He showed me the result, a few
"colors" and sulphurets. He said it would "go about five dollars to the
ton," and seemed well satisfied with the result. I shall always hold him
in grateful memory, for he took me to an old tunnel, and disappearing
for a few moments, returned with a large dipper of ice-cold water. Not
the Children of Israel, when Aaron smote the rock in the desert and
produced a living stream, could have lapped that water with keener
enjoyment.
The terrific heat in Chili Gulch made the shade from the trees which
surround Mekolumne Hotel doubly grateful. Mokelumne Hill is, in fact, a
mountain, and commands a view of rare beauty. At its base winds the
wooded canon of the Mokelumne River, on the farther side of which rises
the Jackson Butte, an isolated peak with an elevation of over three
thousand feet, while in the background loom the omnipresent peaks of the
far Sierra.
The Mokelumne Hotel is regarded as modern, dating back merely to 1868,
at which time the original building was destroyed by fire. The present
structure of solid blocks of stone, should resist the elements for
centuries to come. I was surprised at the excellent accommodations of
this hotel. In what seemed such an out-of-the-way and inaccessible
locality, I was served with one of the best meals on the whole journey,
including claret with crushed ice in a champagne glass! What that meant
to a tramp who had struggled for miles through quartz rock and
impalpable dust, up a heavy grade, without shade and the thermometer
well past the hundred mark, only a tramp can appreciate. I fell in love
with Mokelumne Hill and, after due consultation of my map, resolved to
pass the night in this picturesque and delightful spot. I was also
influenced by its associations, as it figures prominently in Bret
Harte's stories.
Of the four famous rivers - the Stanislaus, Mokelumne, American and
Cosumnes - which I crossed on this trip, the Mokelumne appealed to me
the most. Whatever the meaning of the Indian name, one may rest assured
it stands for some form of beauty. Jackson, the county seat of Amador
County, is but six miles from Mokelumne Hill and a town of considerable
importance, being the terminus of a branch line of the Southern Pacific
Railway. It is situated in an open country where the hills are at some
distance, and presents a certain up-to-date appearance. About a mile
from Jackson the Kennedy mine, running a hundred stamps, is one of the
greatest gold producers in the State.
Sutter Creek, erroneously supposed by many to be the spot where gold was
first discovered in California, four miles north of Jackson, is
picturesque and rendered attractive by reason of the vivid green of the
lawns surrounding the little cottages on its outskirts. This town, too,
has a flourishing look, accounted for by the operation of the South
Eureka and Central Eureka mines. A gentleman whom I met on the street
imparted this information, and asked me if I remembered Mark Twain's
definition of a gold mine. I had to confess I did not. "Well," said he,
"Mark Twain defined a gold mine as 'a hole in the ground at one end, and
a d - d fool at the other!'" The appreciative twinkle in his eye
suggested the possibility that this definition met with his approval.
Amador, two miles beyond Sutter Creek, did not appeal to me.
"Stagnation" would probably come nearer than any other term to conveying
to the mind of a person unfamiliar with Amador its present condition.
One becomes acutely sensitive to the "atmosphere" of these places, after
a few days upon the road, for each has a distinctive individuality. in
spite of the fact that it was mid-day in midsummer, gloom seemed to
pervade the streets and to be characteristic of its inhabitants. With
the exception of an attempt to get into telephonic communication with a
friend at Placerville, I lost not a moment in the town.
On reaching Drytown, three miles north of Amador, I noted the
thermometer stood at 110 degrees in the shade on the watered porch of
the hotel, and deciding there was a certain risk attendant on walking in
such heat, determined to make the best of what was anything but a
pleasant situation, and go no farther. Drytown, in the modern
application of the first syllable, is a misnomer, the "town" consisting
chiefly of the hotel with accompanying bar, and a saloon across the way!
Drytown was in existence as early as 1849, and was visited in October of
that year by Bayard Taylor. He says: "I found a population of from two
to three hundred, established for the winter. The village was laid out
with some regularity and had taverns, stores, butchers' shops and monte
tables." One cannot but smile at the idea of "monte tables" in
connection with the Drytown of to-day; pitiful as is the reflection that
men had braved the hardships of the desert and toiled to the waist in
water for gold, only to throw it recklessly in the laps of professional
gamblers.
The Exchange Hotel, a wooden building dating back to 1858, stands on the
site of the original hotel, built in 1851 and burned in 1857. Upon the
front porch is a well furnishing cold, pure water. I found this to be
the most acceptable feature of several of the old hostelries. The well
and the swinging sign over the entrance suggested the wayside inn of
rural England; more especially as the surrounding country carries out
the idea, being gently undulating and well timbered.
