soil.
The lark finch sings his little ditty by the roadside and
the pallid horned toad, which is really a broad flat lizard
with curious excrescences on its head ami back, >crarn-
bles over the sand and stones. The range of mountains
lying to the north of the river bed, is dark and barren
looking ; in the twilight it seems like a huge pile of iron
rolled and molded into a vast heap. Off to the east
Mount San Jacinto lifts its mighty bulk to an elevation
of over eleven thousand feet, topped with snow and
pine-clad upon its higher slopes, the great forests show-
ing dimly from the valley like a scanty covering of
brush.
Sobobo is pleasantly situated upon a cluster of little
hills and the adjacent plain. Much of the laud is barren,
but an irrigating ditch flows through the town bordered
with cottonwoods and with garden land below it. The
little frame Catholic church, unadorned save with a cross,
stands out on the plain, with the burying ground not
far away marked by a solitary pepper tree, a large cross,
and many fenced graves. The houses are chiefly of
adobe, simple and picturesque, although a few frame
structures obtrude their commonplace forms. The
poorer families live in huts of brush which are some-
^•>Svd^
n5j aoBO
..->:, j
times the merest makeshifts patched with old gunny
sacks and rubbish.
I observed one old woman sitting on the ground
with a piece of rusty iron in her hand, digging a hole in
the sandy soil, and wondered what she was about. She
seemed to be in no hurry and mumbled to me in a
jargon of Spanish and Indian as she worked. Presently
the hole was completed, for she stood up and inserted a
stake which she had brought to the spot. With the
same deliberation another hole was dug and another
stake stood in place. Other sticks and a pile of brush
lying close at hand were to take their place upon the
structure and ere night this venerable and deliberate
builder of houses would doubtless be
ensconced in her new home. Even
the birds labor with more design
than this upon their nests !
I went into many of the houses in
search of baskets, but my quest was
not unlike Paddy's effort to get a
frying pan on the coast of France. I would greet the
bright-faced women who sat by the door with their
patchwork or were busy within about the cooking, with
a polite " bucnas iardes! " as if I were a master of the
language, and then, after a courteous rejoinder I pro-
ceeded to ask them if they had any baskets, to which
they generally shook their heads or answered, "no
sabe." However, I managed to make them under-
stand, and incidentally saw many picturesque glimpses
of their simple home life — the girl returning from
the spring with a pail of water in each hand, the
dark adobe room with glowing coals in the fire-
place and the steaming pot, the black-eyed children
82
-
playing with their dolls and the group
of men chatting while they soaked
their rawhide thongs in the ditch.
The simplicity and intimate famil-
iarity of old and young, the gentle-
ness and placidity of their life was
charming and fraught with many a
lesson for those who would fain be their teachers.
Despite all this, the visit left in tiie mind more of
pathos than of joy. The cough of the consumptive was
heard only too frequently in this little town of two hun-
dred, and the evidences of poverty, idleness and drink
were all too apparent. With abundant opportunity to
raise their own vegetables, they nevertheless depend on
a Chinese vender who comes with his wagon from town
and supplies their very moderate wants. The men do
efrn***s J9?. /<V t-6. t
the sheep shearing for the country round, but many of
them get drunk when paid off and gamble away their
money within a few days. It fs the old story of the grad-
ual absorption, conquest and extermination, conscious
or unconscious, of the native races wherever the Anglo-
Saxon comes in their midst. These remnants of the
Mission Indians have seen their lands slip away from
them and their people die off without protest or opposi-
tion. The causes are parti}' internal, partly external,
but the results are one of the sad but seemingly inevit-
able attendants of the march of civilization.
Helen Hunt Jackson's heart was so touched by
what she saw of the wrongs of these defenseless people
83
™ | Jfagg
5 ' ""
;osoco
V .....
-<^._.
that she was moved to write " Ramoua." After looking
into the faces of some of these fine, manly, yet gentle
Indians, it is quite conceivable that Alessandro was by
no means an impossible character. I talked with Mrs.
M. E. Sheriff Fowler who established here the first
Indian school in Southern California, and who did much
to aid Mrs. Jackson in gathering material for " Ramoua."
She is full of sympathy for the unfortunate people, but
feels that their condition is on the whole better today
than it was a few years ago, through the influence of the
school, the missionaries, and the interest and sympathy
aroused by Mrs. Jackson's powerful book.
Another branch of the railroad leads from Perris to
Lake Elsinore, following the course of the San Jacinto
River. The first impression of Elsinore is of a bold and
barren country with a long, narrow sheet of water
hemmed in by mountains which, across on the southern
side, rise in a seemingly abrupt range. The little village
of Elsinore lies in a narrow valley extending off from
the northern shore of the lake, and is notable for its hot
sulphur springs. The baths here are delightful and have
proved especially successful in the treatment of rheu-
matic and blood complaints. The water is peculiarly
soft and soothing, and, despite the strong infusion of
sulphur, clear as crystal.
The lake is six miles in length and two and a half
miles wide, with orchards and farms along its shores
where figs and oranges are grown as well as grain. In
\^«-„^ ,+/■ ,i.
6u;
the sheltered canons the sycamore
thrives, and by the stream are wil-
lows, but the open country is
covered with only a low growth of
chaparral except high up among
the mountains where dark pines march in silent defile
up the steep slopes. With great clouds curling amid the
high places and sunlight breaking through here and
there upon the dark water, with squalls sweeping across
the lake attended by showers, and white crests that
glisten through the mist, with chattering swallows dart-
ing hither and thither and coots hurrying to shelter
along the shore, Lake Elsinore is full of the witchery of
a nature drama — a living, ever-changing scene of conflict
and triumph. Again, when the sun's first rays are thrust
out from behind the range of mountains to glance over
the glassy, unwrinkled surface of the lake and the beau-
tiful contour of the mountains is mirrored on the
motionless water, nature seems to be enchained by a
spell of beauty. To those who are alive to the subtle
moods of the outdoor world, this region is full of change
and charm. There is boating upon the lake — rowing,
sailing and cruising in the naphtha launch — a splendid
roadway for driving all around it, and many excursions
off from its shores. In summer the temperature mounts
high, but a cool breeze generally blows
in the afternoon, and the dryness of the
air makes the heat endurable.
85
•-v_/
L^lkt CJiainoe*- —
The mountains of the Elsinore region are rich in
mineral and clay. Ore heavy with gold and silver has
been discovered, asbestos has been taken out in quan-
tities sufficient to make it a commodity of commerce on
a small scale, and a coal mine is located here, constantly
employing a force of from fifteen to thirty miners.
There are mountains of potters' clay in the same vicin-
ity, which is capable of supplying an almost unlimited
demand for material not only for pipe and tile but also
for the most refined products of the potter's craft.
With all this mineral wealth, with its sulphur springs,
its boating and its agricultural resources, the Elsinore
region will certainly some day be one of the important
sections of Southern California, but it needs the quick-
ening touch of enterprise and capital to develop its
resources which lie so close at hand. Already there is
a good hotel here, and the rest will come with time.
^-~x-
V^*>*»1 /lint nt^-p cJi»mo
St,
SAN DIEGO COUNTY.
THE history of California is written in the deeds of
but three full generations of men. A little over
a century ago it was the undisputed home of
hosts of Indians who lived their simple life in its valleys,
undreaming of the vast changes which many of them
would be called upon to witness. To be sure, there were
vague stories among them of strange men who had
visited their shores, for Cabrillo and Vizcaino had been
here more than a century earlier, and Sir Francis Drake
— a dim foreshadowing of the two races which were
destined in time to contend for supremacy in this land
by the western sea — but the simple people lived the
life of their fathers, hunting for game in the mountains,
grinding their acorns in stone mortars, weaving their
baskets, loving and sorrowing with little thought of the
morrow.
