Mendocino County

History

History of Mendocino County California - Alley, Bowen & Co., San Francisco, 1880

MILLS AND MILLING.

        PEOPLE who live in other sections of the United States and who have never visited the Pacific slope, have but a meagre conception of the great redwood forests of California, and even many of those who have had the good fortune to enjoy a tour through the State, generally glean but little knowledge of them. All tourists to California must, either perforce, or per-fashion, to coin a word, pay a visit to the "Big Trees of Calaveras," and what do they see? Great, mammoth trees to be sure, the equals of which are not to be seen in the world, but a visit to them can give the sight-seer no adequate idea of  the real redwoods of the State. To one who reads a graphic description of those patriarchs of the forest there is conveyed, if not an idea of improbability, at least, if he be an utilitarian, an idea of non-utility. He can see at a glance that such trees are too large to work to any advantage, and also, that when worked into lumber, the grain is so coarse that it would be useless. But it must be borne in mind that these gigantic redwoods of Calaveras do not form any considerable portion of the forests of California, but are only an isolated exception to the general rule. In ordinary descriptive articles on the redwoods of California the "big trees" are brought prominently to the front, while the real forests from which the lumber supply of the State is obtained are only mentioned incidentally.

        A glance at the map of California will discover a small inlet about fifty miles to the northward of San Francisco known as Bodega bay. It is at this point that the redwood belt, on the coast north of San Francisco begins.  South of that there are no forests at all at the present time, they having been cut out years ago, and but few scattering trees till you go south of San Francisco. This tree seems to flourish only under certain peculiar circumstances. There are several different varieties all of which thrive under different conditions. The "Big Trees" have flourished above the chiefs of their congeners in other sections of the State. Where they have grown the fogs of the sea have never reached, at least in these latter days, but it is hard to tell, now, what was the geological conformation of the Pacific coast region in the long, long ago days of their early treehood. They are located also far above the level of the sea, and the snows of all these many years have rested, oftentimes very heavily, upon their lofty heads and wide-spreading boughs. Along the coast the case is far different. Here the season is ever vernal, and snow is to them unknown. Those thrive best which grow nearest the sea level, and above all those are the grandest which have spent their days in some spot where the dense fogs of the old Pacific have swept in among their boughs from 4 o'clock in the afternoon till 9 in the morning, for at least nine months of the year. The great reason for this is not alone that the moisture of the fog does, in a measure, vivify the trees by coming in contact with the foliage, but it is mainly due to the fact that their leaves possess a peculiar power whereby the moisture is condensed and the water precipitated at the roots of the tree, where it sinks into the ground, comes in contact with the roots and answers every purpose of irrigation. Indeed these trees are called self-irrigators, and where a cluster of them stand together enough water will be thus precipitated to cause the ground to be very muddy and soft for several feet outside of the area covered by the umbrage of the trees. These trees do not grow at any great height above the sea level at any place, even in the interior, preferring the low valleys to even the hills, and as one proceeds up the mountain side he soon discovers the ranks of redwoods to be growing thinner and other trees coming in to fill their places. Passing up the coast from the lower line of Sonoma county, the traveler comes suddenly and unannounced upon the redwood belt. He travels along amid low, rolling hills, innocent of even a manzanita or chemissal shrub.         Presently the hills increase in magnitude and in the distance there is here and there a prominent peak suggesting that a small mountain range may be near at hand. At last the summit of one of these peaks is reached, known locally as Buena Vista, and looking northward, across the valley, the first glimpse of the redwoods is had. Strange to say there are no straggling trees standing like sentries in advance of the main army, but they present a solid phalanx. Just at the brow of the hill the first ranks have taken their stand. On the south side of the hill it is as barren as those we have just passed, and on the north side the forest is as heavy as it is in the very heart of the belt.

