Hills are swept bodily into the river-beds, in the search for the
underlying gold. Rivers and meadows are filled up, sand covered,
and ruined. Forests are thrown down, to rot by wholesale. Tunnels
are blasted out. The face of nature is gashed with the quest for
gold. Banded together for destruction, the miners leave no useful
landmark behind them. All is washed away and sent seaward in the
choking river-channels.
The home-makers, in peaceful campaigns of seed-time and harvest,
develop new treasures. Great interests are introduced. The gold of
field, orchard, and harvest falls into the hands of the industrious
farmers. These are the men whose only weapons are scythe and
sickle. They are the real Fathers of the Pacific. Roving over the
interior, the miners leave a land as nearly ruined as human effort
can render it. In the wake of these nugget-hunters, future years
bring those who make the abandoned hills lovely with scattered homes.
They are now hidden by orchards, vineyards, and gardens. Peaceful
flocks and herds prove that the Golden Age of California is not to
be these wild days of the barbaric Forty-niner.
Maxime Valois sees the land sweeping in unrivalled beauty to the
Colorado. Free to the snowy peaks of the Sacramento, the rich plains
roll.
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