It was the pious zeal of Father Juuipero Serra which
occasioned the first great change. He had longed to
devote his life to the conversion of the California
Indians, and when at last the opportunity arrived,
although no longer young, he welcomed it with all the
fervor of his devoted nature, and accomplished by peace-
ful means the subjugation of the natives of California
which Spain had in vain attempted to achieve by force
of arms.
It was at San Diego that the great work of his life
commenced. Here, after a fatiguing overland journey
from Mexico, he stood upon the shore of the bay and
ministered to the scurvy-stricken crew of the ship which
had come to assist him. Here many of the party were
buried, but, undeterred by so inauspicious an omen, he
87
-i~._ _ .---r-'.-' »,'->-- -.^- •
M,4Rp
f€
y ,--n
-
undertook the task which he so longed to see accom-
plished— the conversion of the Indians.
Mass was first celebrated in a rude inclosnre of reeds,
the mission bells being suspended from the overhanging
limb of a tree. The Indians did not look upon the
intruders with favor, and a month after their arrival
attacked them with bows and arrows, killing one of the
part}-, while the guns of the mission soldiers replied
with deadly effect. The gentleness and forbearance of
Father Serra and his coworkers soon restored peace,
however, and for the first few years the little Spanish
settlement by the sea was unmolested.
Six years after the arrival of the Franciscans at San
Diego, during the first year that the American colonies
had arisen in revolt against their English taskmasters,
Father Sena, little knowing of the momentous conflict
upon the Atlantic shore, and without a suspicion that
the 'result of that war might one day determine the
destiny of this land of his adoption, moved the mission
to a more favorable location a few miles inland, at a
point commanding a beautiful view of the willow-lined
San Diego River as it wound down to the sea. During
this same' memorable year, the Indians, incensed by the
conversion and baptism of
sixty of their number, fell
upon the mission and burn-
ed it, killing one of the
I
■J&
■
1
! A.U.-
■■■ ■ . ■
» -
\ \ ' '
/ AlWen
„.**-.
fathers, the blacksmith and carpenter. Undismayed
and unrevengeful, Father Serra and his fellow Francis-
cans commenced the task of rebuilding the mission and
pacifying the Indians.
Such, in brief was the inaugural of the Spanish occu-
pation of California, an episode unique in history — an
order of beggar priests growing into a federation of
potentates as absolute in temporal as in spiritual power,
the feudal chiefs of principalities centering about the
chain of missions which extended along the coast of
California from Sail Diego to Sonoma, literally the
fathers of the children of the land, constituting a system
of vassalage conceived and executed in a decade.
It was a strange power which the fathers acquired
over the Indians. With but a corporal's guard of sol-
diers they gained the mastery over man\- tribes, inducing
them to live about the missions, persuading them to
accept the religion of the Cross, gradually tightening
the bands which held them subject until they had them
completely under control, compelling them to learn and
to labor, imposing tasks and penances, and exacting
obedience in all things. The women were taught to
spin, weave and sew, and the men were taught a great
variety of trades and industries. The more intelligent
ones were instructed in reading and singing while some
learned to play upon various musical instruments.
At last, when the missions were at the height of their
power and success, came from Mexico the dread order
of secularization, abolishing the rule of the Francis-
cans and proclaiming the independence of the Indians.
But the Indians, alas, had been taught only enough to
make them useful to the church, not enough to make
them self-sustaining under their new conditions. The
rule of the Franciscans was a mild slavery, but release
from this bondage meant inevitable degeneration and
death. They were happy, for the most part, in their
89
slavery, and in the main they have been contented in
the gradual disintegration which has followed it, but
this does not lessen the shame of their unhappy destiny,
crushed and scattered as they have been by the rude
world which is the vanguard of modern civilization.
Side by side with the missions grew up the Mexican
pueblos and the ranches which became most prosperous
as the missions drew near the end of their days of
power. These were the times of whitewashed adobe
homes with roofs of dull red tile, with wide verandas
and sunny patios. They were the days of dark cabal-
leros with gay costumes and jangling spurs and silver-
mounted bridles, of tinkling guitars that marked the
rhythm for merry daucers, and of free, open-handed hos-
pitality. They were the days when the saints controlled
the destinies of high and low. Great herds of cattle
roamed the mesas, and bands of sheep cropped the
-«~i~ Try: ,. herbage started into life by
3^P*|%^f^- the winter rains.
^ Then came Fremont and
Stockton. There was a
N-«5^< clash of arms, a conquering
and settling of the land, and
the Mexican life vanished like a dream. Imperceptibly
it shrank away before the host of invaders who have
made the Golden West of today. Now there is a clang-
ing of electric car bells where once the clumsy old two-
wheeled ox cart rumbled with its load of hides, and
polished carriages roll smoothly over the asphalt streets
where once the Spanish rider proudly cantered down the
dusty road. The adobe houses have crumbled and the
tiled roofs are scattered to the winds, replaced by the
more comfortable and convenient, but less simple and
picturesque homes of the American.
It is all very different, this era of progress. It
brought with it the boom, an extravagant, unreasonable
90
inflation of all values and prospects, followed by the
inevitable collapse and then a slow but steady and
healthful recuperation. But the life of today is not like]
that of old, and can we say that it is in all ways better?
The old was in the main an unthinking, unpro^n.^^i\ re
race under the domination of the priests, superstitious
and credulous, while the new is the earnest, ambitious
American, liberal in thought and quick in action. But
in the new we miss something of the sweet repose of the
old. The childlike simplicity is gone, and the open-
hearted hospitality. There was a picturesque charm, an
idyllic beauty, about the adobe home and the life cen-
tered there, which does not invest the motley rows of
houses constituting a modern American town or city.
Nevertheless, there is a promise of latent power, an
earnest of the life of a generation to follow, in all this
busy outreachiug and heterogeneous stir which was
wholly lacking in the pueblo. We have gained in
science and enterprise what we have lost of poetry
and repose, but when these two are added to our life,
as they must be ere long, how much more beautiful •
and significant the modern life will become !
San Diego has witnessed all these changes of - -\ [' 7~
a century and has been an active participant in •' * f *; ' v
them. Today it seems nearer to the historic past
than any other city in California. Standing upon the
heights of Mission Cliff Park, the eye can range up
and down the valley which formed the high road for
Father Serra a century and more ago. Toward the
upper end of the valley stands the poor, dilapidated
ruin of the first mission of Alta California, and away
off beyond the lower end stretches the shining sea.
At this lower end of the valley, near the shore of the
bay, is located the old town of San Diego.
The ruins of its presidio may still be traced upon
one of the hills commanding a view of the bay
i
I'MfStTi:
mi*.
-■■;:$ti?--^
"BJ
ou
in one direction and of the val-
ley with its mission in the
^ other. Upon a considerably
"*«€; higher knoll the earthworks of
Fort Stockton are plainly visible, the two fortifications
telling of more than a passing episode in the history of
California.
The home of Don Juan Bandiui stands in the center
of old San Diego, sadly changed by the addition of a
frame upper story and a great black sign painted upon
its side. Senor Bandini was a man of considerable
importance in the days of the Mexican supremacy, and
a firm friend of the Americans, in consequence of which
friendship, it is said, he lost his large estate in Lower
California. Added interest is attached to his personality
from the prominence with which he figures in Danals
" Two Years Before the Mast." It was but a mile or two
lower down on the beach from Old Town that Dana
encamped at the hide house, and where his Kanaka
friend, of whom he gives so touching an account, lived
and died.
Opposite the Bandini house is a tiled roofed adobe,
tenantless and forlorn, which was formerly the home of
the Estudillos, a wealthy and influential Mexican family
of the early days. The interest which now invests the
place, however, is occasioned by the reference to it in
" Ramona " as the residence of Father Gaspara and the
account of Alessandro and
Ramona signing there the
marriage record. The
old adobe church where,
according to Mrs. Jack-
son's touching story, the
marriage was solemnized,
stands near the quaint
adobe- walled cemetery,
.
