Cheese Industry

If one is a good pedestrian and has a desire to get acquainted with
nature untamed “without her hair combed” he should take the Lone Tree
Trail leading from Bolinas over the hills, through the canyons and
along the ridges back to the starting point, Mill Valley.

In a little “Steep Ravine” amid the high hills, and but a short
distance from the Ocean and Bolinas, stands the solitary cabin of the
man who by the magic of his brush first awoke the outer world to a
realization of the beauties and possibilities of this region.

With the hand of a master, Thad Welch caught the rare effects abounding
here, which have delighted and won the admiration of all nature-lovers,
and linked his name inseparably with Marin. While at present residing
in another portion of the County, the cabin which he formerly occupied
here is in a state of neglect, but while his little abode may perish,
his pictures will live and be cherished in the ages yet to come.

Some distance from the Steep Ravine the trail descends an abrupt,
wooded hillside, at the foot of which lies the Redwood Canyon. For this
forest of giant redwoods, comprising six hundred acres, negotiations
were pending toward making it a national reserve, but the efforts
proved unsuccessful. Though of smaller dimensions than the Calaveras
Big Trees, these redwoods gain by beauty of situation what they lack in

The Canyon runs diagonally with the sea coast and has its rise in one
of Tamalpais’ western ribs, from which a railroad similar to the Mount
Tamalpais Railway is under course of construction, connecting the
Mountain with the Canyon.

Its present owners, Messrs. Kent & Cushing, intend to erect a hotel
at the terminus of the new road, and the building, on which it is said
will be expended some fifty or sixty thousand dollars, will be a fully
equipped, sumptuous modern hostelry.

It is to be hoped that the march of civilization, which so often leaves
nature’s handiwork crushed, broken and even obliterated, will spare
this grand, majestic forest in which beauty now reigns supreme.

Bending low over the little stream which winds through this canyon huge
sprays of azaleas filled the air with their delicate perfume; on the
banks lacy wood warriors and the hardy sword-ferns mingled in graceful
profusion, while the flickering sunlight filtering aslant through the
tree tops fell on the transparent hazel leaves lending a soft, green
glint to a neighboring pool which rippled every now and then by the
action of numerous trout catching flies on its surface.

[Illustration: Among the Redwoods.]

Wandering beneath these perennial columns, these huge monoliths of
whose birth there is no record, one feels as if treading the grandest
of cathedral aisles, and that in truth “The groves were God’s first
temples” and “Solitude is the veritable audience chamber of the

No echo follows our footsteps on the soft needles and oxalis and save
for the murmuring of the little stream and the occasional calling of a
mourning dove in the tree tops above there is no sound. Here, alone in
these solitudes, the higher self–the soul–strikes off its shackles,
and expands to the very infinitude of things, through nature to the

Near the southeastern shores of Marin lies the largest and most
picturesque of the three islands which adorn San Francisco Bay. Though
lawfully a portion of Marin County, Angel Island, separated from the
mainland by Raccoon Straits, besides being set aside as a Government
reserve, is therefore seldom classed with the County, and usually ranks
with her sister islands, Alcatraz and Yerba Buena.

[Illustration: Primal Solitudes.]

But a sketch of Marin, however cursory, would be incomplete without
her southern isle, for besides the United States Barracks, situated on
the western part of the Island, there is located in a northern cove
the Federal quarantine station, that most necessary adjunct of San
Francisco, which prevents contagion by quenching the pestilence often
brought to our shores from the Orient and South American ports.

Besides its present significance the Island has another and far older
claim on our attention.

In the summer of 1775, Juan de Ayala, a lieutenant of the Royal Spanish
Navy, was given a commission from Junipero Serra and Bucareli, the
Mexican Viceroy, to proceed to “the arm of the sea” lying north of
Monterey, which had been twice viewed by the padres from the land, to
ascertain if it were a canal or bay, and make a survey of it.

Pursuant to these instructions Ayala cautiously crept up the Coast
and on the ninth day sighted the narrow passage which is now known the
world over as the Golden Gate.

