AN
OVE RLiAND JOURNEY,
NEW YORK TO SAN FRANCISCO,
THE SUMMER O-F t859.
BY
:1 0 1ACE G -     IELE I-.
NEW  YORK:
C.  M.  S A X T ON,   BARKER   &  C O.
SAN FR.ANCISCO: If. H. BANCRPOFT & CO.
1 860.
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Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
HORACE GREELEY,
In the Clcrk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York.
C. A. ALVOI?D, PRINTER, NEW YORK.
ol 
PREFACE.
Tim following letters, as is generally known, were written to
THE NEW YoRK TRIBUNE during a journey through Kansas, Utah,
and California, last summer.
No one can be more conscious than the writer that they present
the slightest possible claims to literary merit or enduring interest.
Their place is among the thousand ephemeral productions of the
press on which the reading public, if good-natured, bestows a kindly
glance, then charitably forgets them. Ten years hence, hardly a
hundred persons will be able, without sustained effort, to recollect
that these letters were ever printed. Hurriedly written, mainly in
wagons or under the rudest tents, while closely surrounded by the
(very limited) appliances and processes of pioneer meal-getting, far
from books of reference, and often in the absence of even the commonest map, they deal with surfaces only, and these under circumstances which preclude the idea of completeness of information or
uniform accuracy of statement. The value of such a work, if value
it have, must be sought in unstudied simplicity of narration, in tie
freshness of its observations, and in the truth of its averments as
transcripts of actual experiences and current impressions.
By consulting and studying the reports of eminent official explorers and pioneers, from Lewis and Clark to Fremont and Lander,
who have traversed the Plains, the Rocky Mountains, and the Great
Basin, a far more complete and reliable book might have been made,
but one extending to several volumes, and of which the public does
not seem to stand in conscious, urgent need. That herewith submitted, though of far humbler pretensions, has at least the merit of
owing little or nothing to any other.
If any excuse for printing these letters were wanted, it might be
found in the fact that much of the ground passed over by the writer
was absolutely new-that is, it had never before been traversed and
described. The route up Solomon's Fork and the upper portion of
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PREFACE.
the Republican, from the forks of the Kansas to Cherry Creek; that
from Denver to the gold-diggings in the Rocky Mountains, near
Ralston's fork of Clear Creek; the trail from Denver to Laramie,
along the eastern base of the Rocky Mountains; and that from Salt
Lake southwestwardly through central Utah to Pleasant Valley, and
thence northwestwardly to the Humboldt at Gravelly Ford, are believed to stand in this category. But another reason for printing
these hasty sketches is found in the fact that very great and rapid
changes in most of the region lying directly between Missouri and
California are inevitable. The Leavenworth Express route, through
the heart of what in June is the Buffalo region, which was hardly
four weeks old when I traveled it, was soon after abandoned, and
has reverted to the domain of the wolf and the savage; while the
rude beginning of a settlement I found, scarcely three weeks old, at
"Gregory's Diggings," has since been "MIountain City," with its
municipality, its newspayer, and its thousands of inhabitants; and
is now in its decline, having attained the ripe age of nearly ha.lf-ayear; Captain Simpson has, since July, completed his exploration
of a military and mail route through Central Utah, whereby more
than a hundred miles of that I traveled are saved and the detested
Humboldt wholly avoided; and Carson Valley, under the impetus
of rich mineral discoveries, is rapidly increasing in population and
consequence, and about to stand forth, the nucleus of the embryo
Territory of Nevada. Whoever visits California a few years hence,
will doubtless find it greatly changed from the California so hastily
run over but faithfully described by me in August, 1859. Should,
then, a few copies of this book, lost in the dustiest recess of some
all-embracing, indiscriminate library, evade the trunk-makers to the
close of the next decade, the antiquary of 1870 may derive gratification if not instruction from a contrast of the populous, enterprising, and thrifty Central North America of his day, with that same
region overrun and roughly depicted by me in the summer of 1859.
Should such prove the fact, I commend my hasty letters to his
generous indulgence.
NEW YO)RK, Nov. 1, 1859.
4
H. G. 
CONTENTS.
AN OVERLAND JOURNEY.
From New York to Kansas,......   7....
Notes on Kansas,............              20
More Notes on Kansas,...........            35
More of Kansas,......       48
Summing up on Kansas,...........              61
On the Plains,......71    i
The Home of the Buffalo,...........              80
Last of the Buffalo,.........          86
The American Desert,...........            98
Good Bye to the Desert,..........                107
The Kansas Gold Diggings,..........              115 1i
The Plains —The Mountains,.........                128
The Gold in the Rocky Mountains,...               139
"Lo, the Poor Indian,"..........                              149
Western Characters,...........           157
From Denver to Laramie,..........                166 --
Laramie to South Pass,............             182
South Pass to Bridger,......       190..
From Bridger to Salt Lake,..........              198
~)
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CONTENTS.
Two Hours with Brigham Younfg,...
The Mormons and Mormonism,.....
Salt Lake and its Environs,......
The Army in Utah,.....
From Salt Lake to Carson Valley,                                2
Carson Valley-The Sierra Nevada,.
California Mines and Mining,.....
California-The Yosemite,......
California-The Big Trees,.......
California Physically Considered,.....
California-Its Resources,.......
California-Summing Up,......
California-Final Gleanings,.....
Railroad to the Pacific,......
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219
230
245
258
25
283
295
310
322
334
344
361
368
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AN OVERLAND JOURNEY.
I.
FROM NEW YORK TO KANSAS.
ATCHISON, Kansas, May 15, 1859.
I LEFr New York by Erie Railroad on Monday evening, 9th inst., just as our fortnight of bright, hot,'plantiug weather was closing. Two hours later, the gathered
clouds burst upon us in a rain which continued through
the night, though the city was not refreshed by it till
some hours later. We had glimpses of sunshine as we
skirted the southern shore of Lake Erie on Wednesday,
and some more after a heavy shower at Chicago on
Thursday; beside these, cloudy skies, easterly winds,
and occasional rain, have been my portion since I bade
adieu to the hot, dusty streets of New York.  But it is
breaking away as I write, and I hope to see Kansas, for
the first time, under skies which image her sunny future
rather than her stormy past.
Coming up the Erie Road, I tried a "sleeping-car"
for the third time, and not very successfully.  We  all
"retired" at ten o'clock, with a fair allowance of open
windows and virtuous resolutions; but the rain poured, 
FROM NEW YORK TO KANSAS.
the night was chill and damp; and soon every orifice
for the admission of external air, save the two or three
humbug ventilators overhead, was shut, and a mephitic
atmosphere produced, in which the soul of John G. Saxe
miglit have disported and fancied it elysium.  After
gasping a while, like a netted fish on a hot sandbank, I
rose to enter my solemn protest against all sleeping-cars
not provided with abundant and indefeasible means of
ventilation. I tried one, two nights later, on the Alichigan Southern Road, which served much better, though.
still far from perfect.  It is very true that no arrangemernt can secure a healthy circulation of air by night in
any passenger-car, while the popular ignorance is so
dense that the great majority imagine any atmosphere
healthful which is neither too cold nor too hot, and
rather laugh at the wit than pity the blindness of Saxe
in holding up to ridicule a woman who knows (and does)
better than to sit all night in a close car, with thirty or
forty other human beings, all breathing anl atmosphere
which they, in twenty minutes, render absolutely poisonous; but the builders of cars have no right to be
ignorant of the laws of life with which they tamper;
and two or three presentments by Grand Juries of the
makers of unventilated cars, especially sleeping-cars, as
guilty of manslaughter, would exert a most salutary
influence.  I commend this public duty to the immediate consideration of jurors and prosecutors.
Stopping at IJorniellsville, at seven next morning, I
took the train for Buffalo thence at noon, and halted at
Castile, to fuilfill an engagement to speak at Pike, formeily ill Alleghaniy, now in Wyoming County.
8 
FROM NEW YORK TO KANSAS.
I left Pike for Castile at five on Wednesday morning;
took the cars to Buffalo at half-past seven; was in amnple
season for the Lake Shore train at ten; ran into Cleveland a little after five; left at six for Toledo, where we
changed cars between ten and eleven, and were in Chicago at seven next morning as aforesaid. Along the
south shore of Lake Erie, as in our own state, it was
plain that the area plowed on or before the 11th of
May was greater this year than ever before. And well
it might be; for the countlry was hardly ever so bare of
food for man and beast as in this same May of 1859.