'4a*.
In4i*t! Stliool *t~. S*n TV I . ■ . *
se
but the clapboard sheathing, added as protection from the
weather, hardly enhances the picturesque effect.
Modern San Diego is situated on the bay shore two
or three miles below Old Town. The residence portion
of the city lies upon the hills overlooking the beautiful
sweep of bay and ocean, while the business section is
located on the lower ground reaching down toward the
water. The waterfront, known in the local vernacular
as " Stingaree Town," is a motley but very picturesque
section — with fishermen's shanties standing on stilts out
over the water, backed by irregular streets of the Chinese
quarter where John chat-
ters with his neighbor or
gravely smokes his pipe
while watching the group of
children, with almond eyes
and dangling queues of silk,
playing in the doorway
Farther along on the water
front is the shipping, with the large wharf of Spreckles
for unloading coaling vessels, and the Santa Fe pier.
The business part of the town contains many sub-
stantial well-built modern blocks, the buildings in mis-
sion style being a feature of the local architecture,
linking in sentiment the traditions of the past with the
life of today. The large, well-appointed salt-water baths
near the Santa Fe depot and one of the livery stables
show the possibility of adapting this architecture to a
variety of uses. Electric car lines afford transportation
over the city, which extends over a surprisingly large
-'•'•■■
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area of country in a rather narrow strip overlooking the
bay.
Many fine, large residences line the heights, and the
visitor from the East is everywhere impressed by the
profusion of flowers. Even the cottages have their rose
gardens and blooming vines clambering up over the
roofs, and in one garden beside a very modest little
home I first saw bananas in fruit, drooping in great clus-
ters amid the immense green leaves of the plant. The
view from this elevated portion of the town is ever
changing with the atmospheric effects. Point Loma
is seen as a great,
bold headland thrust
from the north down
into the ocean, and
forming within its
capacious shelter a
long sweep of bay cir-
cling in and around
to the southeast with a shore line of some twenty miles.
From the southern end of the bay, not far from the
boundary line of Mexico, a low and exceedingly narrow
sand spit, the Coronado peninsula, reaches up in a curv-
ing sweep toward Point I, oma, widening out into two
flat blotches of land near the upper end, and leaving but
a narrow passage into the still water of the inner bay.
From the hills of the city this rather unusual combination
of abrupt headland and low curving peninsula of sand,
with the hay within and the sea. without, is in full view,
with a foreground of housetops and city streets, and on
jjiilj I f nilllilllllMHMin (
| " j fly m m iti ./»! T
*JM
v£>*A'^?&**~^
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the horizon line the blue Coronado
Islands. Under a sunny sky the
water of the bay is sometimes as blue
as indigo, with the far-away land
bathed in purple mist, while a foggy |j
atmosphere alters the hues to a dull
blue and steel gray, with patches of 3WJ
shimmering silver light upon the
water where the sun breaks through ^md
in streaming rays.
The back country about San Diego was something of
a surprise to me, as I had expected to find much less
cultivation and the desert much nearer[to the[]coast.] [I
was scarcely prepared for the great extent of orange and
lemon groves, of olive orchards, in some instances con-
sisting of large trees, fifteen or more years of age, of
loquats and figs. Chula Vista and the El Cajon Valley
are especially notable for their extensive and well-kept
orchards, and the latter district is famous for its finely
cured raisins. Grain is cultivated in that part of the
valley land which is not planted with fruit trees, and
stock ranges over the mountains.
The Panita Rancho in the El Cajon is one of the
large cattle ranches of the district. It is a lovely region
with the willow-lined San Diego River flowing between
hills which lead up to the imposing and abrupt El Cajon
Mountain, and beyond it the sharp peak of Cuyamaca
thrust into the clouds. A lovely little pond lies in the
upper part of the valley, near the shore of which stands
an excellent hotel known as The Lakeside. A stage
road leads to Alpine, farther up in the mountains — a
J_ ' si
j
"Sr"
-JiVS^'
-- 5 s
charming little resort among
the oak trees — while at still
greater altitudes are forests
of pine and fir. Beyond all
this, but many miles inland,
lies the Colorado Desert, a
portion of which is depressed
about three hundred feet
below the level of the sea.
A favorite excursion from
San Diego is through
National City, Chula Vista and Otay across the United
.States boundary into old Mexico. Tia Juana, the
little town across the border, suffered from a disastrous
flood a few years ago, and has been rebuilt as a rather
commonplace Mexican hamlet. There are stores where
Mexican curios are exposed for sale, and Reuben, the
guide who conducts parties across the line, is worth a trip
to almost any place to see. With the exception of the
ostriches, I do not remember to have seen anything in
Southern California quite so original and unusual as
Reuben. He is dark — very dark, in fact — and bis
moutb may be fitly compared with the corresponding
portion of the above-mentioned bird. But the most
striking thing about him is the immense sombrero which
quite leaves the wearer in the shade. I have no vivid
recollection of anything he showed us during the 'bus
ride from the railroad terminus to Tia Juana except his
-
i ffel^i
L..u-..iJo ..." k ■/ Aijj j-i ■ •' <„_ ' < - ,t).
96
picture and the boundary line, but nevertheless Reuben
is a very talkative and a very important personage.
The Tia Juana excursion is not complete without a
passing glimpse of the Sweetwater dam. This great pile
of masonry incloses a lake at the foot of San Miguel
Peak, which furnishes water for irrigating many miles of
orchard land below it. It is the most accessible of the
irrigating storage systems of Southern California, and
is of great interest as an illustration of the immense
obstacles which have been surmounted in bringing
water to the land.
The objective point, sooner or later, of all travelers
in this region of the Pacific Coast, is the Hotel del Cor-
onado, which stands unique among the pleasure resorts
of America. It is a mammoth frame structure built
upon the very brink of the ocean, where the murmur of
the waves breaking upon the beach is ever in the air.
But a stone's throw across the sandy rim of beach lie the
still waters of the bay, where row and sail boats are float-
ing at anchor or cutting their keen way through the
rippling tide. The hotel stands where the thread of
sand separating bay ami sea suddenly widens out into a
considerable peninsula, while to the northwest lies the
town of Coronado Beach, the site of many fine residences,
gardens and avenues. There is a botanical garden here,
a very picturesque little stone church, and beautiful
views of ocean, bay and mountains. It is connected
with San Diego by a ferry which makes trips every
twenty minutes during the day and every forty minutes
at night.
On approaching the hotel for the first time, the visitor
is impressed by its immense size and its freedom from
architectural conventions. It is painted white with red
roofs, and the lines are so varied and broken by great
turrets, spires, towers and dormer windows that it pre-
sents a very unique and striking appearance. There
97
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surely was never another building constructed on similar
lines. With all its seeming irregularity, however, it is
built about an immense rectangular court open to the
sky and inclosing a beautiful tropical garden. The cor-
ridors are open and extend all around this court, con-
nected by outside stairways with lattice-work railing.
Here rare tropical palms grow to immense size and the
air is fragrant with the perfume of the lemon blossom.
The California valley quail, in showy plumage and ereel
helmet crest, runs about here perfectly at home, and
humming birds, with their high, fine chatter, dart from
blossom to blossom. The blithe notes of the linnet and
the sweet pipe-of the song sparrow is ever in the air and
everything about the court bespeaks rest and peace.
' The interior furnishings are luxurious. From the
office extends a succession of reception rooms, a ladies'
billiard room, writing room, and parlors, with the
immense pavilion for entertainments upon the south-
western corner. From the cosy breakfast room a charm-
ing view of the sea is presented, with the garden of
palms and flowers in the foreground and beyond it the
line of sandy beach and foamy breakers. The main
dining room is a vast hall capable of accommodating
nearly a thousand persons, and during meal hours pre-
sents a striking and brilliant scene of animation.