[Illustration: In the Canyon.]

A crude launch was sent to explore the opening, which was found to be
deep and without obstructions. By the time the launch returned it had
grown dark, nevertheless Ayala headed for the Bay and on the night of
August 5, 1775, the San Carlos sailed in through the Strait, the first
ship that ever passed the pillared passage or entered what is now known
as the Bay of San Francisco.

Having entered safely, Ayala moored his vessel just inside the Bay, and
the next morning, looking around him, selected an island not far from
the entrance as a convenient spot to make his headquarters.

[Illustration: Angel Island from the Mainland.]

Upon examination, he found a suitable place for mooring his vessel,
also wood and water in abundance. This Island was then named Nuestra
Senora de Los Angeles, the appellation which it still bears, though
shortened to Angel Island.

On the mainland, directly across from the Island, lies Tiburon, the
ferry and terminus of the California Northwestern Railroad. Besides the
Company’s shops, Tiburon consists mainly of stores–in short all that
is included in the usual “Water Front.”

The most interesting object in Tiburon is on the road between
that place and Belvedere. This is none other than the remains of a
remarkable old hulk, now beached and converted into a habitation.
Besides its unique appearance, there is an interesting tale connected
with the Tropic Bird which is something like the following:

“Early in the year 1850 the good ship, Tropic Bird, Captain Homans
skipper, set sail from Gloucester, Mass., with a cargo of general
produce bound for the Golden Gate. On board was a mixed crew, seafaring
men and land lubbers, all having but one hope, one idea–the far-famed
gold fields of California. A good true ship was the Tropic Bird and a
good true man her skipper, who had with him his brother.

“One day is very much like another on a long ocean voyage,–when the
wind holds good and the weather is fair; but there came a time when
ominous murmurings, gathering force each day, the echo of a mutinous
discontent, reached the quick ears of the young Captain and his

[Illustration: The Tiburon Depot.]

“The cargo was a valuable one. They were on the high seas. If the crew
stood together against the two men they were as nothing in their hands.

“One night the cloud burst, there was a loud cry from the first mate,
and in a second every one was in the scrimmage.

“The Captain rushed on deck. Though light, he was strong and a famous
wrestler. As soon as he appeared he was pounced upon by the leader of
the mutiny, called Dutch Dick, a big, heavy, slouching fellow. With
almost superhuman strength the gallant Captain disarmed and stunned his
foe after a heavy tussle.

“Men were moaning, yelling, dying on all sides, when suddenly above
this howling, cursing, blood-thirsty mob, there was a bright, piercing
flash, the sharp battalion crack, crack of thunder.

“The storm was on them. No time now for murder and rapine. It was
a battle against the elements. The Captain was up roaring orders to
his men. Those who could, obeyed and worked with a will in the common

[Illustration: “The Tropic Bird.”]

“Battered, tempest-torn, thrown hither and thither, a mere cockle shell
in the hands of God’s elements, the staunch ship, skilfully handled by
her skipper, just managed to reach the Golden Gate.

[Illustration: In the Cove.]

“Water-logged and mauled, the gallant Tropic Bird was then unfit to
further cope with the elements, and, after being converted into a
boarding house at the foot of Telegraph Hill by her courageous Captain,
she was later sold and beached at Tiburon, where she now rests, her
labors o’er, a worthy ship with a peaceful, useful old age.”

[Illustration: Belvedere.]

Belvedere–beautiful Belvedere it is called, and with justice, too;
for who could view this thickly wooded hillside with its charming
villas without exclaiming Beautiful! These villas are interspersed with
graceful irregularity amid their leafy setting; the sparkling water at
their feet, gay in summer, with house-boats, launches, yachts and other
craft is resonant of one theme, united in one chord–the care-free,
happy, guileless merriment which does more to erase the worry lines
begotten of cities than all the lotions ever prepared. And this, in
truth, is the veritable home of the sportsman, for across the cove
on the Tiburon side is situated the Corinthian Yacht Club, famous in
yachting annals.

