Mexico weekly ledger., 1876-11-09
HARVESTING By WHOLESALE.
| An Exciting Scenein n California Wheat
Field.

An Exciting Sceneina California Wheat
. Field.
Suppose that upon one of the many
DAYS of the harvest-season you get out
of bed at an unusually early hour, and
again climb to the house-top.
Beneath and in front of you will lie,
as before the pale, golden sea of wheat,
girdled in the cool distance with the
purple mountains. The air will be soft
and delightful to breathe; the oaks
upon the river-bank will throw shadows
across the roadway, and the rays of
the sun will spread over the enormous
plain-a smile of greeting for the day.
You win sweep the horizon with your
glass. Hardly to be seen, even with
that, are some c%uriously shaped dots,
moving slowly hither and thither. They
seem to crawl like insects, some going
south, some east, and some west. At
ter 8 while you will distinguish that
nearly every one of these dots is OF
a deep red color. A little later you rec
ognize the awkward shape of the sepa-
rators, and the broad-topped tunnels of
the engines. Throngs Of people, most
of them in wagons, yet ONE afoot, fol-
low on behind. After q while all of
these now widely separated groups will
come TO q standstill. They have taken
up their positions for the onslaught
upon the grain fields as deliberately
and with as mnch thought as batteries
take up positions for battle.
When one of these corps approaches
its station, q header, with its attendant
wagons, is sent forward to cut a clear
place in the center of the area to be
worked upon that day. The machine
is pressed upon the wheat, devouring it
as it goes, and then, having accom-
plished a proper distance, turns and
works in a circle, cutting out a bare
spot from three to five acres in extent.
This is the point from which seventy
acres of wheat are to be hewed down,
cast into the thresher, and sacked for
market before shutdown.
Then the separator and engine and
all the teams move forward up the lane,
and into the circle. The first comes to
a halt in the center, the second takes
up its position in the rear, and the
headers at once attack the wheat the
first taking the FIRST swath of the encir-
cling grain, the next the second, a lit
tie in the rear, and so on.
The betting between the engine and
separator is adjusted, and the engineer
starts his fires. The shoots that are to
convey the grain from the canvas on the
ground upon which it is pitched from
the header-wagens are attached, and
the bag, filters bring up their sacks. All
the lids that owe the inner works of
the great machine are drawn over and
all is made fast. The wheels are lock-
ed as are those of the engineer. Great
care is taken to keep all things on as
perfect level as may be, to insure the
proper economy of force.
The scene even at this time is; one of
great animation. The men are all fresh,
and are working with ardor; the slim
illus of the noise, the movement, and
the bright sun is great. 1t is impossi-
BILE not to feel the pulse quicken, even
at this early stage of the play, and one
recalls his old time idea of a harvest
field, with its beribboi ed reapers, and
their long, curved sickles, with a little
doubt of its superior grace.
They try the engine. 1t is all right.
The separator clatters in tune, and
nothing is amiss. Now, then, for the
grain! In a moment the wagons begin
to unload. Huge forkfuls are pitched
upon the ground. from which it is borne
into the recesses of the separator. Then
there ensues a strange combination of
tremendous noises-a sound of grind
ing, q sound of brushing, a sound of
humping, and a sound of roaring.
The entire fabric shivers from top to
bottom, and from out every crevice
there pours a thin sheet of dust. The
upper part belches out the waste, hun
dreds of pounds and tons of chaff, and
a sitting cloud follows it. In a second
every thing is on springs. The men
who till the bags hang them at the edges
of the troughs. The brown flood comes
pouring down. stream of clean
kernels of wheat-and the davis WORK
fairly begins. From the largest
rator in the field there run out six sacks,
or 800 pounds of grain, fit for market,
each minute. This machine, one dav
In August, 1874, threshed ,779 bushels.
Its owner calls it the Monitor. All the
engines have James as well-Gladiator,
PhoniX, Mars, and the like. No one
would be mad enough to call one of
these Ceres, for instance. There is no
suggestion OF gentleness, or grace, or
poetry, in the whole, field. All is in
genuity, precision, order, force. A cry
OF admiration rises to ones lips time
and again, but the sensation is the same
that one feels upon witnessing a string
of ten-strikes in a bowling alley, only a
thousand times extended.
1t is great to see the headers keep
their circle Of destruction, hewing down
the fair expanse of bowling gold heads
as a ship hews down the crested waves.
and to hear the smooth, unending click
clack of their glistening sickles. Even
the movements of the ungainly red
wagons that wait upon them have an
unfailing order that has a strange pow
er to please.
Most of the men are dressed in brown
canvas jumpers and overalls, and wear
broad-brimmed hats of straw or felt.
Not one OF them is idle, nor seems to
wish to be. Most of them are driving.