        It was in this immediate vicinity that the pioneer milling of California was done. The lumber used in the country previous to 1843, had mostly come from the Sandwich Islands. Some little of it had come around the Horn in trading vessels, and a small amount had been sawed in California with whip or pit-saws. It was worth in those days from $300 to $600 per thousand. A man by the name of James Dawson was probably the first one to manufacture lumber with a pit-saw in Sonoma county. This was probably in 1838. In the olden days, probably in 1840, certainly not later than 1841, a man by the name of Stephen Smith, master of a bark called the George and Henry, came to this coast on a trading expedition. He hailed from Baltimore, Maryland, of which place he was a native, and brought with him a cargo of sugar, syrup, tobacco, cotton and other cloths, besides whatever else would find ready sale in the California market at that time, taking in exchange therefor a cargo of hides, horns and tallow. In his cruise at this time, he paid a visit to Bodega bay, and went ashore and visited the entire section of country surrounding it. Here he saw the giant redwoods growing in rank profusion and recognized the fact that in them was the lumber which generations yet unborn would use in the construction of their buildings. Being a shrewd, far-seeing man, it did not take him long to see that here was a chance for a fortune. Here the trees grew in abundance within six miles of a harbor which afforded safe and ample anchorage at all seasons of the year and which was within less than twenty-four hours sail of San Francisco. If it would pay to bring lumber from the far away islands, and around the Horn, how much more would it profit to produce it so near the market! He also conceived the idea of constructing a grist-mill in connection with his saw-mill. With his head full of his great project he hied himself away to the Atlantic sea-board, and, disposing of his cargo of hides, etc., he took on board a full and complete outfit for a steam saw and grist-mill. He then set sail for California. On his way out he stopped at Pieta, Peru, where he was united in marriage with Donna Manuella Torres, a lady of remarkable refinement and intellect. Captain Smith was at that time sixty-one years of age, but hale and hearty, and as robust as he was at forty. The Donna had seen but sixteen summers, however. At different places he had picked up a crew of men whom he expected would be able to take charge of the mill, such as an engineer, carpenters, etc. In Baltimore he engaged the services of one Henry Hagler as ship's carpenter and mill-weight; while at Pieta he engaged William Streeter as engineer of his mill. At Valparaiso he hired David D. Dutton, now of Vacaville, Solano county, as a mechanic. At other places he hired Philip Crawley and a man named Bridges. On the way up from Monterey, and while in San Francisco, he hired James Hudspeth, now of Green Valley, Sonoma county, Alexander Copeland and John Daubinbiss of Santa Cruz county, and Nathan Coombs, deceased, lately of Napa county. In April, 1843, the ship cast anchor in the bay of Monterey. He did not reach Bodega till September of that year. He set about at once to construct his mill.