However gay this little cove may appear by day it is by the pale
light of the moon that Belvedere, like Venice, is at her best; for the
harsher lines of fact are mellowed, and imagination gives the floating
habitations a fairy aspect, while the strains of the military band from
the Island but lend to the fantasy.

On the opposite side of Belvedere is situated one of the most
prosperous industries conducted in Marin County.

Nestling at the base of the cliffs on an extensive wharf built for the
purpose are the buildings of the Union Fish Company. The Company has
several fishing stations in Alaska, the most extensive of which are on
the Shumagin and Popof Islands. A schooner plying between the stations
and this port brings the fish direct to the fishery, where they are
prepared for use.

[Illustration: An Artistic Church.]

At the time of our visit, the schooner, which had arrived but a few
days previously, was unloading and we were thus fortunate enough to see
the evolution of the codfish from the time it leaves the hold of the
ship until it is packed in neat boxes ready for shipment.

There were four hundred tons, or one hundred and seventy thousand fish
on the vessel. When one thinks that each fish is caught by hook and
line, the amount of work represented seems enormous, but this is a mere
bagatelle compared to the process following.

On leaving the hold they are first thrown into vats of brine for
rinsing, then loaded on small cars operated on a track and run into the
building; from thence they are laid on immense racks in the sun to dry.
If not for immediate shipment they are stored in huge vats of brine.

[Illustration: Unloading Codfish.]

In one large room there were many men at long tables, engaged in
skinning and boning the fish, and the celerity and skill with which
this was accomplished are marvelous to watch. The refuse, which
formerly was discarded as being useless, is now utilized, the bones
being made into a fertilizer, while the skins are used for glue.

There are seventy-five men employed in this establishment, and the
order and cleanliness of the place testify to its able management.

Owing to the inclemency of the weather during the winter months, a
steam-drying apparatus was in the course of construction by which the
fish can be dried with safety in the rainy season.

Leaving Tiburon, a short ride on the California Northwestern Railway
brought us to Greenbrae, a small station, uninteresting in itself
and unimportant save as the place from which is reached that huge
institution known as the state prison, San Quentin.

[Illustration: Drying Codfish.]

Situated on Point San Quentin, which extends into upper San Francisco
Bay, with round guard towers perched on the hill overlooking it, and
a twenty-foot wall enclosing its eight acres, the prison would seem
impregnable and unpropitious for an outbreak.

The high somber buildings, which are of red brick, have been added to
and remodeled at intervals without any given plan, and thus they form
an irregular mass, interspersed with paved courts and narrow cells.

[Illustration: San Quentin.]

A large, square plot is devoted to grass and flowers and lends a
cheering tone to the grim structures surrounding it. One of these, a
tall edifice with a succession of iron doors opening on to small, long
balconies, reached by narrow steps, is called the Tanks.

The average cell in this building is eight by twelve feet in
dimensions. In each of these five men are stowed–one could not
say accommodated for the narrow bunks placed in tiers, with a still
narrower passageway between, vividly suggested the over-crowded lodging
houses of Mulberry Bend, which Jacob Riis’s perseverance eradicated.

In other buildings are cells, each of which is thirty by twenty-seven
feet, which contain twenty-six men, and one cell, of thirty-six by
twenty-one feet, lodges forty-eight convicts.

[Illustration: Point San Quentin, as Seen from Mt. Tamalpais.]

Though the system of ventilation is by means of flues attached to the
ceiling and door, still these rooms, in which are herded individuals
of all ages and classes, must become exceedingly foul and unhealthful;
while the opportunity which this congregate system affords the
prisoners for concocting plots and outbreaks is undeniably assured.

Of the prison industries the jute mill is of sole importance to the
outer world; all other products being consumed there. Some eight
hundred convicts labor at the mill, and five million sacks are annually
sent from the prison.

There are paint and tin shops which supply all the tin-cups, hand
basins, pails, etc., used in the institution; tailor shops in which
are made all the clothes; carpenter shops for repairing and furniture,
while sixty pairs of shoes are turned out each week from the boot
shop. In the machine shops where are manufactured all the needles used
in sewing the jute bags half a dozen excellent sewing machines were
recently made.

