About a mile short of
the town, we made a digression to an Italian vineyard of note. There, at
a long table under a vine-covered trellis that connected the stone
cellar with the dwelling-house, we were served with wine by a young
woman having the true Madonna features of Sunny Italy, her mother, a
comely matron, in the meantime preparing the evening meal, while on the
hard ground encumbered with no superfluous clothing, disported the
younger members of the family. And as I sat and smoked the pipe of
peace, I reflected upon how much better they do these things in Italy -
for to all intents and Purposes, I was in Italy.
Colfax - before the advent of the C. P. R. R. called "Illinois Town" -
is an odd blending of past and present; the solid structures of the
mining days contrasting strangely with the flimsy wooden buildings that
seem to mark a railroad town. We were amazed at the amount of traffic
that occurs in the night. Three big overland trains passed through in
either direction, the interim being filled in with the switching of
cars, accompanied apparently with a most unnecessary ringing of bells
and piercing shrieks from whistles. Since our hotel was not more than a
hundred and fifty feet from the main line, with no intervening buildings
to temper the noises, sleep of any consequence was an utter
impossibility.
Few Californians are aware, probably, that a considerable amount of
tobacco is raised in the foothills of the Sierras. At Colfax, I smoked a
very fair cigar made from tobacco grown in the vicinity, and
manufactured in the town.
I think we were both glad to leave Colfax. Apart from a nerve-racking
night, the mere proximity of the railroad with its accompanying
associations served constantly to bring to mind all that I had fled to
the mountains to escape. Yet I cannot bring myself to agree with those
who profess to brand a railroad "a blot on the landscape." The enormous
engines which pull the overland trains up the heavy grades of the Sierra
Nevada impress one by their size, strength and suggestion of reserve
power, as not being out of harmony with the forces of Nature they are
constructed to contend with and overcome.
This thought occurred to us as we watched a passenger train slowly
winding its way around the famous Cape Horn, some four miles from
Colfax. Although several miles in an air line intervened, one seemed to
feel the vibrations in the air caused by the panting monster, while
great jets of steam shot up above the pine trees. I confess to a sense
of elation at the spectacle. Nature in some of her moods seems so
malignant, that I felt proud of this magnificent exhibition of man's
victory over the obstacles she so well knows how to interpose.
The road between Colfax and Grass Valley - the next stopping place on
our itinerary - lay through so lovely a country that we passed through
it as in a dream. Descending into the valley we were joined by several
small boys, attracted, I suppose, by our - to them - unusual costume and
equipment, who plied us with questions. They asked if "we carried a
message for the mayor," and were visibly disappointed when we regretted
we had overlooked that formality. For several minutes they kept us busy
trying to give truthful answers to most unexpected questions. They had
never heard of Tuolumne and wanted to know if it was in California.
Their world, in fact, was bounded by Colfax on the south and Nevada City
on the north.
Grass Valley received its name from the meadow in which the town, for
the most part, is situated. The ground is so moist that, notwithstanding
the heat, the grass was a vivid green. Apple trees growing in the grass,
as in the orchards of England and in the Atlantic States, and perfectly
healthy, conveyed that suggestion of the Old World which lends a
peculiar charm to these towns. And Grass Valley really is a town, having
seven thousand inhabitants; and is, withal, clean, picturesque and
altogether delightful. One understood why "Tuolumne" sounded meaningless
to those small boys. Thus early in life they were under influences which
will probably keep them in after years - as they kept their fathers -
permanent citizens of the town of Grass Valley.
Grass Valley was one of the richest of the old mining camps. There was
literally gold everywhere, even in the very roots of the grass. The
mining is now all underground and drifts from the North Star and Ophir
mines underlie a part of the town.
After a methodical search, we discovered an excellent restaurant and
made a note of it as a recurrent possibility. A judicious choice of a
suitable place in which to eat and eke, to pass the night, is to the
tramp a matter of vital interest. Robert Louis Stevenson, in those
entertaining narratives "An Inland Voyage" and "Travels with a Donkey,"
lays heartfelt stress on these particulars; when things were not to his
liking, roundly denouncing them, but if agreeably surprised, lifting up
his voice in song and praise.
Though tempted to pass the night in Grass Valley, impelled by curiosity,
we pushed on four miles farther, to Nevada City. It is useless to
attempt to convey in words the fascination of Nevada City. My friend,
who is familiar with the country, said it reminded him of Italy. Houses
rise one above the other on the hillside; while down below, the winding
streets with their quaint old-time stores and balconied windows, are
equally attractive.