        We will now take a glance at this pioneer steam grist and saw-mill during its construction, that we may get a clear idea of its machinery and capacities. It was situated at the foot of a hill, on the brow of which grew the very initial ranks of the redwoods. An excavation about five feet deep and thirty by fifty feet was made. In the bottom of this a well was dug for the purpose of furnishing the water supply to the boilers. These boilers were three in number and of the most simple pattern known. They were thirty-six feet in length, and two and one-half feet in diameter. They were single-flue boilers, having each three openings at one end, viz.: one near the bottom through which the water entered; one near the top, through which the steam passed on its way to the engine, and the large man-hole at the center, which was securely fastened with bolts, nuts and packing. These three boilers were arranged in a  row, with a furnace of masonry around them, the fire being built under, not in them, and the heat passed under, not through them, as at the present time. The engine used was one of the low-pressure stationary affairs, common forty years ago. The mill contained one run of buhrs, with a probable capacity of ten barrels per day. These buhrs were very peculiar in their composition, being formed of small pieces of granite firmly united with a very tenacious cement. The saw was what is known among mill-men as a sash-saw, i.e., one operated in a perpendicular position, similar to what they now call a muley-saw. It did not do the work nearly so fast as a circular saw, but it was far ahead of the old pit-saw, or those operated by either wind or water-power. The other necessary appliances, such as log-carriages, flour-bolts, etc., were all in good shape, and as far as it went, and for its capacity, the mill was complete in every respect. As stated above, it was located at the foot of a hill, on the brow of which the trees grew. The logs were cut and then rolled down the hill to the mill. This mode of conveying the logs to the mill was adhered to as long as Captain Smith had possession of it. Upon the completion of the mill, and when it was found that all its machinery worked perfectly, invitations to come and witness its operations were extended to all the people in the entire region round about. Upon the day set, men of every nationality were there to see the marvelous machinery put in motion. Few, if, indeed, any, of that motley crowd had ever seen an engine at work before, and to see one was the crowning event of their lives. Let us contemplate that throng for a moment. Here we see the ranchero with his broad sombrero overshadowing him completely, his red bandana 'kerchief tied loosely about his neck, his bosom and arms bared to the sun, his broad-checked pantaloons showing out in bold relief, mounted on a fiery, half-tamed caballo de silla. By his side, and mounted on just as wild a steed, is the vaquero, with sombrero for head, 'kerchief for neck, serape thrown loosely about his shoulders, his horse caparisoned as befitting a man in his position, his long lariata hanging in graceful coils from his saddle-horn, with mammoth spurs dangling from his heels, the bells of which chime harmoniously with the mellifluous hum of the babel of tongues, and the size and length of whose rowels served to designate the wearer's standing in the community. Then there was the old-time soldier, with a dress-parade air about his every look and action; and the grant-holders were there, and the alcaldes, and all the other dignitaries within reach of the invitation. It was a grand holiday occasion for all—a day of sight-seeing not soon to be forgotten.

        Everything being in readiness, the hopper is filled with wheat brought from a neighboring ranch. The steam is turned slowly on, and the ponderous fly-wheel commences to revolve. The entire mass of machinery begins to vibrate with the power imparted to it by the mighty agent curbed and bound in the iron boilers. All is motion, and the whir of machinery is added to the hum of the conversation, while, amid exclamations of surprise and delight, the grain is sent through the swirling buhrs, thence into the bolts, and at length is reproduced before their wondering gaze as flor de harina—fine white flour. Then a monster redwood log is placed upon the carriage and the saw put in motion. Slowly but surely it whips its way through it, and the outside slab is thrown aside. The log is passed back, and again approaches the saw. This time a beautiful plank is produced. Again and again is this operation repeated, until, in a marvelously short time, the entire log is reduced to lumber of different widths and thicknesses. While this is being done, and admired by those present, the first grist of flour has been sent to the house of the mill-owner, near by, and converted into bread. A beeve has been slaughtered, abundance of venison is at hand, and a sumptuous repast has been prepared, to which now all present betake themselves. After the feast come the toasts. The health and prosperity of the enterprising American host was drank in many an overflowing bumper. After-dinner speeches were indulged in, and General Mariana Guadelupe Vallejo being there, and being the head and front of all the Mexican and native Californian element of that section, was called upon for a speech. He arose and remarked that there were those present who would see more steam-engines in the beautiful and fertile valleys of California than there were soldiers. Surely he was endowed with a spirit of prophecy, and he has had the pleasure of seeing his prediction more than verified.

        And thus was the first steam saw-mill in California set in motion. Years have come and gone since then, and many changes have occurred in their round. These changes and improvements will be noticed further on when we come to describe a saw-mill as seen at the present time. A farewell glance at the site of the pioneer mill, and we will pass on. In 1854 the mill was destroyed by fire and was never rebuilt, as its projector and sustainer, Captain Smith, was soon after called to pass the dark river of death. The visitor of to-day at the old mill-site, finds the excavation and the well in it; two of the old boilers lie mouldering and rusting on the ground in the excavation, while at the end of the boiler lies one of the buhrs, slowly but surely crumbling back to Mother Earth, time and weather having worn great holes in it, and the surface that was once able to withstand the steeled edge of the millwright's pick is now as soft as sandstone. Curiosity-seekers are ever and anon taking pieces of the granite and cement, and soon all traces of it will be gone. On the bank lies the smoke-stack, while here and there stands a post used in the foundation. Near by a few logs, which were brought to the mill thirty years ago, lie where they were placed in that long ago time, mute reminders of what was and what is—links uniting the strange, historical past with the living present.