The extensive laundry where numerous Chinese convicts are employed,
is only one of the many evidences of cleanliness witnessed in this
institution, where order and system are apparent to even the casual
observer. But however orderly, systematic and cleanly a prison may be
kept, that is only one means toward eliminating crime; for so long
as we continue in our congregate system of indiscriminate herding
together of all classes of offenders so long will our penitentiaries
be hot-houses for fostering crime. Instead of eliminating, we confirm;
instead of inciting decency and self-respect, we incite indecency and

[Illustration: Lagunitas, San Rafael’s Water Supply.]

At the time of our visit there were in San Quentin about a dozen
lads, the youngest but fourteen years of age, imprisoned on charges of
murder, who, had it not been for the supervision of Warden Tompkins,
would have been placed with the confirmed, hardened criminals.

[Illustration: Trolling on the Lake.]

The State makes no provision for these offenders, and, unless as
in this instance they are separated by the individual action of the
Warden, they would ere now be proficient in the lore of crime.

Crime is contagious, because thought is contagious.

By this it is not meant that you and I, if we mix with criminals, will
become criminally inclined; because our ego–or soul–not having any
prenatal defect or susceptibility to crime will be unresponsive to its

But to a criminal, whether he be a first offender or not, the
pernicious, indiscriminate companionship of fellow convicts who suggest
crime in its various distorted shapes to his abnormal, defective mind,
will plant seed-thoughts which thus sown thrive and grow until we have
the confirmed criminal.

If a criminal is so receptive to suggestions of evil, and his criminal
capacity is so strengthened and fixed by the ideas and emotions that he
entertains, would not counter-suggestions have just as potent an effect
on the individual?

[Illustration: A Marin Landscape.
(From the Original by Thad Welch.)]

If, through the channels of thought, he is susceptible to maleficent
influences will he not be equally responsive, through the same medium,
to the beneficial?

[Illustration: Mt. Tamalpais from Ross Valley.]

Granting this to be true, would it not be well to surround the convict
with all that stands for advancement, and through intelligent education
and suggestion awaken the latent good which is in each individual, no
matter how dormant and perverted it may be?

By education is not meant the rudimentary school education, for many
criminals are proficient in that, but the far more important study
of self-respect, honesty, veracity, industry, unselfishness, and an
appreciation and proper use of the things that are.

Methinks if with the contemplated enlargement to the prison an
educative, segregative, industrial system similar to that adopted
with such marked success in the Elmira Reformatory, New York, were
inculcated in our state prison there would be less “recedivists”–fewer
many-term offenders–and the fifteen thousand dollars which it
costs the State monthly to conduct a prison would not be devoted to
confirming criminals.

Although Marin County is sparsely populated, owing to its large tracts
of hilly surface and consequent non-agricultural facilities, still the
towns within its borders are of average population, the largest, San
Rafael, comprising five thousand inhabitants.

Besides being the county seat, San Rafael has the distinction of having
once been a mission settlement, and though the church has long since
mingled with the dust, the memory of its bygone glory clings like the
lichen of the remaining pear trees to the spot which knew it in its
prime; when to the clanging of the mellow toned Spanish bells, the
neofites, the children of the soil, would kneel in meek devotion before
the sacred altar whose fires, like their lives, have long been quenched
but appear again, let us hope, in their successive higher spheres.

Except in memories San Rafael is essentially modern.

The factory and the loom form no part of its existence, and with the
exception of two brick kilns and a planing mill on the outskirts, the
town is without industries.

Therefore, sheltered as it is by beautiful rolling hills on three
sides, with a mild climate and not even a street-car, as yet, to
disturb the stillness, San Rafael, like Ross Valley, is considered an
ideal spot for homes.

Besides its handsome residences and long shaded avenues, which afford
much enjoyment for driving, San Rafael is noted for its excellent

[Illustration: A Home in Ross Valley.]