Along the ocean side is a great glass-covered veranda
where the broad expanse of the sea lies in its majestic
reach, with the graceful curve of the outer bay from
Point Loma on the west around to the southeastern
headland. The rocky Coronado Islands are full before
us and an occasional yacht or merchant vessel may be
seen standing off the coast as it beats to the windward
of Point Loma.
The climate of Coronado comes as near to perfection
as any in the known world. There is a perpetual breeze
from the sea which is never harsh, and which yet prevents
99
346877
the temperature from rising to an uncomfortable height.
According to the San Diego weather reports from 1875
to 1891, a period of six thousand two hundred and five
days, there were six thousand and six days during which
the thermometer did not go above 8o° nor below 400
Fahr. The sea breeze is a peculiarly dry current in
Southern California, being the descending return column
of air from the Colorado desert. During the day time
the heated interior desert is constantly drawing in the
cooler sea air which rises on the desert and returns to
sea as an upper current, then descending and returning
4&A
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.
■^fe*'
to land in endless rotation. At night the direction of
the current is changed, the desert air cooling more
rapidly and traveling seaward as a land breeze. It is
this constant circulation of desert and sea breezes which
makes the climate of the coast of Southern California
so free from extremes, so mild, and so beneficial for
persons suffering from diseases which are affected by
climatic conditions. For many persons troubled with
complaints of the throat and lungs ->^3a
the greater dryness of the interior 3**-**|i3sSfi
valleys is found more beneficial, - -^iSSfflS
and even the harsh aridity of the '■*-.<&£& ^v VJ L2 ' '
desert M ' v*^?^ 5* £fef -
As a pleasure resort, the Hotel "S i , ,/ ^
del Coronado is quite without a y\ • - [; ?:: jj'M i\ j-J
rival. Here during the height of $\^CfM.U*%^:}^'j \\
the season are assembled nearly a f "'"'^f.'^v/i' '
thousand people from all over the ' !•.■•>.
world bent on having a good time. '
There is rowing, sailing and fishing, wheeling, horse-
back rides and carriage drives — a fine sw imming tank
and surf bathing, golf links and miles of sandy beach
to stroll upon and watch the white combers come roll-
ing in and breaking upon the shore. There are concerts
and entertainments in the large theater, dancing and
merrymaking in general.
Among the favorite drives is the one from San Diego
around the beach to Point Loma. It is a bracing drive
of twelve miles out to the abandoned lighthouse on the
summit of the point, past Old Town, over the hard
crust of marsh mud and finally around the sand dunes
to Ocean Beach facing the fresh sea breeze and catching
the little ditty of the shore lark by the wayside. From
Ocean Beach the road ascends to the ridge of Point
Loma on the summit of which is located a new well-
equipped hotel and sanitarium named from its location.
A number of theosophists have organ-
ized a society for the recovery of the lost
L mysteries of antiquity and have pur-
oining
pro-
and
%tr^-~-i ft I <>- establish a school. They have certainly
5:,i£\- .' chosen a favorable spot upon which to
for the lost mysteries, for it com-
everything in sight. The drive
ri
,'■: ~f\<^~ chased a large tract of land adjoi
L y( r i.' I | die Point Loma House, where they
pose in time lo erect buildings
KStM seardi,;
il\ «^raa i- -' '' - i
j -.: '''u^l-K j bads on along the backbone of the
promontory to the old lighthouse, from
which point of vantage a glorious pan-
orama of sea and shore is presented.
We are not at a dizzy height above
~-"'«L->-
W"
• *,
-
v
Holef * clcf'Coro^Jo
the sea — only a few hundred feet — but
so aloof from all the rest of the
world that the outlook is most
striking and impressive. Away off
along the western side of the point
break the tireless waves of the
ocean, and to the south and south-
east the blue horizon line is obstructed only by the
three rock}- points of land, the Corouado Islands. The
long curiously shaped strip of sand, separating sea and
bay, reaches up from the southeast with the great Hotel
del Corouado upon its shore. San Diego lies spread out
upon its line of hills with a noble background of moun-
tains— the flat-topped I'd Cajon and next it the sharp
peak of Cuyamaca. San Miguel shows its graceful sil-
houette against the sky — the peak so often compared
in shape and location to Vesuvius — while away off in
Mexico looms the great Table Mountain through the
mist.
For those who are moved by the fascination of the
sea coast there is no more serene and peaceful a spot
V^cc*,n ]Z>e*.c b
accessible than the little settlement of La Jolla situated
upon a Muff overlooking the curving shore and broad
expanse of the ocean. The turmoil of cities and the stir
of fashionable life seems very remote here where the
waves beat incessantly at the base of the cliffs, wearing
away the soft sandstone into fantastic forms, fashioning
columns and arches and caves upon the verge of the
incessantly laboring waters. Standing upon the rocks
with the gull wheeling above and the pelican ami cor-
morant winging over the sea, with the fresh salt air to
breathe and the music of tin- breakers to hear, there is a
sense of solitude ami rest mingled with the tonic stir of
the elements which is at once 1 tracing and soothing.
In tlie crystal pools down at the base of the cliffs may
be seen the purple echinodernis amid the seaweed, and
starfishes sprawling upon the rocks. Here, amid the
dark recesses below the tide
the sun streams in, disclos-
ing ribbons and streamers of
seaweed, or perchance a fish
swimming among the
mosses and bryozoa that
fringe the sides.
In summer L,a Jolla is
crowded with visitors and
campers wdio enjoy the cool ^, - — ^g^ _,^J
air and the unconventional
life by the sea. A stroll at
evening along the edge of
\\
ra2 W i£'i
103
S X
S»Sv>i;
r/^$S.;
,/7./U~£*~-.-
C«-v/e?,
the bluff, past the picturesque Green Dragon cottage
and off toward the caves, with the vision of the sun
dipping down into the ocean and the long curving line
of foaming breakers on the shore, stands out vividly in
the mind as an enchanting scene.
104
FROM SAN DIEGO TO LOS ANGELES.
SAN DIEGO and Santa Barbara are the southern-
most and northernmost cities on the Southern
California coast, with Los Angeles nearly mid-
way between them, but although nearly two hundred
and thirty miles apart the climatic conditions do not
vary as greatly as might naturally appear. At Point
Conception, noted since the days of the early Spanish
explorers, the coast line makes an abrupt bend to the
East, thus giving the laud a southern exposure to the
sea. The Santa Barbara Islands break the force of wind
and storms upon the shore, and the traveler upon coast-
ing steamers, southward bound, is immediately im-
pressed with the change of climate, upon rounding this
historic cape; from the cold, windy sea entering the
calm mild reaches of the Santa Barbara channel.
The land journey from San Diego to Los Angeles
over the Santa Fe Railroad affords the traveler a super-
ficial view of a large section of Southern California;
although it is a serious mistake to assume that such a
survey can be other than superficial. It is not infre-
quently misleading as well, for the same
section of country undergoes such incalcu-
lable transformations dependent upon the
weather, season, and time of day. A hot
dry wind from the Santa Ana Canon, known
in consequence as a " Santa Ana," will, in a
few hours, make a green fertile region look
withered and desolate, while a foggy night ^«
following will revive the vegetation and
alter the entire face of the country. Again, 'ikd
a dry winter which the country occasionally
i°5
experiences will leave in earh- summer a desert waste of
brown where during a normal season luxuriant fields of
grain would wave.
Even a typical year presents striking contrasts in the
different seasons. .Spring lasts all winter long with
alternations of sun and shower, with green fields and
songs of birds, varied by an oc-
casional cold snap as in an East-
ern spring and some few dreary
cold drizzling rains. In the
spring mouths there is an awak-
ening of fruit blossoms and of
man}- wild flowers, while the
winter birds hurry to their
Northern homes and the sum-
mer birds come crowding in
from the south. In the early
summer the mustard is in its
full glory of gold throughout
the country, and the fields of
becom-
■ •''-/■'^ytfl -.1/ lu >', ;.