        Since the days of this pioneer mill a mighty change has occurred in the style of lumbering and the general economy of milling. The logs are no longer rolled down hill to the mill ; the sash-saw has long since been supplanted by the double-circular; the capacity of the mills has been increased many fold. A fair criterion of this increase is to be found in the Mendocino City mill, one of the best in that section. In 1852 the capacity of the mill was only fifteen thousand feet daily. The capacity of the mill has since been increased to fifty-five thousand feet daily, which is probably equal to any in the county.

        Gang-saws are not used in any of the mills in this section, which accounts for the small capacity of the mills here, as compared with those in Michigan or Minnesota. The machinery of these mills ordinarily consists of a muley-saw, used for splitting logs which are too large for the double-circular saw, and capable of cutting a log eight feet in diameter; one pair of double-circular saws, each sixty inches in diameter ; one pony-saw (single-circular), forty inches in diameter, used for ripping the lumber into smaller pieces ; planing-machines, picket-headers, shingle-machines, edgers, jointers, tongue-and-groove machines, trimmers, lath-saws, and all the other appliances necessary for preparing lumber for the market.

        We will now give the modus operandi of converting a monster redwood log into lumber as we saw it done at one of these mills. We will begin with the tree as it stands on the mountain side in its native forest. The woodsman chooses his tree, and then proceeds to erect a scaffold around it that will elevate him to such a height as he may decide upon cutting the stump. Many of the trees have been burned about the roots, or have grown ill-shaped for some distance from the ground, so that it is often necessary to build a scaffold from ten to twenty feet high. This scaffold, by the way, is an ingenious contrivance. Notches are cut in the tree, at the proper height, deep enough for the end of a cross-beam to rest in securely. One end of the cross-beam is then inserted into the notch, and the other is placed on the end of an upright post driven in the ground a proper distance from the tree. Loose boards are then laid upon these cross-beams, and the scaffold is complete. The work of felling the tree then begins. If the tree is above four feet in diameter an ax with an extra long helve is used, when one man works alone. But the usual method is for two men to work on the same side of the tree at once, one chopping right-handed and the other left-handed. When the tree is once down, it is carefully trimmed up as far as it will make saw-logs. A cross-cut saw is now brought into requisition, which is here always plied by one man only, even in the largest logs, and the tree is cut into the required lengths. The logs are then stripped of their bark, which process is often accomplished by burning it off. It is now ready to be drawn to the dump, as the loading place is called. For this purpose large ox-teams are used, three or four yoke of oxen being often required to draw the log along. The chain by which it is drawn is divided into two parts near its end, and on the end of each part there is a nearly right-angled hook. One of these hooks is driven into either side of the log, well down on the underside and near the end next to the team, and then, with many a surge and "whoa, haw!" and an occasional (?) oath, the log is gotten under way and drawn out upon a beaten trail, and thence to the dump. The logs are dragged along upon the ground in this transition, and if there is any uphill or otherwise rough ground to pass over, the trail is frequently wet with water, so that the logs may slide along the more easily. Once at the loading place the hooks of the chain are withdrawn, and the oxen move slowly off to the woods again for another log. The log-train has just come up, and our log, a great eight-foot fellow, is carefully loaded upon the cars, with others which make up the train-load, and we are off for the mill. As we go along the track on this novel train let us examine it more closely, for at first glance we observe that it is not just like any railroad we ever saw before. We find that the road-bed has been carefully graded, cuts made when necessary, fills made where practicable, and trestle-work constructed where needed. Oh the ground are laid heavy cross-ties, and on these the rails, which are the same as in use on all railroads—the ordinary "T" rail. The two rails are five feet and eight inches apart, and the entire length of the railroad is five miles. We now come to the queer little  train which runs upon this track. The cars are strongly constructed flats, made nearly square, each having four wheels under it. They are so arranged that by fastening them together a combination car of any desired length can be formed. And lastly, but by no means least, we come to the peculiarly constructed piece of machinery which affords the motor power on this railroad, and which they call a dummy. This locomotive—boiler, tender and all—stands upon four wheels, each about two-and-a-half feet in diameter. These wheels are connected together on each side by a shaft. On the axle of the front pair of wheels is placed a large cog-wheel, into which a small cog­wheel works, which is on the shaft connected with the engines. There is an engine on each side of the boiler, and there is a reverse-lever, so that the dummy can be run either way. By this cog-wheel combination great power is gained, but not so much can be said for its speed, though a maximum of ten miles an hour can be attained.