Flour is higher and wheat and corn scarcely lower in
Chicago than in New York or Liverpool; oats nearly
the same.  Thousands of cattle, throughout the Prairie
States, have died of starvation this spring, though
prairie hay might almost anywhere have been put up
last fall at a cost of less than two dollars per ton; Minnesota, with, perhaps, the best soil for winter wheat in
America, is buying flour in Chicago by the thousand
l)arrels; and I hear from different sections of this great
granary of nations-fiom Illinois, firom Iowa, from Missouri-of whole neighborhoods destitute alike of bread
and of the wherewithal to buy it.  Unpropitious as last
season was, it does not fully explain this scarcity, especially of fodder. I trust the like will never occur to
need explanation again.
Coming down through Illinois from Chicago southwestwardly to Quincy (268 miles) it was gratifying to
see how general are the effort and obvious resolve to
look starvation out of countenance this year. Though
the breadth of winter wheat was but moderate, owing
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FROM NEW YORK TO ASIAS.
to the incessant rains of last autumn, it is plain that the
farmers began to plow  and sow as early as possible
this spring; putting in, first, spring wheat, then oats,
latterly corn; and they mean to keep putting in corn
and oats for a month yet.  If Illinois and Iowa do not
grow far more grain this year than ever before, it will
hardly be the fault of the cultivators, for they are bent
on doing their utmost. Considering their bad fortune
last year, this resolute industry does them credit; but
they are generally in debt, out of money and almost out
of credit, and are making a final stanid against the sheriff.
I heartily wish them a good deliverance.
And, despite the hard times, Illinois is growing.
There are new blocks in her cities, new dwellings in her
every village, new breakings on this or that edge of
almost every prairie. The short, young grass is being
cropped by large herds of cattle, whose improved appearance within the last fortnight is said by those who
have observed them from day to day to be beyond credence on any testimony but that of eye-sight.  Here,
every horse or ox that can pull is hitched to a plow or
harrow whenever darkness or rain does not forbid; and,
by plowing the dryest ridges first and seeding them;
then taking the next dryest and serving them just so,
nearly every cultivator can keep putting in seed at least
four days per week from March till June. Many will
plant corn this year till the middle of June, and even
later, unless compelled sooner to desist in order to commencie cultivating that first planted. Then cultivating
will require every hour till harvesting begins; and this
(including haying) will last till it is full time to plow for
10 
FROM NEW YORK TO KASAS.
winter wheat.   No busier season was ever seen than this
is to be; firom the IlIudson to the Mississippi, you see
four horses or oxen at work to one in pasture; and there
are thousands of farmers who would plant or sow aquar ter more, if they had grain to feed their teams, than
they will now be able to do. There are few traveling in
the cars, few idling about stores or taverns, but many
in the fields.  May a bounteous Hieaven smile on thoir
labors!
Illinois is just beginning to be cultivated. I presume
she has no railroad along which half the land within a
miile has ever been touched by a plow.  Back from the
roads, there is of course still less cultivation; probably
less than a tenth of her soil has ever yet been broken.
Possibly one-fburth of her spontaneous product of grass
may now be eaten by animals that contribute to the sus tenance or comfort of man, though I think one-sixthl
would be nearer the mark. She has far more coal than
Great Britain-I believe more than any other statebut has hardly yet begun to mine it. Her timber is not
so excellent; she lacks pine and all the evergreens, but
she is bountifully and cheaply supplied with these from
Michig,an and Wisconsin. Boards are sent through her
canal from Chicago to the Illinois, and thence around by
St. Louis and up the Missouri to build houses in Kansas
and Nebraska. Hier timber, such as it is, palpably increases from year to year, and will increase still more
rapidly as roads and plowing check the sweep of prairiefires. If her prairies were more rolling, they would be
dryer and could be worked earlier; but then they would
wash more, and probably have less depth and richness
11 
FlFROM NEW YORK TO KANSAS.
of soil. Doubtless, the child is born who will see her a
state of ten millions of people, one million of them inhabiting her commercial emporinum.
I stopped over night at Quincy, and took the steamboat Pike at half past seven next morning for Hannibal,
twenty miles below. I had repeatedly crossed the Mississippi, but this was my first passage on it. The river
is very high, so that its banks are submerged, and the
water flows under the trees which line either shore.
Islets covered with trees and shrubbery abound; the
bluffs recede some miles on either hand, and are softened to the view by the deep green of the young foliage;
hardly a clearing breaks the uniformity of the almost
tropical prospect; though here and there a miserable
little hut in the last stages of decay tells where a chopper of steamrnboat-wood held on until whisky or the ague
took him off. In flood, as it is, the river is turbid, not
muddy, and pursues its course with a deliberation and
gravity befitting the majestic Father of Waters, to
whom, with head bare and reverent spirit, I wave a respectful adieu.
For our good boat has reached Hannibal, the first
point below Quincy at which the Missouri bluff approaches the river, and whence the valley of a streamlet
makes up through the hills to the broad, level prairie.
I1annibal is pleasantly situated on the irntervale of the
creek and up the side of the bluff, so as to be entirely
commanded by a steamboat passing up the river. It is
a bustling, growing village of some four thousand inhabitants, which the new " Hannibal and St. Joseph
Railroad" has suddenly raised from local to general im
12 
FROM NEW YORK TO KANSAS.
portance. Like most villages on the great western rivers
it has ino wharf, and the river is now threatening to eat
away a part of the bank on which railroad and steamboat freight is heaped in wild disorder. Its new consequence must soon work a change. I look for a wharf
and a great storehouse when I next land or embark
helre.
The Pike rounded to, and sent us ashore; the train
backed down to within forty feet of her; the passengers
got aboard the cars and were followed by their baggage,
and  in half an hour we  were steaming up through
the woody ravine to emerge on one of the largest
prairies on northern Missouri. Across this-or, rather,
along it-we took our course westward, almost as the
crow flies, to St. Joseph on the Missouri, two- hundred
and six miles distant, which we reached in a little more
than twelve hours, or at half-past ten last evening.  The
road was completed in hot haste last winter, in order to
profit by the "Pike's Peak" migration this spring; no
gravel is found on its line, unless in the immediate
vicinity of the Mississippi; and it was raining pitilessly
for the second day nearly throughout, so that the roadbed was a causeway of mortar or ooze, into which the
passing trains pressed the ties, first on One side; then on
the other, making the track as bad as track could well
be. A year hence, it must be better, even with the frost
just coming out of the ground; after a dry week, it will
probably be quite fair; but yesterday it afforded more
exercise to the mile than any othlier railroad I ever traveled. About one-third of the way from Hannibal, it is
intersected by the " North Missouri Railroad" from St.
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FROM NEW YORK TO KASAS.
Louis, which city is about one hundred miles further
from St. Joseph than Hannibal is; the train from St.
Louis starting at five A. M. to connect with ours which
ought to have left Hannibal at half past nine. Each
road is completed, so that St. Louis as well as Hannibal
is within a day's ride by rail of St. Joseph, which faces
Kansas almost up to the Nebraska line.
Though the day was dreary, I noted with deep interest
the country through which we passed, which disappoint ed me in these respects: 1. The land is better than I
had supposed; 2. It is of more uniform grade-hardly
anything worth calling a hill being seen after rising the
bluff from the Mississippi till we come in sight of the
bluffs which enclose the Missouri; 3. There is more
prairie and less timber than I had expected; and 4.
There are infinitely less population and improvement.
Of course, this road was run so as to avoid the more
settled districts, and thus to secure a larger allotment of
the public lands whereof the alternate sections for a
widthi of five or six miles were granted to the state in
aid of its construction; but I had not believed it possible to run a railroad through northern Missouri so as to
strike so few settlements.  Palmyra, near the Mississippi,
and Chillicothe, a hundred miles further west, are county
seats and villages of perhaps two hundred dwellings
each; beside these, there is no village of any size,
unless it be one of those we passed in rain and darkness as we neared the Missouri. For some fifty miles
after passing Palmyra, we traversed a level prairie,
admirably grassed, but scarcely broken, save where the
needs of the railroad had called up two to half a dozen
14 
FROM NEW YORK TO KANSAS.
petty buildings. Yet, for most of the way, timber was
in sight on one side or on both, often within a mile;
and the soil, thoulgh but a thin, black mold resting on
a heavy clay, therefore not so well adapted to grain as
prairie soils are apt to be, is admirably fitted for stockgrowing. It seems incredible that such land, in a state
forty years old, could have remained unsettled till now.