:'t||M:- '-'Pfitb- •Un'i" alX' ril,(-'ni"-" aml ,)CC(
^r^^'lw^r^JRj hl^ ,,nm11- The orange c
• -^? /?&&_,' ' ^Kj? of winter has been followed
rop
by
the deciduous fruits, and the
old birds are hading their bands of young from tree to
tree, some of them even venturing to sample the loquats
and apricots as they pass. The dust begins to fly in the
high road with the passing of a team, and the hills
gradually become rolled in brown and purple. Autumn
conies with southward flocking birds and flying dust,
with sere weeds and soft hues of brown and yellow,
relieved by refreshing patches of green in an irrigated
valley or along the arroyos where the willows grow.
Then follow the welcome showers, and the gradual
emergence of another spring.
Stepping upon either of the two day trains of the
*>** Ji j'\ r.l ''/'nP
Santa Fe Road at San Diego for Los Angeles, we skirt
the shore of the bay to Old Town, having a parting view
of the bold line of Point Loma and off on the land side
a glimpse of the historic old settlement and the Mission
Valley. For a few miles farther the road follows along
the line of False Bay, and then strikes boldly across the
country to avoid the detour which the coast line makes
off toward La Jolla.
After traversing some miles of inland country, uncul-
tivated for the most part, and, with the exception of an
occasional pocket where a clump of sycamores or live
oaks grow, devoid of trees or shrubbery, the track again
approaches the coast, which is followed more or less
closely for the next sixty miles. At times we hurry
along close to the sandy beach, where the blue ocean
stretches away to the horizon line, and where the white
dazzling combers come tumbling in on the shore in
unending succession. Again, the track lies some dis-
tance away from the shore upon more
elevated land, and we notice strange,
fantastic formations cut by the water in
the soft sandstone banks on the margin
of the sea. Inland the country looks
green or barren according to season,
but now and then a break in the line of
hills indicates a stream emptying into
the sea, and here we may count on find-
ing some fine gnarled old sycamores.
107
IZ>i,U L,
Jit^dL^
AJot
ncj-p P*U Ai'vs<oi7.
Oceanside is the first stop-
ping point of consequence,
a distributing and commer-
cial center for an interest-
25p ing interior district. This
g~^/f-£~s- is the end of the Escondido
branch of the railroad and
also of the Fallbrook line. Escondido is the busiest
interior town of San Diego County, an agricultural and
mining depot for an extensive and prosperous country.
It is from Ocean side also that the carriage road leads to
San Luis Rey, Pala and the fascinating Indian country
beyond.
The train, however, gives time for but a glance at
Oceanside and a moment for reflection on the history of
other days and other races written all over the face of
the country, when we are whisked on to San Juan, the
last point on the coast. It was from a bluff here that
Dana tells of sailing hides down upon the beach below,
although I confess to have been puzzled to understand
why the)' were not taken down the arroyo to the water's
edge just where the railroad now runs to Capistrano.
Dear old Capistrano — it is not everyone who is
impressed by its charm. A lady informed me that she
went there with a party and was obliged to stay all day
although she had exhausted the place in the first hour.
On the other hand, I spent a month there and wished I
might have remained at least six. So much for the
point of view ! But it
is a quiet, fascinating
little mongrel town
full of the atmosphere
of romance and the
poetry of a pastoral
people linked by allj^g?
the ties of inheritance
m&
- J , . .■ .
108
and association with the history of bygone days. The
old sacristan is the brother of a mission soldier of sixty
years ago. In the veins of its inhabitants flows the
blood of mission soldiers and mission Indians. Here
are pedigrees worth disentangling, and stories enough
to stock a library. From the train, however, the mis-
sion looks like little more than a forlorn adobe ruin, and
many a traveler looks up from his book for a moment in
passing and thinks he has seen it.
About Capistrano and through much of the district
on to Los Angeles are beautiful orchards of English
VIA'- -
^£«£^.
t>
walnuts. There is something very cool and restful
about these groves of trees, planted far apart, with their
clean, smooth bark and ample spread of foliage. There
is also much fine grazing land where herds of cattle
range over the meadows and hills, and just beyond
Capistrano is a magnificent grove of old sycamores bent
into fantastic shapes with their huge light trunks and
sprawling limbs.
We pass El Toro and presently reach Santa Ana, the
largest town of Orange Count}-. It is in the midst of a
fine fruit country devoted to the cultivation of oranges,
walnuts, olives and loquats, and its streets present an
109
appearance of animation and
thrift. The main business
streets arc paved with asphalt,
and the stores that line the
way are substantially built of
brick . In the residence district
are numerous homes nearly con-
cealed from view by the profu-/
sion of palms and flowers.
Here, as in other garden spots,
the Eastern visitor is surprised
to see great hedges of calla
lilies bordering the way, shoot-
ing their fine broad leaves and pure golden-centered
chalices many feet into the air. Stately rows of cotton-
woods line the way, and the black-headed grosbeak
sounds his cheery note from the walnut orchards. The
residents of Santa Ana are favored with a little seaside
resort for the summer months at Newport, which is but
a few miles distant.
Orange is only two miles on our way beyond Santa
Ana and in the same fertile valley district. It is the
junction of a branch of the railroad which goes to San
Bernardino, following up the Santa Ana Valley, with its
winding line of willows between the mountains. On
this branch road are some lovely fruit sections about
Olive and Yorba, where the Mexican flavor is still very
pronounced among the inhabitants ; and farther on, at
Corona, an extensive and beautiful orange section lying
upon the gently rising
, mesa land overlooking a
i#j; , wonderful expanse of val-
B i/" " >
1
■ I,
ley. Beyond Corona are
Riverside and Colt on ,
and then San Bernardino
which is the junction of
_S..ii.*W
many lines penetrating Southern California like the
spokes of a wheel.
Continuing on the main line from San Diego to Los
Angeles, we pass the staid little town of Anaheim, orig-
inally settled by a colony of Ger-
mans. A colony of distinguished
Poles at one time undertook to ex-
periment in agriculture here, but
found that even in California fruit-
growing could not be made a suc-
cess without experience and drudg-
ery. At least two members of this '
colony, which made a noble strug-
gle here before it failed, have since
won world-wide distinction in other vocations than the
pastoral ones which brought them here — Madame Mod-
jeska and Henryk Sienkiewicz. Madame Modjeska,
however, became so attached to the country that she
has since purchased a fine large ranch some miles inland
from the railroad, where she spends much of her time
when not on the stage.
During the hour of travel from Orange to Los
Angeles, several thriving little towns are passed which
are devoted to fruit culture and walnut growing, while
in the intervening country are grazing lands for stock
and fields of grain. At La Mirada a model orange
orchard is under cultivation, covering several hundred
acres and with a picturesque tiled-roof mission home set
in the midst of the grove. The stations here and at
Capistrano are especially appropriate in design, follow-
ing the mission architecture in a very effective manner.
Fullerton is next passed — a thriving fruit and grain
center — and from Santa Fe Springs, a little farther on,
may be had a very pretty view of Whittier spread out
upon the foothills above.
Evidences of the proximity of a large city soon
appear as the siren whistle announces our approach to
Los Angeles. The city, set upon its hills and spreading
over the adjacent valley, lifts its towers, chimneys
and spires high above us, and we are soon standing
before the Santa Fe depot.
* ■'.■'••
- "A "
IvOS ANGELES.
ON the fourth of September, 1781, a party of twelve
mission soldiers, together with their families,
amounting in all to forty-six persons, took pos-
session, under direction of the Governor of California,
then located at San Gabriel Mission, of a tract of land
for the purpose of forming the Pueblo de la Reina de los
Angeles. The government furnished them with such
necessities for farm life as horses and cattle, tools and
agricultural implements of a rude character. The city
was laid out around a plaza and land for homes and
cultivation was allotted to the heads of families, to 1>e
retained so long as they were kept improved and in good
repair.