        On our way to the mill we pass through a little village of shanties and cottages, which prove to be the residences of the choppers and the men engaged in the woods. Farther on, we pass through a barren, deserted section, whence the trees have all been cut years ago, and naught but their blackened stumps remain now, grim vestiges of the pristine glory of the forest primeval. Now we pass around a grade, high overhanging the river, and with a grand sweep enter the limits of the mill-yard. Our great log is now rolled from the car to the platform, and in its turn is placed upon a small car for transportation to the saws. A long rope, which passes around a drum in the mill, is attached to the car and slowly but surely it is drawn up the incline into the mill. Our log is too large for the double-circular, hence the

muley-saw must first rip it in two. This is a slow process, and as we have nearly thirty minutes on our hands, while waiting for our log to pass through this saw, let us pay a visit to the shingle-mill. The timber of which shingles are made is split into triangular or wedge-shaped pieces, about four feet long and about sixteen inches in diameter, which are called bolts. The first process is to saw the bolts into proper lengths for shingles, although in some mills there are drag or cross-cut saws, run by steam, which cut off sections of the log just the desired length. A block is then fastened into a rack which passes by a saw, and the shingle is ripped off. As the rack passes back a ratchet is brought into requisition, which moves the bottom of the block in toward the saw just the thickness of the butt of the shingle, and the top of the block in to correspond with the thickness of the point. When the shingle is ripped off, of course its edges are rough. These are subjected to a trimmer, when it becomes a perfect shingle. The shingles are packed into bunches and are then ready for market.

        We will now return to our log, which has just been run back on the carriage and awaits further processes. A rope, attached to a side drum, is made fast to one half of it, and soon it is lying, back down, on the carriage in front of the double-circular. Through this it passes in rapid rotation, until it is sawed into broad slabs of the proper thickness to make the desired lumber. These slabs are then passed along on rollers to the pony-saw, where they are ripped into the different sizes required, such as two by four, four by four, four by six, etc. It is then piled upon a truck, the number of feet now being marked upon each piece, and is wheeled away to the yard ready for shipment. The other half of the log is sawed into boards seven-eighths of an inch thick. At the pony-saw it is ripped into plank, four, eight, and ten inches in width. These are passed on to the planer, and the four-inch lumber comes out tongued and grooved ready for ceiling, and the eight and ten-inch boards come out rustic-siding. The ten-inch rustic is cut with a certain design and is called "channel," and the eight-inch is cut with a different design and is called "V rustic." It must be remembered that rustic-siding is used in California for weather-boarding, and the style of lumber used at the East for that purpose is almost unknown here except on old houses. Eastern weather-boarding is called clapboards here, and the four-foot rove boards, used for covering roofs, are called shakes. So much, parenthetically, for localism. The heavy slabs which we saw come off the first few times the log passed the saw, are cut into proper lengths and sawed up for pickets. They are passed through a planer, and then through a picket-header, a machine with a series of revolving saws which cut out the design of the picket-head, the same as the different members of a moulding are produced. The trimmings and the saw-dust are used for fuel as far as necessary, and the remainder of the refuse is piled up and burned. During the season of running the fire never goes out at the waste-dump.