We  traversed other prairies, five to twenty miles long,
separated by the richest intervales skirting Grand River
and sundry smaller streams, well timbered with elm,
hickory, etc. Interposed between the prairies are miles
on miles of gently rolling ridges, thinly covered with
white oak, and forming "oak openings" or " timbered
openings," while a thick growth of young wood, now
that the annual fire are somewhat checked by roads
and cultivation, is comining forward under the full-grown
oaks, the whole forming one of the most beautiful and
inviting regions I ever passed over. They tell me that
the rolling prairies near St. Joseph, to which we passed
after dark, are richer and finer than those I saw; but
they surely need not be. With such soil and timber,
the Mississippi on one side, the Missouri on the other,
and a railroad connecting them, it must be that nortlhern Missouri is destined to increase its population speedily and rapidly. I am sure beef can be made there at
less cost per pound than in any other locality I ever
visited.
St. Joseph is a busy, growing town of some ten
thousand inhabitants. It is beautifully situated on a
bend of the Missouri, partly on its intervale (which the
river is gouging out and carrying away), and partly on
15
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FROM NEW YORK TO KANSAS.
the southward slope of the bluff, which rises directly
from the river bank, at the north end of the town. Other
towns on the Missouri may have a grander future; I
doubt that any has a finer location. The river bank
must be piled or docked, or in some way fortified against
the boiling current which sets against the town-site with
fearful power and effect.
I believe this is further west than any other point
reached by a railroad connecting eastward with the
Atlantic ports. At all events, the travel and part of the
trade of the vast wilderness watered by the Upper Mis'sonri and its tributaries, seem to center here. At the
City Hotel, where I stopped, some of the guests were of,
and firom Salt Lake; one, an Indian trader from the
head waters of the Columbia, who came down the
Yellow Stone from the Rocky Moiuntains last fall in a
canoe, and is now returning. Army officers and sutlers
for the forts far up the Missouri and its tributaries, are
constantly arriving and departing. I may never see St.
Joseph again, but she will long be to me a pleasant recollection. Elwood, in Kansas, opposite, is a small place,
which must grow with the country behind her. The
mighty, boiling flood, which is tearing away the soil of
St. Joseph, is piling up new bars and banks in firont of,
and just below Elwood, rendering approach  to her
wharf (if wharf she has or should have) difficult for
river steamboats, and thus shutting her out from the upriver trade.
I took passage from St. Joseph for this place at eight
this morning on the good steamer Platte Valley, Captain
Coursey, and defied the chill eastf,vind, and damp, cold
At
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FROM NEW YORK TO KANSAS.
atmosphere, to take my first lesson in Missouri navigation. The distance by water is some forty miles; by
land considerably less; the river being here, as everywhere, crooked and capricious.  I regretted to note that
it tends, if unchecked, to grow worse and worse; the
swift current rapidly forming a bank below every projectinig point, and thus setting the stream with everincreasing force against the yielding, crumbling mold or
silt of the intervale which forms the opposite shore,
which is thus rapidly undermined and falls in, to be
mingled with and borne away by the resistless flood.
The banks are almost always nearly perpendicular, and
are seldom more than two or three feet above the surface
of the water at its present high stage, so that the work
of devastation is constantly going on. The river is at
once deep, swift, and generally narrow-hardly so wide
in the average as the Hudson below Albany, though
carrying the water of thirty Itudsons. It cannot be half
a mile wide opposite this city. Its muddiness is beyond
all description; its color and consistency are those of
thick milk porridge; you could not discern an egg in a
glass of it. A fly floating in a teacup of this dubious
fluid an eighth of an inch below the surface would be
quite invisible. With its usually bold bluffs, two or
three hundred feet high, now opposing a rocky barrier
to its sweep, now receding to a distance of two or three
miles, giving place to an intervale, many feet deep, of
the richest mold, usually covered by a thrifty growth
of elm, cotton-wood, etc., its deep, rapid, boiling, eddying
current, its drifting logs and trees, often torn from its
banks by its floods, and sometimes planted afresh in its
17 
FROM NEW YORK TO KANSAS.
bed, so that the tops rise angularly to a point just below
or just above the surface of the water, forming the
sawyer or snag so justly dreaded by steamboats, the
Missouri stands alone among the rivers of the earth,
unless China cau show its fellow.
I have not yet learned to like it.
Atchison gives me my first foothold on Kansas. It
was long a Border-Ruffian nest, but has shared the fortunes of many such in being mainly bought out by free.
state men, who now rule, and for the most part own it.
For the last year, its growth has been quite rapid; of
its four or five hundred dwellings, I think,.two-thirds
have been built within that period. The Missouri at
this point runs further to the west than elsewhere in
Kansas; its citizens tell me that the great roads westward to Utah, &c., from St. Joseph on the north and
from Leavenworth on the south, pass within a few miles
of Atchison when thrice as far from their respective
starting-points. Hience the Salt Lake mail, though made
up at St. Joseph, is brought hither by steamboat and
starts overland from this place; hence many trains are
made up here for Laramie, Green River, Fort Hall,
Utah, and I hear even for Santa Fe'. I have seen several twelve-ox teams, drawing heavily-loaded wagons,
start for Salt Lake, etc., to-day; there are others camped
just outside the corporate limits, which have just come
in; while a large number of wagons form a corral (yard,
inclosure or encampment) some two miles westward. A
little further away, the tents and wagons of parties of
gold-seekers, with faces set for Pike's Peak, dot the
prairie; one of them in charge of a grey-head who is
i8 
FROM NEW YORK TO KANSAS.
surely old enough to know better. Teamsters from Salt
Lake and teamsters about to start, lounge on every corncr; I went out three or four miles on the high prairie
this afternoon, and the furthest thing I could see was the
white canvas of a moving train. I have long been
looking for the West, and here it is at last.-But I must
break off somewhere to prepare for an early start for
Leavenworth and Lawrence to-morrow, in order to reach
Osawatamie next day in season to attend the Republican Convention which is to assemble at that place on
Wednesday, the eighteenth.
19 
H.
NOTES ON KANSAS.
LAWRENCE, Kansas, May 20, 1859.
IT resumed raining in Kansas, after a few dry days,
on Thursday, the 12th inst., and rained "off and on"
till Saturday night. Sunday, the 15th, was cloudy and
chilly, but without rain, until evening, when thundershowers came up from every side, and kept flashing,
rumbling, and pouring nearly throughout the night.
Kansas brags on its thunder and lightning; and the
boast is well founded. I never before observed a display of celestial pyrotechlny so protracted, incessant and
vivid as that of last Sunday night. The country, already saturated with water, was fairly drenched by this
deluge, which rendered many streams ordinarily insignificant either dangerous or for a season impassable.
At 6 A. M. on Monday morning, four of us left Atchison in a two-horse wagon, intent on reaching Osawatamie (some eighty miles rather east of south-one hundred by any practicable route) next evening. The sky
was still threatening; we knew that the streams were
swelled beyond reason; but our pilot was a most experienced pioneer, who had forded, been ferried over or
swam every stream in Eastern Kansas, and was confident of his ability to go through by some route or other.
So we went ahead in a southerly direction, across swells
of -prairie rather steep-sided for Kansas, and through 
NOTES ON KANSAS.
ravines in which what were usually rills were swelled
into torrents. From the high level of the prairies, little
but a broad sweep of grass on every side was visible
but soon we were descending into a new ravine, and
now belts and spurs of timber were seen, generally
widening as they tend toward the Missouri. I noted
that these woody spurs, composed mainly of black-oak
and cotton-wood (the latter a very poor but quick-growing timber, ranging somewhere between poplar and
basswood), began to spread on every side wherever the
annual fires were repelled frnom the adjacent prairie,
whether -by the interposition of a road or otherwise, and
that the young trees that thus spring up along the sides
of the ravines and run out into the level prairie, are
quite often hickory, white ash, etc., even where none
such are visible among the adjacent timber. I was fully
convinced that wood becomes more abundant with the
progress of settlement and cultivation. Of course, there
is timber enough to-day in the Territory; but the better
portion of it is too generally confined to the intervales
of the larger streams, too far for their comfort from most
settlers on the prairies. Could prairie-fires be wholly
arrested, the increase of timber would overbalance tenfold the annual use and waste; and the quality improves
even faster than the quantity. This is real progress.