Nine years after the formation of the pueblo, when
the first census was taken, the town consisted of a hun-
dred and forty-one persons, a large proportion of whom
were Spanish-Americans and mulattos, while fifty years
from the date of organization the population numbered
but seven hundred and seventy.
Standing today upon one of the city's heights and
overlooking the miles of hill and valley from which rise
the public and private buildings of a community of over
a hundred thousand souls, it is difficult to realize the
change which fifty, or indeed which thirty years has
wrought. The towers of the city hall and courthouse
rise imposingly above the intricate maze of roof tops,
church spires, chimneys and telegraph poles, while
below all is throbbing the
pulse of a great city, with , j>
Hff ',
the rumble of electric <Mfo ■•■.„....- ^ '%...
cars, the ring of horses' , ^M^j® mj$*p*$* *'#■••* '
^few iiBMf
«*»• „-.. ■•■
Lot. ZlTx^e/t >
v\.^.
i^ass
I
5f»
'
li
feet on the asphalt pavement, and the far-
away call of the newsboy, as one hears in
country districts the distant crowing of a
cock.
Down on the business streets, where people
jostle one another in the rush of modern life,
are many fine blocks of stores and offices —
great steel-framed structures of terra cotta
and pressed brick, well proportioned and
simply and tastefully ornamented. The old
buildings of the city of ten and twenty years ago are
rapidly giving way to the new, and each day's toil con-
tributes to the sightliness and permanence of a modern
American city modeled after the most approved ideas of
New York and Chicago.
Among the stores of Los Angeles the visitor is partic-
ularly impressed by the fine grocery houses, where the
neatness, taste and even elegance of the display of food
supplies is not unlike a fashionable confectioner's in
style. Hotels and boarding houses are numerous all
over the citv, and the best of them leave nothing to be
desired in equipment and service. Accommodations may
be secured here in every respect equal to the best hotels
of the East. The furnishings and appointments are
modern and nothing is omitted that
would contribute to the comfort and
happiness of the guests. Dinners
are served in rooms glittering with
lights and gay with a profusion of
roses, with girls in white flitting
about in attendance, with the light
music of a stringed orchestra
giving zest to the conversa-
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tion, and with an array of
viands that woidd please the . *
most fastidious epicure.
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The charm of L,os Angeles lies in its combination of
hills and level reaches, of massive business blocks, and,
but a few squares removed, residences set in the midst
of gardens where tropical plants and brilliant flowers
thrive. The beautiful Sierra Madre Mountains form an
ever-present background for the city, blue and jagged
iu outline, with summits of .
s n o w during the winter
months.
I know of no city with a
more beautiful residence dis-
trict than Adams street and
its surroundings. It is a fine
broad avenue shaded by large
graceful pepper trees, with
here and there imposing
groups of eucalyptus lifting
their dark swaying branches
aloft into the clear air of a
cloudless sky. The sightly H'" a>"
houses are set back from the street with ample reach
of lawn and garden round about, sometimes almost
concealing them from view in the wealth of plant life
* which is so charming a feature of this portion of the
A* city.
Westlake Park is another favored residence dis-
trict, with its little silver lake surrounded by flowers,
shrubs and trees, and with costly homes upon the
hills sloping down to its shore. There are many
other parks about the city and its environs, includ-
ing a well-improved square near the center of town,
known as Central Park, and
the East vSide Park, which,
although not very large, con-
tains an attractive lake and
many pleasant walks. Elysian
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Park occupies a magnificent
site, and when improved prom-
ises to become one of the great
parks of the country, while a
public-spirited citizen has pre-
sented to the city a tract of
three thousand acres, situated
a mile north of town, and ad-
mirably located for use as a
botanical experiment station.
There are other smaller parks about town which will
one day be connected into one great system by a line of
boulevards. The Plaza is of special interest from the
historic associations centering there. Facing it on the
west is the old Spanish church built during the mission
days, and on the east and north many old adobes which
have been made over for the occupancy of the Chinese.
These people have an individuality which impresses
itself at once upon all their surroundings. It may be
only a vertical sign in Chinese characters, or a paper
lantern hung over a doorway that gives the oriental
color to a neighborhood, but it is unmistakable. In the
Chinese quarter of Los Angeles are joss houses resplen-
dent with colors and carvings in honor of their gods,
restaurants where tea and the daintiest of Chinese viands
are served — preserved ginger and salted almonds and
cakes — and theaters where the gaily bedizened actors
pipe their high-pitched monotonous ditties, accompanied
by the clash of cymbals and the shrill squeak of their
violins. In the narrow alleys crowds of Chinamen"
scuffle along or lounge by their doorways, and little
women, bedecked in bright silks and beads, often accom-
panied by their quaint little children in -parti-colored
attire, mingle with the throng.
It is but a few blocks from here to the Wilcox, Stim-
son and Bradbury buildings — massive fireproof structures
W«-TU» T.rk
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of the most approved modern design, situated in the
very heart of a great city with hurrying crowds passing
and repassing in endless procession. A strange mingling
this of the traditions and types of Cathay close upon the
confines of the business heart of a modern American city,
virile with the will and energy so characteristic of the
modern centers of the West.
The astonishing growth of this city during the past
ten years, which had its inception some time before in
the completion of the Santa Fe
Railroad as a new competitive
transcontinental road, is an in-
^J&A
dication of the great resources
i
vgemr%
of the region; for, despite the
boom and the disastrous eol-
L lapse which followed it, Los
Angeles has pursued the even
tenor of her way, reaching out
into the surrounding country, replacing the antiquated
buildings with modern ones, extending her railroad lines
and beautifying her streets and parks. In 1880 the
population of the city was 11,000, while in 1897 the cen-
sus showed a total of 103,786 inhabitants. These figures
speak more eloquently than words of the growth of
Southern California, especially in view of the fact that
this increase does not imply a corre-
sponding reduction in the outlying
districts. On the contrary, such
places as Pasadena and Redlands
have grown even more rapidly in
118
mmmm ■
ClunA. iown
proportion to their size, and the
rate of increase in Los Angeles is
but an index of the rapid settle-
ment of the fruit districts which
surround it.
An industry which has added .
to the resources of Los Angeles
during the past few years has been the development of
the oil wells upon some of the hills within the city
limits. A plentiful flow of oil, sufficiently refined for
use as fuel, has been obtained from numberless wells
in this district, the tall derricks for drilling the holes
filling every available space upon the land for blocks
around.
San Pedro, a seacoast town devoted to Jhe fishing
and shipping industries, is the official harbor for the
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city, although vessels also laud at Santa Monica and
Redoudo Beach. Santa Monica is a pleasant little town
by the sea, with an excellent hotel and every facility for
surf bathing, boating and fishing. The shore line makes
a graceful sweep at this point, with a sandy beach
backed by cliffs of sandstone sculptured by the rain and
surmounted by groves of trees. Farther up the beach to
the northwest the mountains rise abruptlv from the »
sea in a graceful and imposing line. One of the %
National Soldiers' Homes is situ-
ated near Santa Monica, and the
town itself extends over a large
tract of land with a busy com-
119
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mercial street and many attractive homes. In addition
to the railroad lines connecting it with Los Angeles
there is an electric car system similar to the one between
Pasadena and the city.
Redondo Beach is also a favorite seaside resort, with
excellent hotel accommodations and all the pleasures of
the sea at hand. During the summer months it is
crowded with city people who come here to enjoy the
bracing sea breezes and the plunge in the surf or stroll
upon the beach.
Had the site of Los Angeles been chosen with the
special purpose of accommodating the pleasure seeker it
could not have been more conveniently located, situated
as it is about midway between the seacoast resorts on the
one hand and the mountain resorts on the other, and
nearly midway between San Diego and Santa Barbara.