        Thus have we taken our readers through the entire process of converting the mighty forest monarchs into lumber, and we hope we have succeeded in making the description, in a measure at least, as interesting to them as it was to us when first we saw it. When you have seen the operations of one mill you have seen all, except in minor detail, full descriptions of which will be found in the township histories in the body of this work.

        To convey an adequate idea of the magnitude and importance of the milling and lumbering interests of Mendocino county, we have compiled the accompanying table from the most reliable data to be had at the present time. The figures and estimates have all been given by mill men themselves; therefore they may be considered reasonably correct. These facts are thus given in tabulated form for the sake of convenience, as at a glance any desired fact concerning any mill that ever did exist in the county can be seen.

The Mill History of Mendocino County -- in Tabular Form.

        From the preceding table it will be seen, that there are nineteen saw-mills in running order at the present time in Mendocino county, with capacities ranging from two thousand to fifty-five thousand feet of lumber per day; or, an average capacity of twenty-nine thousand nine hundred and forty-seven feet. During the twenty-six working days of a month, they could all cut and place upon the market a total of fourteen million seven hundred and ninety-four thousand feet of lumber; or, during the lumbering season, which usually lasts nine months, the total yield of all these mills would be one hundred and thirty-four million one hundred and forty-six thousand; which, at an average price of $10.00 per thousand feet, would yield an income of $1,341,460. Thus, we are enabled to form a proper conception of the gigantic proportions of this great industry and its importance to Mendocino county. All mill-men have estimated that from one-fifth to one-third of the timber has been cut. Striking an average and granting that fully one-fourth of the it has been cut, there will yet remain three billion three hundred and eight million one hundred thousand feet standing in the woods. Now, if we suppose that mills enough run to cut one hundred and twenty-five millions each year, there will be timber enough to keep all going for more than a quarter of a century to come. Hence, knowing that no such amount be cut each year as is mentioned above, it is very safe to estimate that there is timber enough standing in Mendocino county to keep the mills running for from fifty to seventy-five years. Of course, the labor will increase from year to year, and the expense of production be thus enhanced, but the price of lumber must advance in proportion.

        The calamity which will befall the people of Mendocino county by the exhaustion of the forests of redwoods could be in a great measure averted, if the growth of the young redwoods were fostered. In 1811 a Russian colony was established at a place now called Fort Ross, and judging from the number of stumps still standing, and the extent of territory over which they extended their logging operations, they evidently consumed large quantities of lumber. Beside these old stumps from one to six shoots have sprung up, many of which have now reached a size sufficient for lumbering purposes. This growth has been remarkable, and goes to show that if proper care were taken, each half century would see a new crop of redwoods sufficiently large for all practical purposes, while a century would see gigantic trees. But no care is taken; and, in fact, it seems that an effort is made to thoroughly eradicate all traces of the forests. The stumps are fired just to see them burn, and fire runs over the land every fall, which serves to completely destroy the young shoots. The protection of our forests should be a charge of our legislature; for, while the men of to-day may not remain to suffer for the want of these forest trees, the commonwealth of the State will remain, and its future weal should be cared for by the present generation.

        The lumber of this county reaches market by vessels only. The schooners reach those mills on the coast or within a short distance of it. All along this coast the shore of the ocean is from fifty to five hundred feet higher than the water; hence, great chutes have to be constructed for the delivery of the lumber on board the vessel. These chutes are of peculiar construction, the lower portion of them being formed by an apron which can be raised and lowered to suit the stages of the tide. The aprons are never allowed to rest upon the edge of the vessel, as the ceaseless swell of the ocean causes the vessel to rock continually, and it would be chaffed and the apron destroyed if they came into contact. The lumber goes down these chutes at a great velocity, and a brake is placed on the chute in such a manner that as the lumber passes under it the speed is checked. It is necessary to stop it on its mad flight, else it would fly far over the edge into the sea.