For, though there is quite enough in Kansas, and a
pretty good variety of all species except the evergreens,
which are lamentably deficient, there are points at
which there is none within several miles-the little that
formerly ran up the small ravines which here cut in
upon the great high prairies-being soon exhausted by
21 
NOTES ON KANSAS.
ravines in which what were usually rills were swelled
into torrents. From the high level of the prairies, little
but a broad sweep of grass on every side was visible;
but soon we were descending into a new ravine, and
now belts and spurs of timber were seen, generally
widening as they tend toward the Missouri. I noted
that these woody spurs, composed mainly of black-oak
and cotton-wood (the latter a very poor but quick-growing timber, ranging somewhere between poplar and
basswood), began to spread on every side wherever the
annual fires were repelled fiom the adjacent prairie,
whether by the interposition of a road or otherwise, and
that the young trees that thus spring up along the sides
of the ravines and run out into the level prairie, are
quite often hickory, white ash, etc., even where none
such are visible among the adjacent timber. I was fully
convinced that wood becomes more abundant with the
progress of settlement and cultivation. Of course, there
is timber enough to-day in the Territory; but the better
portion of it is too generally confined to the intervales
of the larger streams, too far for their comfort from most
settlers on the prairies. Could prairie-fires be wholly
arrested, the increase of timber would overbalance tenfold the annual use and waste; and the quality improves
even faster than the quantity. This is real progress.
For; though there is quite enough in Kansas, and a
pretty good variety of all species except the evergreens,
which are lamentably deficient, there are points at
which there is none within several miles-the little that
formerly ran up the small ravines which here cut in
upon the great high prairies being soon exhausted by
21 
NOTES ON KANSAS.
use for building, fuel, and fencing, and requiring years
for its reproduction.
Twelve or fifteen miles south of Atchison, we struck
the great California trail from Leavenworth, and thence
followed it east by south into that city, some fifteen to
eighteen miles. I should have liked Gerrit Smith as
one of our party, that I might show him the practical
working of his theory that Government has no other
legitimate business.thantl to keep one man's fingers off
another man's throat and out of any pocket but his own.
The great California trail, like the Santa Fe6 and all
other primitive roads through this prairie country,
keeps along the highest " divides" or prairie swells,
avoiding the miry " bottoms" of the streams and (so far
as possible) the ravines which the water falling on the
high prairie has cut down to them, of course winding
considerably, but making the best and most serviceable
natural road that can be, and one that in dry weather is
excellent, and in wet as good as possible. But each
settler along this trail, in the absence of any legal establishment of the trail as a highway, is at liberty to run
his fences right across it as the line of his land runs,
and so crowd it off the high " divides" into all manner
of angles and zigzags, across this ravine and into that
slough, until the trail is fast becoming the very worst
road in all Kansas. I have had a pretty full experience
of bad roads during this week; but the very worst and
miriest was that portion of the California trail (and
United States military road from Fort Leavenworth
west to other forts) which works its sinuous way through
the region generally settled by thrifty farmers, lying
22 
NOTES ON ]AiSAS.
directly west of Leavenworth. And the worst hill for
teams I have seen in Kansas is traversed by this road
within five miles of Leavenworth, between the fort and
the rich but miry valley of Salt Creek on the west.
This road, unless it can be restored, will soon have to
be abandoned, and thence Leavenworth must suffer.
As we neared the California trail, the white coverings
of the many emigrant and transport wagons dotted the
landscape, giving the trail the appearance of a river
running through great meadows, with many ships sail
ing on its bosom. Most of the independent wagoners
were still encamped by the wayside, unable or unwilling
to bra-e the deep mud; their cattle feeding on the
broad prairie; the emigrants cooking or sitting beside
the wagons; women sometimes washing, and all trying
to dry their clothing, drenched and soaked by the pour ing rain of the past night. One great wagon-train was
still in corral with its cattle feeding and men lounging
about; the others might better have been, as it was
clearly impossible to make their lean, wild-looking oxen
(mainly of the long-horned stripe, which indicates Texas
as their native land, and which had probably first felt
the yoke within the past week) draw them up the
slightest ascent through that deep, slippery mire. A
great deal of yelling, beating, swearing, was being expended to little purpose, as I presume each train corraled for the ensuing night within a mile of the point it
left in the morning. These contractors' wagons are
very large and strong, each carrying a couple of good
extra axles lashed under its body, to be used in case an
old one gives way under a heavy jerk; the drivers are
23 
NOTES ON KANSAS.
as rough and wild4-looking as their teams, though not
quite so awkward at their business; but to keep six
yoke of such oxen in line in the road, and all pulling on
the load, is beyond human skill. It is a sore trial to
patience, that first start of these trains on their long
journey-to Utah, Fort Hall, Green River, and some
of these to New Mexico, though this is not the Santa F6
trail. The loads are generally fifty hundred weight;
the wagons must weigh at least fifteen hundred each;
and, though this would seetn moderate for twelve oxen,
it must be remembered that —they are at this season poor
and at first unbroken, and that the road is in spots a
very bad one. A train consists of ten to thirty wagons;
each train has its reliable and experienced master or
director; and when a team is stalled, another is unhitched from its own wagon and sent to the aid of the
one in trouble. The rate of progress is necessarily snaillike; these trains will do very well if they make twenty
miles the first week, considering the weather. But then
the feeding of the teams (like the lodging of the men)
costs nothing, as they live on the broad prairie, and
though they will often be fearfully huingry or dry in
traversing grassless tracts on their route, they are said
generally to gain in flesh (for which there is ample
room) during a journey of three or four months. Of
course, they improve in docility and effectiveness, being
at first so wild that, in order to be yoked, they have to
be driven into the corral formed, as I may have ex plained, by the wagons closely ranged in hollow square,
the tongue of each being run under its uext neighbor,
for defense against Indians or other prowlers). Very
24
e 
NOTES ON KANSAS.
few wagons or cattle ever come back; the freighting is
all one way; and both wagons and cattle are usually
sold at or near their point of destination for whatever
they will fetch-to be taken to California or disposed of
as they best may.
We drove into Leavenworth City about 11 A. M.,
and found that the delegates from this county had
generally given up the idea of reaching Osawatamie,
judging that the Convention would have to be ad journed or postponed on account of the swollen and im passable streams. Stranger Creek barred all egress by
way of Lawrence, which we had intended to make our
resting-place for the night; a creek nine miles south of
Leavenworth had turned back the stage running in that
direction; in fact, no stage made its way out of Leaven worth that day'in any direction which was not forced
to return, baffled by the high water.  So at 3 P. M. we
shipped our horses anrid wagons on board the steamboat
D. A. January, and dropped down the Missouri some
fifty miles, past the bleaching bones of several dead
cities (not including Quindaro, which insists that it is
still alive) to Wyandot, in the lower corner of Kansas,
with Kansas City, Missouri, three miles off, in plain sight
across the mouth of the Kansas or Kaw River. Wyandot, though hemmied in and impeded, like Quindaro, by
an Indian reserve back of it, is alive, and is becoming,
what it ought fully to be, the outlet and inlet between
Southern Kansas and the Missouri River. It has a
beautiful location, and decided natural advantages over
Kansas City, which, with other Border-Ruffian strongholds south of it, has hitherto engrossed too much of tJ,)
?
25 
NOTES ON KANSAS.
tains a more varied and choice admixture of the ele  melts of vegetation.  But the Kansas or Kaw bottom
was not only soaked but covered with water —-for it
had rained here smartly only the preceding morning
after it ceased at Atchison, and the road across the bot  toim was for the time an all but impassable morass. I
trust the citizens of Wyandot will not long leave it
thus.