It is the great focusing point for the activities of the
Southwest, which reach
out in all directions from
this busy mart. But the
people of Los Angeles can
light as well as work and
play. When the blast ^
of a whistle finally an- . , ■-' ,'J;,yl "*
Qounced the expected -— -
declaration of war with
A L.
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Spain, there was an imme-
diate response of volunteers
who marched through the
streets with flags and music
amid the tumultuous enthu-
siasm of the people. Within
a few days trainloads of
troops were hurrying
through the city on their -
way to the front and the resi- o^&Lzz.
dents turned out en masse to
show their appreciation of the brave soldier boys. In
this crisis Los Angeles has bravely fallen into line, and
many an anxious mother there is awaiting news from
her absent son. In San Diego, too, were the same
scenes of devotion when the boys left their homes
for foreign battlefields. It is well that
our cities of the
Southwest can
fight for the na-
tion as well as
labor for the
upbuilding of
^ their own sec-
tion of the land.
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122
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SANTA BARBARA.
WHO does not know of lovely Santa Barbara
by the sea, nestled in close to the range of
lofty mountains, with its fine old mission
overlooking the town, its modern stores jostling against
the quaint old adobes and its atmosphere of Boston cul-
ture overlapping the dolce far tiiente of the Mexican ? It
it is one of those places which people go to visit and
conclude not to leave. It is not a thriving, commercial
center nor a bustling metropolis, but many people of
refinement and taste have made their homes within its
precincts and it is constantly attracting to itself more of
the same sort — people who love flowers and music, who
read and think. There is an excellent hotel, the Arling-
ton, where visitors can find luxury
and comfort enough to suit the
most fastidious. "
A few miles from town is Monte-
cito, a rambling settlement of fine
estates and beautiful homes, reach-
ing from the sea far back into the
foothills. About many of these
homes the natural setting of live
oaks and rocks, of tangled thickets
which delight the birds, and open
fields of clover have been preserved,
123
S>*»nTK D^el^r*
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n reside
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while other residences are set in tropical gardens of rare
beauty. There are a number of fine orange groves and
vineyards here, but many of the residents of Montecito
seem to live, like the flowers, on sunshine and fresh air.
On a memorable evening in the month of June, I
stood on the pier awaiting the boat for San Francisco.
The full moon came gliding up out of the water in the
east, and as it stood just upon the edge of the tide the
steamer floated across its shield of silver light. Swing-
ing around, the great, black vessel drifted up to the
wharf, its red and green lights reflected in rippling lines
in the water, and from its deck the voices of a company
of volunteers for the war with Spain, singing old home
melodies, floated upon the still night air. How little
could the Spanish fathers of a century ago who named
the mission and town after their patron saint of war
have prophesied such a scene as this !
forma. To understand the zeal of these
■ men and the wonders which they per-
THE MISSIONS.
J HE founding and developing of the mis-
sions of California constitutes an episode
unique in history. The story has been
often related, hut a brief account Cannot
.'• !' . be omitted in a sketch of Southern Cali-
[
j 'i- _r/^ ~
/ "t ' formed, it is necessary to realize their point
/ / of view on the great questions of life, and this,
I in an age of skepticism, is not easy. It is hard
for us to understand that the mainspring of nun's action
could have been a belief, bitterly realistic, that the souls
of all human beings not baptized into the Catholic
\. church were certain to sutler the eternal torments of
hell punishment. To men of gentle and refined natures,
the pity aroused by this belief stimulated them to almost
superhuman effort, and enabled them to consecrate their
lives to endless toil and pain in behalf of the savages
thus doomed by divine mandate.
It wras this conviction which enabled Father Junipero
Serra, an old man with a painful sore of years' persist-
ence upon his leg, to walk with trembling steps from
San Diego to Monterey, and to weep because he could
do so little for his people. To illustrate the torments of
hell he would, during his sermons, pound his breast
with a stone until the blood streamed from the wounds.
To his dying day he would relate, with tears in his eyes,
the incident of the first Indian baby he attempted to
baptize. The mother had consented to the ceremony and
stood before him with her child. Suddenly, just as he
was about to sprinkle the water in the baby's face, she
125
turned arid fled, panic-stricken. He
always felt that some umvorthiness of
his -was responsible for the loss of this
infant's soul.
When the news of the founding of
- Monterey Mission reached Mexico and
Spain, the people were filled with joy
and a festival was held in honor of the
event, although all that had been accom-
plished was the erection of a rude hut of
thatch, with a cross beside it and the
mission bell suspended in a tree. But
it meant to them the salvation of count-
less Indian souls during the years to
come, and a new laud brought under the
dominion of the King of Spain.
Such was the temper aud zeal of the people who
accomplished these wonders in the wilderness, remark-
aide alike for their original singleness of purpose and
lofty aim, and for the utter lack of residt from their
labor upon the ultimate destiny of the land in which
they toiled. But their labors, although not productive
of permanent result in the historical sequence of events,
cannot fail to be significant in example and inspiration ;
for, however narrow and bigoted their view of life may
have been, the unselfish devotion and purity of purpose,
coupled with great personal suffering and sorrow, is a
lesson which will ever be fraught with meaning as long
as men suffer and yearn for better things.
Father Serra and his three fellow-toilers in the work
of establishing the missions, were life-long friends, and
had been associated from youth in the order of Saint
Francis. In middle life they were sent together to the
College of vSau Fernando in the City of Mexico, and
after much persuasion received permission from the
home authorities to attempt the founding of a chain of
\.o.
missions in Alta California. The Jesuits of Lower Cali-
fornia had just been replaced by Franciscans, and the
time seemed ripe for an attempt at gaining a foothold to
the north. The country was an unexplored wilderness,
except that over a century before Vizcaino had discov-
ered the bays of San Diego and Monterey, and had told
•of the hosts of savages living in the land.
Accordingly, in 1769, an expedition left Mexico for
the unknown land, divided into two detachments, one
t
1
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ft ~-«— <* «n«
going by land and driving stock for the mission estab-
lishments, and the other embarking upon the sea in two
vessels, one of which was lost before reaching San
Diego. The plan called for the establishment of a mis-
sion at San Diego, another at Monterey, and a third at a
point to be chosen midway between the two. I would
that I could dwell upon the trials and disappointments
of the first few years in this strange land — of the per-
ils from unfriendly Indians, the danger of starvation,
the wanderings without map or guide in search of Mon-
terey, but for all this the reader must be referred
to more detailed narratives. :"
Then followed the labor of building churches ' ,^5*
and cloisters, with no materials at '
hand and with only the rudest of tools,
with unskilled workmen and often
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127
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surrounded by savages more or less hostile in their atti-
tude. The site chosen was usually upon a commanding
point in a valley a few miles inland from the sea, where
water was at hand to irrigate their gardens and orchards,
and where the surrounding country was in view to
guard against surprise by the Indians. Timber for the
missions had to be transported from the pine forests
high up in the mountains, and at a distance of from
thirty to sixty miles from the building sites. It is
related that when a tree was felled and dressed in the
mountains it was put upon the shoulders of a line of
Indians, and blessed by the padre in charge of the work.
From this time it never touched the ground until it
reached the mission site, being passed from one relay of
Indians to another, and carried thus through a wilder-
ness, with but the roughest of trails leading from place
to place.' Bricks were baked on the spot, as well as
floor and roof tiles, while sun-dried bricks of adobe
served for many of the walls. The churches, however,
were built of stone quarried out of the neighboring hills
and united with cement.
With such difficulties to overcome, it would not have
been surprising had the resulting structures been uncouth
and clumsy in effect, but, ou the contrary, they form
today, ruined as they are, some of the most noteworthy
examples of architecture in America. It is the spirit of
absolute sincerity, of immediate contact with nature, of
loving interest in the work, which characterizes them.