        Quite a village is always built up around a mill, consisting of the homes of the managers, some of which are quite palatial; stores, saloons, blacksmith shops, hotels, and the host of small houses occupied by the families of the lumbermen. Things flourish as long as the lumber lasts in the vicinity, but when it becomes hard of access, and it is found to be cheaper to move the mill to the timber than the timber to the mill, then comes a collapse to the town, and in a short time it becomes a veritable "deserted village." There is one village in Sonoma county that had at one time boasted of a thousand men, and there are only three families in the place now. The mill buildings, which had all been built on a grand scale, were fast going to decay, more for want of care than age. The chute over which forty-two million feet of lumber had found its way to market was tottering into the sea. The tramways were in disjointed sections, and the cars lay straggling alongside the track—mere wrecks of their former selves: The windows and doors of the houses were all broken, and where once had been the rush and bustle of mill machinery cutting thirty thousand feet of lumber per day, and the activity of a thousand people, now the stillness of death reigned supreme. At another point only the grade of the tramway and the debris of the mill remained to mark the site, and the inhabitants near by could only give legendary information concerning the mill. At another place the mill buildings were in good repair, but all the machinery was gone. Quite a number of people still lived in the village. This was just the transition period. The mill had ceased operations at that point, but had not begun at the new location. But not more desolate and forlorn-looking are these deserted villages than is the surrounding country. No more dreary and uninviting landscape can be conceived than is presented by a section of country which has been "chopped out." The ground is covered with charred trunks, and the black stumps stand in grim array, looking like an army from the regions of night, with here and there a tree standing gnarled and crooked, unfit for lumber; but burned to its top, donned as it were in a garb of mourning for the departed greatness of its fallen brothers. Utterly gone, root and branch, and nothing is growing up on the land to take their places.

        The woodsmen are a strong, hardy race, but not so inured to hardship as their brothers of the northern pineries. Here the work is done in the summer-time, beneath fair skies and in a bracing and salubrious atmosphere. The strong sea-breeze penetrates the deepest forests and lowers the temperature, so that it is seldom uncomfortable, even at midday; while the nights always require two or more blankets. The life they lead is one fraught with but little variety, hence but little pleasure. There is a wonderful amount of tread-mill and hard work about it. They board in messes generally, and a Chinaman does the cooking. They are early risers, hence retire early, as there is nothing to keep them up but the recreation of a game of cards or the telling of threadbare stories. But, on Sundays they all go to the mill-town and have a "good time," as they call it, which too often means a drunken orgie. They are inveterate card players, often spending the whole Sunday in the saloon playing for the drinks. The mill-men live in the village and hence see more of life. They congregate nightly at the saloon and play cards or billiards for an hour or two and then retire. On Sundays, many of them go shooting, or find some outdoor amusement for a change from the indoor experience of the week. Those who do not have families board at the mill hotel, and are well provided for. We joined in a dinner at one of these tables, and was surprised to observe the quantity, quality and variety of the food furnished them, and what was best of all, it was well cooked and nicely served.

        The mill proprietor always has a store from which it is expected that all employés will purchase their supplies. By this means a large percentage of their wages is paid off, and at a large per cent of advantage to the proprietor. During the winter months is the idle season here, and the woodsmen and mill-men generally drift to San Francisco, and when the spring opens they all start for the mills again. In some instances they return to the mill where they were employed the former year, but not generally. They like a change of location and scenery as well as any one, and they, above all others, have reason to desire a change of location. They are easily managed by those in authority, and it is only when the proprietor fails, leaving their accounts unsettled, that they become at all aggressive. They use good, Saxon English, interspersed with strong expletives, on such occasions. It is claimed that some mill-men use that as a dodge to avoid paying their men, or for forcing them to take their pay out of the store. But that kind of a game does not work the second time, for the hands all along the coast get posted during the winter and keep away from the mill where that trick is played.