We crossed the IKaw on a fair wooden toll-bridge, one
thousand two hundred feet long, just erected-or, rather,
not quite completed. In default of a toll-liouse or gate
keeper, a man at work on the bridge in his shirt-sleeves,
took the toll. I believe no other bridge across the Kaw
is now standing, though there has been one at Topeka,
fifty miles up, and perhaps at other points.  Bridges
are sorely needed throughout Kansas, not only because
the streams are addicted to rapid and vast augmenta tions from thaws or rains, but because their banks are
almost perpendicular, and often miry toward the bottom, while the streams are nearly as deep at either shore
as in the middle, makilng the attempt to ford difficult,
even when it is not dangerous.
The Kaw was, of course, nearly full (all the rivers of
Kansas have low b)anks), and was running very swiftly;
still, it seems of moderate size, for a river which leads
about six hundred miles westward of its mouth; but all
the rivers of this region, the Missouri included, seem
small, considering the area drained by them. The facts
that they run rapidly, are apt to be deep, and that their
depth is nearly unifbrm from side to side, account in
part for this appearance.
27 
NOTES ON KANSAS.
Half an hour after crossing the IKaw, we emerged
from the road and the Reserve upon the high prairie,
the clouds of the morning broke away, and the day was
henceforth perfect. The young grass of the prairie, refreshed by the-heavy rains, appeared in its freshest, tenderest green; the delicate early flowers were abundant,
yet not so numerous as to pall by satiety the pleasure of
looking at them, and the panoramna presented was maguificent. Passing Shawnee, a prairie village of twenty
or thirty houses, with a large hotel, our road bore more
directly south, and soon brought us in sight of the great
Santa Fe' trail, with its white-topped emigrant wagons,
and three great contract trains, one of them still inll
corral, the others with six pair of mules to each wagon,
attempting to make progress toward New AIexieo-attempting it, for the most part, in vain.  The mules were
small, and new to work-to this work, at all eventsand drew badly; while the wheels cut so deeply into the
yielding paste beneath them that little or no advance
was made. I presume they all corraled for the night
within two miles of the places where we saw them.
Crossing the trail almost at right angles, we left the
smart village of Olathe (county seat of Johnson counity)
a mile or so to the west, and struck off nearly due south,
over high prairies sloped as gently and grassed as richly
as could be desired, with timber visible along the watercourses on either hand. Yet there was little or no settlement below Olathe-for the next twenty miles that
we traveled there was hardly an improvement to each
four square miles of the country in sight. And yet, if
the Garden of Eden exceeded this land in beauty or
28 
NOTES ON KANSAS.
fertility, I pity Adam for having to leave it. The earth
was t9roughly sodden with rain, so that temporary
springs were bursting out on almost every acre, while
the water-courses, including those usually dry, ran
heavy streams, each of them  requiring skill in the
charioteer and good conduct on the part of the horses
to pass them without balk or break.  We must have
crossed over a hundred of these "runs" in the course
of this day's travel, each of them with a trying jerk on
the carriage, and generally with a spring on the part of
the horses.  These water-ways have generally a limestone bottom not far below the surface of their bed; but
their banks are alDt to be steep, and are continually
growing more so by reason of the water washing away
the earth which has been denuded of grass and worked
loose by hoofs and wheels. Traveling by jerks like this
is not so pleasant as over a macadamized road, yet our
day was a bright and pleasant one.
Thirty miles of progress, twenty of them over prairie,
brought us to Spring luill, a hamlet of five or six dwellings, including a store, but no tavern. Our horses
needed food and rest-for the wagon with its four inmates, was a heavy drag over such going-so we stopped
and tried to find refireshment, but with limited success.
There was no grain to be had, save a homcepathic dose
sold us for a quarter by a passing wagoner, and thankfully received; we gave this to our steeds, regaled our
selves on crackers and herring, and pushed on.
Our direct route led due south to Paoli, county seat
of Lykins; but persons we nmet here assured us that
there was no crossing Bull Creek on this road, and that
29 
NOTES ON KANSAS.
we must bear away to the west through AIarysville (a
village of perhaps a dclozen houses, including a store and
a tavern), so as to cros's at Roek Ford, three miles beyond, which opened the only chance  of getting over.
We did so, and crossed in safety, with the usual jokes
when we were fairly over; but I confess that the wide,
impetuous stream, so impenetrable to the eye, and so
far above its average level, wore a vicious look to me
when we approached and plunged into it. Its bottom
is here hardly half a mile wide, but is capitally wooded
with hickory, oak, black-walnut, etc.  Emerging from
it, we rode over twelve miles more of high, gently rolling prairie, with wood in the ravines on either side,
which brought us to the village of Stanton (of twenty
or thirty houses, including two stores and a tavern)
which we reached before sunset, having traveled at least
fifty nmiles since we started in the morning. Night and
the ~Iarais des Cygnes-here brought us to a halt-the
creek being at this time impassable-and we had to
forego our determination to reach Osawatamie before
sleeping. So we halted at the little tavern, where we
found five or six others bound to Osawatamie, like ourselves, at least one of whom had swam three creeks
since the morning. Fifteen or twenty others drove up
during the evening; we had supper, a neighborhood
meeting and a Republiean talk at the slchool-hiouse, and
adjourned to fill all the beds and floors of the tavern as
fiull as they could hold.  The kind, active, efficient landlady did her best, which was good enough; and all
were snugly bestowed except another editor and myself,
who accepted the kindly proffered hospitality of a Re
30 
NOTES ON KANSAS.
publican farmer, and wvere capitally entertained at his
house, half a mnile distant.
As night fell, the lightning had begun to gleam and
flash nearly around the horizon; by ten o'clock, the
thlnderi rolled; at twelve, a high gale could be heard
sweeping over thie prairies some moments before it
struck us. The lightning blazed almost incessantly for
hours; yet the rain-fall at Stanton was very slight.
But there were heavy showers at Marysville, at Paoli,
and almost everywhere else around us, still further raising the streams, so that many who had come part way
were unable to reach Osawatamie next day.
We were early on the bank (a mile from Stanton) of
the Itarais des Cygnes, which was running heavy driftwood, and otherwise misbehaving itself.  It had buried
up the ferry-rope, without whose aid the boat could not
be propelled across its sweeping current; one of the
trees to which that rope was attached was now nearly
in the middle of the stream; and there had been no
crossing for a day or two. But a new rope had been
procured and somehow stretched across the stream;
whereby we were taken across in our turn, after waiting
somewhat over an hour.  A mile or so of well timbered
and too well watered bottom brought us again to prairie,
over which we drove rapidly into Osawatamie, which
we reached before ten A. M.
Osawatamie is a village of at most one hundred and
fifty houses, situated ill the forks of the Alarais des
Cyg,nes and Potawatamie, a somewhat smaller creek,
which comes in from the south-west. The location is a
pleasant and favorable but not a commanding one; the
31 
NOTES ON KANSAS.
surrounding country is more considerably cultivated
than any I had passed south of the Kaw. The two
creeks supply abundant and good timber; an excellent
steam sawmill has taken the place of that which the
border-ruffians burned; a flouring mill, tannery, brewery and a large hotel, are being erected or completed.
I presume there is a larger town somewhere in what is
known as Southern Kansas, though I do not know which
it is.
But Osawatamie has a higher interest than any other
spot in Kansas, except possibly Lawrence, because of
her honorable eminence in the struggle which has
secured Kansas to free labor. She was long the only'
settlement near the Missouri border which was avowedly, decidedly free-state; the only free-state village that
could be reached by a night's march from Missouri. To
be known as a free-state man at Topeka, Waubonsee,
Emporia, or any other post well inland, involved struggles and sacrifices; to be one at Osawatamie, was to
live in nightly and well-grounded apprehension of robbery, arson and murder. The pro-slavery settlements
in the neighborhood were strong and malignant; and
they had only to draw upon Missouri at sight for any
amount of force, and the draft would be honored. Yet
to surrender this outpost was virtually to give up all
Kansas south of the Marais des Cygnes; and, though
its maintenance was sure to cost property and blood, it
was not surrendered, for OLD JOHIIN BROwN was among
its early settlers. Twice was it sacked and laid in ashes,
once after a desperate fight of two hours, in which Old
Brown with forty of his neighbors held at bay four hun
32 
NOTES ON KANSAS.
dred well-armned:Nissourians, who had the advantage of
a cannon.  So fearfully outnumbered, Old Brown, after
secent his son and several of his neighbors shot dead by
his side, and after killing at least as many Missourians
as there were of his own party altogether, was gradually driven back through the open timber north of the
village, and across the MAlarais des Cygnes, the ruffians
not venturing to pursue their victory, though they had
attacked from the west, and so were driving the freestate men toward Mlissouri.