These not only consist of the splendid public schools, but of private
institutions, notably the Hitchcock and Mt. Tamalpais Military
Academies for boys, and the excellent Dominican Convent for girls,
besides the St. Vincent and Presbyterian orphan asylums in the vicinity
procure for the town the name of an educational center.

A short time ago, Mr. Andrew Carnegie donated to Marin’s county seat
the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars for a public library, the plans
of which are now under consideration.

That her residents are not less generous than the famous philanthropist
was forcibly shown on April 29, 1905, when Mr. and Mrs. John F. Boyd
transferred to the town some seventy acres for a memorial park. The
occasion of its dedication was marked by able addresses from the
“Wizard of the Plant World,” Mr. Luther Burbank, United States Judge W.
W. Morrow, and Judge Thomas J. Lennon.

[Illustration: A Shaded Avenue.]

Abounding in natural verdure, artistically embellished and converted
into a perpetual pleasure ground, the Boyd Memorial Park seems a
fitting testimonial to the memory of the sons of its donators.

While noted as an educational center, San Rafael also has the unique
distinction of being the Gretna Green of the Coast; and the blushing
brides and happy grooms united here exceed in numbers those from the
erstwhile famous European village.

To this charming little northern settlement from all the surrounding
counties and various parts of the state they come to plight their
troth, averaging, it is said, five a day; “and the best and most
remarkable part of it all is,” Marin’s genial Judge informed me, “they
turn out all right,” and, really, I suppose he ought to know.

Notable among the many charming residences in San Rafael is Fairhills,
a summer home of Mr. A. W. Foster.

It is surrounded by a stately garden where the choicest plants abound
in graceful profusion, blending one with another in a perfect harmony
of colors, while the majestic trees, spreading a deep shade over the
sloping velvety lawn, are reminiscent of a Warwickshire landscape.

[Illustration: Dress Parade, Hitchcock Military Academy.]

[Illustration: Theological Seminary, San Anselmo.]

To the westward, wooded hills–truly fair hills–with their ever
changing, hazy tones, are visible from the spacious veranda, and the
perpetual calmness and majesty of their lofty slopes would seem to
impart some of themselves to the beholder, for, as Rousseau says, “Our
meditations gain a character of sublimity and grandeur proportioned to
the objects around us.”

[Illustration: Dominican Convent.]

Although essentially a resident settlement, the tourist will find
ample accommodations at Hotel Rafael, sometimes called the “Del Monte
of the North.” Though of smaller dimensions, and with less sumptuous
appointments and surroundings than the southern hostelry, Hotel Rafael,
within easy access of the City, is more convenient for those who enjoy
the country, yet never leave their business for its sake.

While the Assyrians, Babylonians, Greeks and later Gauls and Romans
were weaving the first few threads of our planet’s history in the
old world, the aborigines of America roamed our trackless, primeval
forests, boundless save for two shimmering oceans and a blue canopy

[Illustration: Court House, San Rafael.]

Fearless, they plunged into the thickets, swam the streams, hunted
game, caught the bear and bison, trapped the fowl, and dauntlessly
lived on in fear of neither nature, beast nor man–primitive–just
a savage, but possessing the fundamental requisites from which all
civilizations, sects, isms, or communities have been evolved–a human
being with a soul.

Therefore the red man is to America what the cave man is to Europe–the
father of his country.

In the history of our State the aborigines played an all-important
part, as the founding of the missions by the Friars was with the avowed
intention of reclaiming these children of the wilderness, to teach them

[Illustration: Escalle Vineyard and Winery.]

[Illustration: “Fairhills.”]

The first mention made of the Indians in Marin County is found in an
old legend which states that about the time of the erection of the
Mission at San Francisco a party of Spaniards crossed the Straits at
what is now known as Lime Point and traveled northward. It was late
in the season, and they found no streams of running water until they
arrived at Olompali, so named from a great and powerful tribe of
Indians who dwelt at this place, the Olompalis. Here they were kindly
received by the natives, and all their wants were supplied as far as it
lay in their power. The party was so well entertained that the leaders
decided to remain a fortnight and recruit their horses and become
thoroughly rested, preparatory to proceeding on their arduous journey.
In return for the kindness received, they taught the Indians how to
make adobe brick and construct a house.