        It must be remembered that lumber is not the sole product of the redwoods. Every year thousands upon thousands of railroad ties and fence posts are cut in these forests and sent to market. No inconsiderable amount of it is cut into cord-wood and sent to the cities, where it is sold for kindling wood. Another use for it is found in the construction of fences. Rough pickets are split out of it, and one end pointed and driven into the ground. The tops are then nailed to cleats overlapping each other. The grain of the redwood is very straight, and it splits easily, hence its desirability to work up into such materials. Sometimes a board will shrink edgewise as well as sidewise, but it is not the rule for it to shrink endwise. "Shakes," as they are called, are not made of redwood to any great extent, although it rives very easily.

        The visitor to California has not seen it all until he has spent a week in the deep recesses of a redwood forest. It is then, standing beside the towering monarch of the forest, that a man will realize his utter insignificance, and how inestimably ephemeral he is compared with many other of God's handiworks. He looks upon a tree that stood when Christ was yet in his youth, the circles of whose growth but mark the cycles of time almost since first man was, and on whose tablets might have been written the records of the mighty men of old—the wanderings of Abraham, the march of Moses and his people, the glory of David, the wisdom of Solomon, the greatness of Alexander, the birth of Christ, the dawn and progress of the Christian day. The rise and fall of all nations and peoples has this hoary headed patriarch seen. Could he but speak he could tell us of the long forgotten past. He could inform us who the real aboriginals were: he could relate how the giants of old, both animals and men, disported beneath his shade centuries upon centuries ago. Thus boldly and grandly he stands in his primeval might and glory, but the woodsman's ax is struck to his roots, and he is laid low. His dissevered members serve the uses of man to which they are applied, and a short half century will see returned to dust what it required ages to build up. And what shall take its place?

        For nearly three decades men have been plunging into the depths of these grand old redwood forests, and utilizing those stately trees. Steadily with the growth of California this interest has increased until it stands to-day a marvel on the commercial catalogue of the State. Millions of feet are cut yearly, and yet the source seems practicably inexhaustible. All along the streams putting back from the coast of the old Pacific this industry teems, and many mills have been built, and thousands of men find daily employment, and millions of dollars are thus yearly earned and distributed among the laboring classes. To the city market it rolls in one unceasing tide, thence it is distributed to all parts of the State. Day and night the hum of this industry is heard in every mountain glen, and continues in one grand unceasing round, and the sharp ring of the glistening steel as it cleaves the mighty bolt makes mellow music to him whose home is in the redwood forests.

        And what a home is that in the redwood forests How grand, gloomy and peculiar! What a sombre world it is! There is none of the cheerfulness or variety of the maple, ash, or even oak groves—the alternating of sunlight and changing shadows. Only the straight, upright trunks of the monsters meet the view, as they stand in seried ranks like giant Titans going forth to do battle with the elements, or

"Bearded with moss and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,

Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms."

        But all of life is not so cheerless and grewsome in these forests, if one only has an eyesight to the bright and beautiful side of his surroundings. Beneath the shadows of these trees there grows a host of beautiful flowers to brighten and enliven the scene, supplemented by fragrant shrubbery, while the aroma emitted by the trees themselves is delicious. But when night comes and the gentle winds of evening are being wafted through their massive and exalted boughs—it is then that their true merit is set forth. If the breeze be light you hear a low, melancholy monody; if stronger, a hushed sort of sighing. The wind is able to make a wonderful harp out of the giant redwood, and each bough becomes an AEolian harp. How the breeze plays upon the mighty forest until every leaf thrills with a note! And what a melody it sings when it gives a concert with a full choir of the waves of the "deep-voiced neighboring ocean," and performs an anthem amid its top­most boughs between the two worlds, that goes up, perhaps, to the very stars, which love music most, and sang, first of all created things, the wondrous glory of God, the mighty Architect of the universe.  

Transcribed by Kathy Sedler.