The women and children had meantime fled to the
woods on the south; the village was burned after being
robbed, the only iron safe therein having been blown
open by firing a cannon into its side, and so plundered
of some silver-ware and a considerable sum in money
Osawatainie was thus a second tinme "wiped out." But
it has risen again from its ashes, and is once more the
home of an undaunted, freedom-loving people, who are
striving to forget their bereavements and sacrifices in
view of the rich fruits they have borne to liberty and
human zood.   They have gathered the dust of their
martyred dead into a common grave on a prairie-knoll
just west of their village, and propose to erect there a
moinument which shall teach their children and grandchildren to love and cherish the cause for which those
heroes joyfully laid down their lives. I beg leave to
SLiggest an enlargement of the scope of this enterprisethat this monument be reared to all the martyrs of freedom  n lKansas, and that the name of each be inscribed
upon it, and his mortal remains, if his relatives make no
objection, be placed beneath the column which shall
2*
33 
NOTES ON KANSAS.
here be reared as a memorial of the struggle which
secured Kansas to free labor, and is destined finally to
hasten the expulsion of slavery from Missouri. Should
a monument be proposed on this basis, I feel confident
that subscriptions in aid of its erection might reasonably
be asked of all who  prefer freedom to slavery, and
would not be asked in vain.
34 
LIJ.
MORE NOTES ON KANSAS.
LEAVENWORTH, May 23, 1859.
THE convention at Osawatamie was of course very
slow in assembling, and I think not more than half the
organized counties were represented at all. Ilardly any
were present from the southern counties, for whose beinefit that place of meeting had been selected. Those who
did come got there by swimming many dangerous
creeks; but from most localities attendance was a physical impossibility. Ferry-boats are scarce in Kansas,
bridges, of course, nearly unknown; and the water runs
off these rolling prairies so rapidly that a stream which
a three-year old child might ford at night will be running water enough to float a steamboat before morning.
Obviously, there can be no ferries maintained on such;
and, until bridges can be erected, those whose way lies
across them have no further alternative when they are
in flood than either to swim or wait. But to swim an
angry, turbid, rushing torrent, perhaps a dozen rods
across, and riunning driit-wood in a perfectly reckless
manner, is a job requiring nerve and skill; so the greater nunmber have simply to stay at home or camp on the
bank, and wait until the flood runs out, which it usually
will in twelve to thirty-six hours, according to the size
of the stream, unless the irain or thaw continues. But
it had rained nearly half the timne for a week prior and 
MORE NOTES ON KANSAS.
up to the eighteenth, so that few even of those who supposed the convention would be held could reach it.
Yet there gathered on the afternoon of that day nearly
a thousand of the pioneers, mainly of the immediate
neighborhood, to whom, in an interlude of the convention's discussions concerning their organization and platform, I had the satisfaction of setting forth the reputblican faith as I understand it, and by whom it was
heartily received. It was a labor of love so to speak,
but rather a tax to write the speech out, even imperfectly, as I was obliged to do during the next two days ill
the intervals of riding and speaking, in order that all
those people of Kansas who care to do so may consider
my notions of "Free-State Democracy" and "Squatter
Sovereignty."
The twin curses of Kansas, now that the borderruffians have stopped ravaging her, are land-speculation
(whereof the manufacture of paper-cities and bogus
corner-lots, though more amusingly absurd, is not half
so mischievous as the grasping of whole townships by
means of fraudulent pre-emptions and other devices
familiar to the craft) and one-horse politicians.  Many
of these latter were driven into the free-state movement
by the enormity of the border-ruffian outrages, by their
own terror or indignation, and by the overwhelming
force of public sentiment; but, being essentially demagogues, they gravitate irresistibly toward the shamdemocraey, in whose embraces the whole tribe will
bring up, sooner or later.  Their prototype is Mr. II.
Miles Mloore of this city, who, after having been one of
the noisiest and most conspicuous  free-state men  in
36 
MORE NOTES ON KANSAS.
1855-6, after having been driven down the river by the
border ruffians, who gave himn his choice between leav ing Kansas and instant death, and after having been
once strung up by the neck by them and choked till
nearly dead, is now hard at work trying to put Kansas
once more into their hands, and figuring in conventions
and on committees with those who didn't quite hang
him, as fellow democrats! His case reminds me strong ly by contrast of that of the man who observed that,
for the first month after marriage, he loved his wife so
that he wanted to eat her, while ever since he had wished
he had.
The controlling idea of the one-horse politicians is
that the republicans must not let their adversaries have
a chance to raise the cry of " nigger" against themthat hence they must be as harsh, and cruel, and tyrannical, toward the unfortunate blacks as possible, in order
to prove themselves " the white man's party," or else
all the mean, low, ignorant, drunken, brutish whites
will go against them from horror of " negro equality."
To which I reply that this sort of cattle are against the
republicans any how, and never can be permanently
otherwise. They may be driven by circumstances to
vote once or twice with us, but the virus of shamdemocracy is in their blood, and must come out.  That
democracy, from long practice and an experience that it
pays, can dive deeper, stay under longer, and come up
nastier, in this business of negro-hating, than any other
party that ever was or ever can be invented. There is
nothing that more strikingly exposes the radical baseness of slaveholding than the fact that its votaries so
37 
MORE NOTES ON KAN SAS.
most detestable. Passing Stanton, we kept still west
of north into the Ottawa Reserve, so as to leave a mail
at Ottawa Jones's, where we struck due north to Prairie
City, leaving Peoria City and Ohio City some miles
distant on our left, either upon or near the -Aarais des
Cygnes.  (It takes three log houses to make a city in
Kansas, but they begin calling it a city so soon as they
have staked out the lots.) I stopped at Prairie City and
talked to a republican gathering of four hundred people,
though where  on  earth so many  could have  been
scared up, within a reasonable ride of this point, one
who merely runs over the country could not imagine.
True, we had here "Prairie City," "Baldwin City,"
and "Palmyra" in a string, all within three miles; but
they could not all have mustered half this audience;
and I was forced to conclude that the country is really
better peopled than it seems to a mere traveler-that,
while the favored roads traverse the high "divides," or
middle of the prairies, in order to avoid, so far as possible, the miry bottoms and watercourses, the settlers are
nested in the edge of the timber, and down the watercourses, where fencing and fuel are far more accessible.
The country I traversed between Stanton and Prairie
City wvas a little more rolling, and considerably better
timbered, than that between Shawnee and Stanton,
already described. The oaks often covered considerable
tracts of upland, while young timber wvas visibly spreading on all hands, under cover of the universal hazel
bushles of those Kansas uplands which are not burned
over every year.  Our next post-office above Jones's was
Hickory Grove, which reminds me that I saw more good
39 
MORE NOTES ON KANSAS.
most detestable. Passing Stanton, we kept still west
of north into the Ottawa Reserve, so as to leave a mail
at Ottawa Jonies's, where we struck due north to Prairie
City, leaving Peoria City and Ohio  City some miles
distant on our left, either upon or near the 3{arais des
Cygniles. (It takes three log houses to make a city in
IKansas, but they begin calling it a city so soon as they
have staked out the lots.) I stopped at Prairie City and
talked to a republican gathering of four hundred people,
though where  on  earth so many  could have been
scared -Ip, within a reasonable ride of this point, one
who merely runs over the country could not imagine.
True, we had here "Prairie City," "Baldwin City,"
and "Palmyra" in a string, all within three miles; but
they could not all have mustered half this audience;
and I was forced to conclude that the country is really
better peopled than it seems to a mere traveler-that,
while the favored roads traverse the high "divides," or
middle of the prairies, in order to avoid, so far as possible, the miry bottoms and water-courses, the settlers are
nested in the edge of the timber, and down the watercourses, where fencing and fuel are far more accessible.
The country I traversed between Stanton and Prairie
City was a little more rolling, and considerably better
timbered, than that between Shawnee and Stanton,
already described. The oaks often covered considerable
tracts of upland, while young timber wvas visibly spreading on all hands,  inder cover of the universal hazel
bushes of those Kansas uplands which are not burned
over every year. Our next post-office above Jones's was
Hickory Grove, which reminds me that I saw more good
39 
MORE NOTES ON KANSAS.
hickory this day than in any former day of my life.
