they remembered it. Romance, as ever, increases with the square of the
distance; and this was a remote land. But soon there came an official
letter written by Governor Mason to the War Department wherein he said
that in his opinion, "There is more gold in the country drained by the
Sacramento and San Joaquín rivers than would pay the cost of the late
war with Mexico a hundred times over." The public immediately was alert.
And then, strangely enough, to give direction to the restless spirit
seething beneath the surface of society, came a silly popular song. As
has happened many times before and since, a great movement was set to
the lilt of a commonplace melody. Minstrels started it; the public
caught it up. Soon in every quarter of the world were heard the strains
of _Oh, Susannah!_ or rather the modification of it made to fit this
case:

"I'll scrape the mountains clean, old girl,
I'll drain the rivers dry.
I'm off for California, Susannah, don't you cry.
Oh, Susannah, don't you cry for me,
I'm off to California with my wash bowl on my
knee!"

The public mind already prepared for excitement by the stirring events
of the past few years, but now falling into the doldrums of both
monotonous and hard times, responded eagerly. Every man with a drop of
red blood in his veins wanted to go to California. But the journey was a
long one, and it cost a great deal of money, and there were such things
as ties of family or business impossible to shake off. However, those
who saw no immediate prospect of going often joined the curious clubs
formed for the purpose of getting at least one or more of their members
to the El Dorado. These clubs met once in so often, talked over details,