That history corroborates this legend is shown in an old chronicle by
the biographer of Junipero Serra, Father Palou, which says that “in
1776, after the Presidio and before the Mission (in San Francisco) were
established, an exploration of the interior was organized as usual by
sea (the bay), and land.”

Thus, in the northeast corner of the County, near Novato, was built the
first adobe house north of San Francisco Bay, on the Olompali Rancho,
owned by the late Dr. Burdell.

[Illustration: Fourth Street, San Rafael.]

The first adobe has long since disappeared, the last mention found of
it being a remark of General Vallejo’s when, some thirty years ago,
on passing the Olompali Rancho and pointing to a crumbling adobe he
remarked to a companion, “That is over a hundred years old.”

But the adobe that concerns us, the long, low, rambling adobe, is
still standing in good condition and occupied by Dr. Burdell’s family.
This was supposedly the second built and is accredited to have been
constructed by the last chief of the tribe, Camillo Ynitia.

[Illustration: Entrance to Hotel Rafael.]

Camillo, after obtaining three successive patents for the Rancho, first
from Spain, then from Mexico, and lastly from the United States, sold
it for five thousand dollars, which he was believed to have buried
in the vicinity. Refusing to divide the proceeds of the Rancho, and
furthermore to disclose the spot where the gold was buried, Camillo was
subsequently murdered by his brother.

[Illustration: Hotel Rafael.]

The Olompali Rancho is beautifully situated, lying as it does at the
base of Mt. Olompali which is believed to be an extinct volcano.

[Illustration: The Late Owner of the Olompali.]

Mortars found five feet under ground in the river bed, together with
sand, mud, gravel, pebbles, and cement strata on the mountain side,
testify to volcanic action.

From this mountain which formerly, in unknown ages emitted hot,
sulphuric gases from its bosom, now runs a clear and limpid stream, a
perpetual penance to nature for the havoc it once wrought.

When the Spaniards first visited the County, there were said to be
thirty distinct tribes of Indians, each with its separate chief; while
their language or dialect differed materially.

That they lived on mussels, sturgeon, and game from the marshes, is
evidenced by the remains found in the huge shell mounds distributed
throughout the County.

[Illustration: The Last of the Race.]

What these mounds are and how they became so, is merely a matter of
conjecture, although the scientists of the University of California
and Stanford are revealing additional clues from time to time as new
deposits are discovered.

[Illustration: A Wood Interior.]

In the Marin mounds have been found mortars and pestles, queer old
pipes, beads of wampum, oyster picks, skulls, and in many instances
entire skeletons, while the arrow-points testify to certain warlike
propensities, although on the whole they were said to be peaceful

[Illustration: Summer in the Redwoods.]

The bows which they used with such celerity and skill were uniquely
fashioned; the cord consisting of the nerves taken from a deer’s back.
The Marin Indians and in fact all the California tribes, dwelt in small
huts built of willows with tules or rushes, and formed by taking a few
poles, placing them in a circle, and finally weaving them together to
a conical point, giving, when completed, the appearance of inverted

They were usually constructed on the banks of streams, and, being
small, were easily warmed in winter.

The aborigines’ knowledge of the proper treatment of disease was
very limited. Roots and herbs were sometimes used as remedies but the
“sweat-house” (temescal) was the principal reliance in desperate cases.

[Illustration: A Charming Drive.]

One of these sweat-houses was found on the Nicasio Rancheria, just over
the Olompali Mountains.

It consisted of a large circular excavation, covered with a roof of
boughs, plastered with mud, having a hole on one side for an entrance,
another in the roof to serve as a chimney.

A fire having been lit in the center, the sick were placed there to
undergo a sweat bath for many hours, to be succeeded by a plunge in the
ice-cold waters of a neighboring stream.

This treatment was their cure-all, and whether it killed or
relieved the patient depended upon the nature of his disease and his

[Illustration: Browsing.]