Some of the oak, also, was very serviceable.  These,
with the black-walnut, are the settler's main reliance for
timber, rails included. The elm, cotton-wood, sycamore,
etc., warp so badly when sawed into boards and seasoned, that very little use can be made of them, though
I think I saw a few cotton-wood rails. The grass was
abundant and superb; the soil generally deep and excellent.
We had another smart thunder-shower on Friday
morning (20th), after which I came from Prairie City to
Lawrence, fifteen miles north.  My companion was a
young pioneer from southern Missouri, reared among
slaves and slaveholders, but free-state from the time he
could fairly see, who assured nme that he knew a large
portion of the people of Missouri to condemn and hate
slavery, even while they shout and vote in its favor.
He came out here in 1855 to be rid of the curse, and had
had a pretty fair experience of the struggle, having been
with Lane at Bull Creek, when eight hundred Missourians did not venture to attack three hundred and fifty
free-state men, but, after being separated by night, beat
a retreat across the line, leaving some of their arms and
camp equipage behind them.  He was also at the somewhat noted "Battle of Black Jack," which he described
to me substantially as follows:
Onl the 1st of June, 1856, Henry Clay Pate, at the
head of a pro-slavery band, emerging suddenly from
the Indian Reserve, which then covered most of the
region between this point and the Missouri border, sur
prised the little settlement of Palmyra, which they
40 
MORE NOTES ON KANSAS.
sacked without resistance. Next morning, they proposed to extend their operations to Prairie City, which
would probably have shared the same fate, had not
Old Brown, lately driven firom Osawatamie by an overwhelining force, been camped, with ten of his tried men,
in the woods on Black Jack, a little creek four miles
eastward. Strengthened by these, Prairie City resolved
on resistance, and mustered its sixteen Sharp's rifles, in
addition to those of Old Brown's party, and when the
ruffians sent in six of their men to sack the place, presuming there would be no resistance, they took four of
them prisoners, and chased the other two back to their
band, with bullets whistling by their ears. They found
the ruffians encamped on the open prairie, but drawn
out in line for battle, where they stood perfectly still as
the free-state men neared them, firing as they neared to
get the range of their rifles. As they approached, a
small ravine only lay betwixt them, but the two lines
could be and were distinctly counted on either sidefifty-four men in rank composing the pro-slavery and
twenty-six the free-state party.   Soon, two or three of
the ruffians went down badly wounded, and one after
another of their comrades were seen tailing off, making
tracks for lvissouri at a 2: 40 gait, until barely twenty
two of them remained, when Pate raised a white flag
and surrendered at discretion, to just fourteen men
standing in the free-state array at that moment. Seven
horses, two wagons well laden with the plunder of Palmyra, two drums, and about forty stand of arms, were
among the " spoils of victory" and though Colonel Sunmner with his United States troops came down on hearing
41 
MORE NOTES ON KANSAS.
of the affray, liberated the prisoners, and restored what
they claimed as their property; the booty taken from
Palmyra was left and restored to its rilghtful  owners.
Not one free-state mall was killed or badly wounded.
The wounded lIissourianls were kindly nursed at Prairie
City till they were well enough to travel, when they
were recommended to resume that wholesome excersise
-a suggestion which they promptly and gladly heeded.
Two of those who got away died of their wvounds.  And,
though there were many alarms, and a year of marebing,
camping, scoutiing, riding, after that, to the destruction
of all industry and progress, Prairie City has seen no
organized company of border-ruffians at her doors since
that 2d day of June, 1856.
The road from that city to Lawrence (fifteen miles)
passes over a rolling country, mainly prairie, crosses the
great Santa F6 trail, now horribly cut up by many heavy
wagons passing in bad weather, then takes over a high
" divide" and along a limestone ridge which runs out into
the valley of the Wakarusa, and affords a magnificent
view of the country for an area of twenty miles in each
direction, with the prairie in good part cultivated,
gleaming in sunlight on every beid, and the Wakarusa
with ifs belt of timber making, its way through them to
join the Kaw, with its still larger belt, on the north.
Spacious mounds or spurs of limestone covered with soil
and grass rise to a height of two or three hundred feet
on every side, on one of which, visible for many miles
on every side, a flag, when raised, used to give warniing
of invasion and danger in the troublous days now hlappily passed away.  At the base of one of these spurs,
42 
MIORE NOTES ON KANSAS.
by the side of the ]Caw, sits Lawrence, clearly discernible fi'om a distance of ten miles.  Descending, from the
ri(dge, and passing over a lower prairie two or three miles,
we cross the WValarusa (a moderate creek, hardly twenty
yards wide, but very deep and with high, steep banks)
on a good toll-bricldge, traverse its wide, wet bottom, here
in good part prairie-mnarsh, and pass over two miles of
stperb prairie into the renowned citadel of frec-state
principle, the first-born  of nortlhern resolution that
Kansas should not be tamely yielded to the slaveholders,
and which does not deny its parentage.
Lawrence can only grow with the mnore thorough developmoiiet of the surrounding country.  Across  the
Kaw on the north, a large Indian reservation (the Delaware) impedes its progress, while town-sites, and very
good ones are so abundant in Kansas, that no location
but one where navigable water is abandoned for land
transportation can be of very much account.  1 should
say Lawrence has now five hundred dwellings and perhaps five thousand inhabitants; and these figures are
more likely to be over than uinder the mark.  She has a
magnificent hotel (the Eldridge Ilouse)-the best, I hear,
between the:Aissouri and the Sacramento-far better,
I fear, tlani its patronage will justify-thotugh it has
nearly all that Lawrence can give. She is to have a
great University, for which a part of the funds are
already provided; but I trust it will be located some
distance away, so as to give scope for a AModel Farm,
and for a perfect development of the education of the
brain and the hands together.   In our old states, the
cost of land is always assigned as a reason for not ble(nd
43 
MORE NOTES ON KANSAS.
ing labor with study authoritatively and systematically;
here there can be no such excuse. I trust the establishment of the Lawrence University will not be unduly
hurried, but that it will be, whenever it does open its
doors to students, an institution worthlly of its name.
I passed into the town over "Iounlt Oread," a considerable eminence on the south-west, on whose summit
the free-state fortress of other days was constructed.
It is now dilapidated, but is a place of considerable
natural strength as a defensive position, and, in the
hands of the grandsons of the men who defended Bunker IHill, would have cost something to whoever might
have taken it. As it was, the ruffians, though often in
the neighborhood in overwhelming force, and anxious
enough for its destruction, never got possession of it but
once, and then by marching, with federal officers at
their head and federal writs in their pockets.  For one,
I regret that even these were suffered to shield them,
and thus allow printing-presses to be destroyed and
houses battered down and burned with impunity.
I did not speak long in Lawrence, for I trust words
are not there needed. I1er people have had practical
illustrations of the great issue which divides the country, and are not likely soon to forget themn.  Of course,
her pioneers will die or become dispersed; new men
will come in or rise up to fill their places, and " another
king arose who knew not Joselph," will find its parallel
in her future. Thus, among her new-comers is the gentleman who led over one thousand armed Mlissourians
from Jackson County in:larch, 1855, and returned by
their votes and revolvers pro-slavery men to represent
44 
MORE NOTES ON KANSAS.
her in the bogus Legislature of that year. Hie is, of
course, an "Old-Line-Whig," of the Buchanan stripe,
and will make a first-rate "Free-State Demiocrat" in
due season. By-and-by, when the grogshops, already
too numerous in Lawrence, shall have manufactured or
attracted thither a sufficient number of ground-tier
Democrats, and mortified pride or disappointed ambition shall have wrought its perfect work with quite a
number of sometime free-state men, he may be chosen
mayor of the city of his young love, and T/e Constitution (or whatever may then be the name of the proslavery organ at Washington) may announce with guns
and trumpets that " National Democracy has triumphed
at last in the great stronghold of Kansas Abolition."
But that will not probably happen just yet.