They are literally hewn out of the surrounding land by
the pious zeal of their makers. There is a softness and
harmony about the lines which shows the work of hands
instead of machines, and the dull red tiles and soft
terra cotta and buff walls of stone are beautifully har-
monious in color. Even the whitewashed
walls of plaster are effective with the
long, cool shadows of the arches upon
129
Sim I y^
1^1 ,;,
^0m— ill ■ "
them, showing between the green of the garden or
orchard.
Most of the missions were erected around a large rec-
tangular court or quadrangle, the rooms being sur-
rounded by a corridor supported by massive arches and
roofed with tiles. At one corner of the quadrangle stood
the church, built with massive walls, five feet or more
in thickness, and dimly lighted by square windows high
up on the sides. The interior of these buildings is dark,
gloomy and forbidding, but well calculated to inspire
the worshipers with awe. The interior decorations,
although barbaric in feeling, are often beautiful and soft
in color.
Father Serra did not live to see the full realization of
cx- "v.-,
his hopes and plans, but the seed had been sown ere his
death. Fifty years from the date of the establishment
of the first mission, a chain of twenty-one establish-
ments dotted the coast valleys, each within an easy day's
journey of the next. There were on an average about a
thousand Indians living permanently at each mission,
and man}- thousands of cattle, horses and sheep roamed
over the intervening country. These Indians were
devout Catholics, conversing in the Spanish tongue, liv-
ing under a strict ecclesiastical regime and carrying on
faithfully the manifold occupations imposed upon them.
From the very inception of the mission movement,
however, it was intended that the Indians should become
131
self-sustaining, and, when finally converted and civil-
ized, left to their own devices. With the growth of
power and temporal possessions, the Franciscans became
more worldly as a class. They did not wish to relinquish
the authority won at cost of so great labor^ and subse-
quent events proved that it. would have been far better
for the Indiaus had they been left in power. But the pol-
fill
' T«:^< '
c^jnL^^ -^VaEeL.--
*"VlllW''41~ 'I"*-.,
Cdf>j*> li-l.no .
132
iticians of Mexico finally suc-
ceeded in passing the order of
secularization which placed the
missions in the hands of admin-
istrators to become the prey
alike of politicians and the peo-
ple. What the hand of man
finally spared has since been at
the mercy of the elements and
many of the beautiful structures have become mere
crumbling heaps of ruin.
The Landmarks Club, organized and carried on largely
by the enthusiasm of Charles F. Lummis, has already
done much toward preserving what is left of the mis-
sions. They have restored a large part of San Juan
Capistrauo, one of the most beautiful and extensive ruins
in America, the work having been accomplished at sur-
prisingly small cost under the careful direction of Judge
Richard Egan, and have recently undertaken a similar
labor upon San Fernando. Lack of sufficient funds
alone prevents them from protecting what is left of all
the other missions, and it is to be hoped that this defi-
ciency will be supplied ere long.
San Luis Rey has been restored in part by the Fran-
ciscans under the direction of Father O'Keefe, and it is
now used as a school for the education of priests who are
to serve iu Mexico, the government of our neighboring
republic not tolerating such schools in its midst. When
I first visited this mission the priests were holding an
afternoon service. I stepped inside from the warm,
sunny day into the chill, vault-like church, and in the
dimly lighted place saw one Mexican woman with her
black shawl drawn over her head, kneeling upon a mat
before the altar, her little child beside her. They were
the only worshipers in view, but the voices of the
priests in monotonous refrain reverberated through the
^
133
Mil .<.-3>
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empty chamber. I seemed transported into another
land and another century, and a feeling of awe and
wonder took possession of me. It seemed unreal,
uncanny, and I could almost fancy the kneeling mother
and child were but ghosts, and the droning chant of the
priests the voices of spirits.
Pala, twenty miles inland from San Luis Rev, is another
fascinating spot. The little church never attained the
dignity of becoming a fully developed mission, but
today, as in the olden times, it is the place of worship
for all the Indians in the country for miles around.
Its quaint little belfry, overlooking the cemetery, is a
■>*-
MISSION SAN JUAN CAPISTRANO — PATIO FROM NORTHWEST CORNER.
unique feature, and the decorations in the church are
singularly primitive in character, with saints carved and
dressed by the Indians, and colored decorations of the
crudest character upon the walls. Pala is most beauti-
fully situated at the foot of the Palomares Mountains, in
a fertile valley where the San Luis Rev River winds
through a tangle of verdure. Between the mission and
the Palma and Rincon Indian Agencies is as lovely a
country as any I encountered about the missions, and I
was not a little surprised to find an excellent country
inn at Pala, so removed from the centers of civilization.
135
MISSION ARCHES — CAPISTRANO.
X>*n |ftrr>».n</<
The power of the missions
is gone, the people to whom
they ministered are largely
dead and scattered, and the
buildings are rapidly crum-
bling into dust, but about them
still clings an atmosphere of
romance and poetry, a melan-
choly peace which is sad, yet
beautiful and fascinating. They
hold the poet and painter in
their spell, but for the pleasure-seeker there are brighter
scenes and happier hours awaiting in the modern centers
of life, where the past is forgotten and where the days
are too short to crowd in all the diversions which are at
hand. Coronado and Pasadena, Catalina and Mount
Lowe — on every hand are sight-seers and pleasure-
seekers, and the old life is but dimly remembered by
the new.
J jwU ritt.^tvii
137
^SS§f4if'f <
*
4
CONCLUSION.
THERE is something in the spirit of life in South-
ern California that eludes definition and analy-
sis. There is so much genial friendship shown
by nature that it is contagious. • The perpetual sunshine
warms the heart as well as the bod}-. One cannot but
be light-hearted when the birds sing all day long and the
flowers bloom in winter as in summer. The stir and
stimulus of city life
is here and the peace
and rest of nature."
Money and thought
are being expended
with unremitting
effort upon this fa-
vored corner of the
world to make it real-
ize all the promise of
nature. Homes spring
up almost in a day, and green lawns and waving trees
surround them in a season.
It is a country that mothers love to come to with
their babies, for here the little ones play out of doors all
day long and nearly every day in the year, growing fat
and rosy and merry. It is a land of prosperous homes
and orange groves ; the refinement of the East and
West is united here in the one endeavor to make of
Southern California a fruitful, beautiful, and so far as lies
within human power, an ideal region. No wonder its
residents are proud of what they have accomplished !
Each settlement is the model colony and each town is
139
destined to be the metropolis, but it is a pardonable
pride when we realize how vital the interest of each man
is in his own home and section, when we realize that he
has made it out of a waste of sand and sagebrush by his
own toil, and that to him it seems a veritable miracle,
this sudden springing of a gar-
den out of a desert.
Perhaps there is no feature
which so fully insures the future
greatness of Southern Califor-
nia, and which is so frequently
overlooked by its admirers as
its excellent school system.
The influence of the State University has been most
important in elevating the standard of instruction, for
both the public and private schools are annually exam-
ined by its professors, and only those schools placed on
the accredited list can admit students to the University
without examinations. It is sufficient to add that
although the requirements are rigidly enforced, the
graduates of a large percentage of the high schools, even
in country towns, are allowed to enter the University
without examination in all or nearly all subjects.
The old Southern California, so graphically pictured
by Dana, is but a poetic background for the new, so dif-
ferent, so much more subtle and intricate in its signifi-
cance, fraught with such boundless promise of all that is
2P
- ^5.
140
inspiring in modern civilization. It is a region where
men look not backward but forward, preserving only in
the country's names the romance of an earlier day. In
this forward look they see the commerce of the Orient
coming to their doors and an endless procession of trains
thundering across the continent freighted with the prod-
uce of their fields and groves. Fourteen -thousand car-
loads of oranges were sent East during the past year.
What may not the future bring forth ? The mission bells
are cracked and the adobe walls have crumbled away,
but phcenix-like upon their ruins has grown up a new
life and a new people, the pioneers of enlightenment
and culture.
^ -V-/V
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The H. O. Shepard Co., Printers, Chicago.
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