It seems but fitting that this County, which formerly was a favorite
rendezvous of the Indians, should derive its name from a famous chief
of the Lacatuit Indians, who frequented the southern part of the

Between the years 1815 and 1824 Chief Marin, aided by his people,
is said to have vanquished the Spaniards in several skirmishes for
supremacy. Being finally captured by his enemies, and making his
escape, Marin took shelter on a tiny island in upper San Francisco Bay.
This island being subsequently called after him, communicated its name
to the adjacent mainland.

Falling into the hands of his foes a second time, he barely escaped
being put to death through the interference of the priests at the
Mission San Rafael.

While surveying the County several years ago, Mr. Jacob Leese had
with him as assistants the old Indian chief, Marin, and some of his
followers. It became necessary for the surveyor to establish an initial
point on the top of Mt. Tamalpais, and he wished Marin and some others
to go up with him. To this they made strong objections, stating that
the top of the Mountain was inhabited by evil spirits, and no one could
go up there and come back alive. After vainly trying to persuade them
to accompany him, Mr. Leese, finally decided to go up alone, which he
did, the Indians prophesying that they never expected to see him again.

On reaching the top and accomplishing his purpose, he was puzzled to
know how he could convince the redskins of having reached the summit.
To do this he placed a large limb across an old dead tree, thus forming
a cross which could be seen in the Valley below. He then descended and
directed the attention of the Indians to the cross.

[Illustration: A Characteristic Stream.]

Prior to this, Marin had been considered by his followers as the
bravest man in the world. He therefore found that it would never do for
him to be afraid to attempt what a white man had accomplished.

Marin then determined, against the most earnest entreaties of his men,
to go up where the white man had been. Tearing himself from his men he
ascended the Mountain alone and when there had to study how he should
convince his followers of the fact.

Unwinding his outer blanket he suspended it on the arm of Mr. Leese’s
cross, having done which, he descended the Mountain.

On seeing him without his garment, his followers concluded that he had
been robbed by the Devil himself; but pointing out to them his blanket
waving upon the cross, much joy was expressed over his restoration to
them as the bravest of the brave.

The foregoing tale is only one of many which illustrate the profound
superstitions prevailing among the Indians.

Certain rocks and mountains were regarded as sacred, while the grizzly
was held in superstitious awe, nothing inducing them to eat its flesh.

[Illustration: Relics From a Shell Mound.]

[Illustration: Haying Time.]

The idea of a future state was universal among the California Indians,
for as they expressed it, “as the moon died and came to life again
so man came to life after death,” and they believed that “the hearts
of good chiefs went up to the sky and were changed into stars to keep
watch over their tribes on earth.”

A short distance from the Olompali Rancho is Novato, a small town which
until a few years ago possessed the largest apple orchard in the world.

At the present time the New York and the Novato French cheese factories
are its only noteworthy industries. The latter, which is representative
of a thriving, modern cheese-factory, is conveniently located beside
the California Northwestern Railway on whose cars the local shipments
are made twice each day.

But this local trade is by no means the factory’s sole outlet, for
besides supplying the Coast and the East as far as Iowa (where another
branch is located), cheese is exported to the Hawaiian Islands, Japan,
China and other foreign countries.

[Illustration: Apple Picking in Marin.]

In this unpretentious building, in which but twelve men are employed,
fifty thousand five-pound cases of cheese are manufactured a year, or
a little more than four thousand (cases) a month. In the spring from
twelve hundred to fourteen hundred pounds of cheese are manufactured
each day.

Besides its famous Circle Brand Breakfast Cheese, the Novato French
Cheese Factory manufactures large quantities of Fromage de Brie,
Neufch, Sierra, Fromage de Chanembert, Schlosskase and Kummelkase.

On a tiny island amid the marshes in this, the extreme northeastern
corner of Marin, is located the Miramonte Club. A sportsman’s club
in every particular, it is very advantageously situated, for around
these northern marshes the game is very plentiful and the sportsman is
usually rewarded for his labor.