While I was ix Lawrence, the little steamboat " Gus
Linn," Captain Beasley, came down the Kaw from
Fort Riiley, some thirty miles above the fork of the
Big Blue, two hundred and thirty-five (I believe) from
the mouth of the river, and over one hundred in a beeline. She reached the fort in a little over two days
from Kansas City, discharged her cargo, and loaded on
her way down with corn, whereof Kansas has a large
surplus of last year's growth, after supplying this year's
heavy emigration to Pike's Peak. As the Territory has
little or nothing else to sell, and almnost everything to
buy, she would like to export her corn if she had any
way by which to get it to the Missouri without costing
all it will fetch, so that this pioneer passage of a steamboat above Topeka and Manhattan was hailed with
general exultation. IHer burthen is three hundred tons,
45 
MORE NOTES ON KANSAS.
and she draws when full but thirty inches (lwhen light,
scarcely ten), and, in the present stag,e of weatei, I )resume she mnight easily go up to the Falls, twenty miles
further.  Of course, she can only do this to any purpose
wheni the water is very high; but, in the absence of
passable roads, the fact that this river can be navigated
at all throughout the most thickly-peopled portion of
Kansas, is of some consequence.
I left Lawrence by stage on Saturday morning,
crossing the Kaw by a good ferry directly at the city,
and rising to a wide and well-timbered bottom on the
north.  It is probably well for Lawrence ultimately that
this timber is in Indian hands, and therefore sure to be
preserved for some years, though for the present the
Reserve is a nuisance to her. Beyond the Kaw bottom,
stretches beautiful and gently undulating prairie, checkered by belts of timber on the creeks which traverse it,
across the Reserve and beyond, until we begin to descend the Missouri bluffs to Leavenworth.
Coming to "Turkey  Creek,"  the passengers were
turned out (as once or twice before), to lighten the
coach, which was then driven cautiously through the
steep-banked ford, while the passengers severally let
themselves down a perpendicular bank by clinging to a
tree, and crossed a deep and whirling place above the
ford, on the vilest log I ever attempted to walk-twistyv
sharp-backed, and every wvay detestable.  One of thIe
passengers refused to risk his,life on it, but hired one ot'
the lazy Indians loafing on the fiuther ltank to biind
over a pony, and let him ride across thle ford.  At "',,
Stranger," we changed coaches.with the passengers fromn
46 
MORE NOTES ON KANSAS.
Leavenworth-who had been waiting our arrival here
two hours, and must have been glad to see us-our
l)ag,age beinil first taken across the deep, ugly stream
ill a skiff, and the passengers next, either coach returning the way it came.  We  left Lawrence at nearly 10,
and arrived here (thirty-five miles) about 6 P. M.
Leavenworth is, of course, much the largest place
in Kansas, containing (I judge) one thousand houses and
ten thousand inhabitants.  The Fort, three miles up the
AMissouri, is not included in this estimate; though that
is a city of itself, with extensive barracks, capacious
storehouses, several companies of soldiers, many fine
houses for officers, sutlers, etc., and a farm of twelve
hundred acres, whllichl Uncle Sam cultivates, I presume,
to much the same profit with other gentlemen who have
fancy farms and do not oversee them very closely.  It
is a nice place, that Fort, with many excellent people
about it; but I can't help asking what it costs, and who
pays, and whether that little bill mighlt not be somewhat docked without prejudice to the public interest. I
believe it could.   Whenever our people shall have
grown wise enough to maintain no standing army whatever but the barest skeleton of one, to be clothed with
flesh whenever needed by calling out volunteers, the
annual expenditures may be reduced at least one fourth,
and we may build a railroad to the Pacific with the
savings of three or four years.
But Russell, Mfajors & Waddell's transportation establislhment, between the fort and the city, is the great
feature ofl Leavenworth. Such acres of wagons! such
pyramids of extra axletrees! such herds of oxen! such
47 
MORE NOTES ON KANSAS.
regiments of drivers and other employees!  No one
who does not see can realize how vast a business this is,
nor how imm.ense are its outlays as well as its income.
I presume this great firm has at this hour two millions
of dollars invested in stock, mainly oxen, mules and
wagons. (They last year employed six thousand teamsters, and worked forty-five thousand oxen.) Of course,
they are capital fellows-so are those at-the fort-but I
protest against the doctrine that either army officers or
army contractors, or both together, may have power to
fasten slavery on a newly organized territory (as has
just been done in New-Mexico) under the guise of letting the people of such territories govern themselves.
Yet this is just what "Squatter Sovereignty," unmodifled by a fiery anti-slavery agitation in the free-states,
will in practice amount to.
Whether the three great cities of America are to be
New York, St. Louis and Leavenworth, as one set of
friends seem to think, or New  York, St. Louis and
Atchison, as another set assure me, I do not pretend to
decide. If Atchison had the start that Leavenworth
now has, I think she would probably keep it.  But not
having it, you see, alters the case materially. The fort
is here as a fixed fact; the United States goods are
landed at the fort; so the trains are made up there; and
so Leavenworth is Leavenworth, and Atchison (for the
present) only Atchison.
1 saw a great muLle train started from the fort to-day,
and another will start soon, filled with one hundred and
sixty soldiers' wives and babies, on their way to join their
husbands in Utah, from whom they have been separated
48 
MORE NOTES ON KANSAS.
nearly two years. I argue from this fact that Uncle
Sam expects to have use for his army in Utah for some
time yet.
There has been no rain for three days; the sun is
bright and hot; the prairie-wind from the west is a
gale; the streams are down-all but " Big Mluddy,"
which does not give an inch, but rushes by Leavenworth
almost bank-full and turbid as ever. The roads which
so lately were mud, are now blowing dust in clouds;
and there is a fair prospect of settled summer weather.
I turn my face westward to-morrow.
3
49 
IV.
MORE OF KANSAS.
MANHATTAN, May 24, 1859.
I LEFT Leavenworth in the Fort Riley stage at 6 A. M.
on Tuesday, a day in advance of the "Pike's Peak Express," which crosses the U. S. military road at this
point, in order to gain time to visit Topeka and Manhattan, and sum up my impressions of Kansas for TUE
TRIBUNE. Our road firom Leavenworth lay over the
heavy hill westward (which Leavenworth must soon
cut down or it will cut her down materially), passing
thence through the rich valley of Salt Creek and over
a "divide" into that of the Stranger, which we forded at
Easton, a village of thirty to fifty houses, famous for
border-ruffian outrages and murders  in  1856.  The
bluffs of the Stranger are here one to two hundred feet
high, generally timbered with oak, etc., and so covered
with limestone bowlders that scarcely more than half
the ground is visible. These bowlders are generally
oblong and irregularly flat, making the best of stonewall. I am informed that nine rods of capital wall is
regarded as but a fair week's work for a good wallbuilder, working by himself. We pass out of the valley
just beyond Easton, rising to the slightly rolling prairie; and henceforth for forty miles to Topeka our way
lies through a gently heaving sea of grass, with timber
generally visible along the water-courses on either side. 
MORE OF KANSAS.
Occasionally, however, we descend from the crest of
the prairie into a barely perceptible hollow, and now
nothing but grass and sky are visible, the two mneeting,
at the lorizon on every side.  I do not like this regioi
quite so well as the more rolling country south of
Olathe and Prairie City, across Bull Creek and the
-tarais des Cygnes; but it is very fertile, fairly wooded,
and sufficiently irregular in surface to carry off the
water and leave few or no marshes or sloughs except in
the road, where the frequent crossing of unbridged
water-courses is attended by a jolt and a jerk which
render a doze dangerous and scarcely possible.   In
riding over such roads, all the pleasure must be drank
in through the eyes alone.
We stopped for dinner at the crossing of Grasshopper
Creek, at the village of Osawkee, once the seat of Jef ferson County's public buildings and a lanid office, both
now removed. Grasshopper Falls, I believe, next ob tained the coveted distinction of being shire town; both
another popular vote removed it thence to Oskaloosa,
on the road from Leavenworth to Lecompton, on the
north line of the Delaware Reserve, which still covers a
good part of Jefferson as well as of Leavenworth and
Wyandot Counties.  Osawkee, now probably four years
old, is therefore in a state of dilapidation and decay,
like a good many Kansas cities which figure largely on
the map. Its business having left it, its great hotel was
very mysteriously burned, and I presume the insurance
on it was duly paid. We dined here at a very modest
but comfortable tavern, kept by a kind and worthy
Pennsylvania Dutchman, who recognized me from our
51 
MORE OF KANSAS.
having met at the Whig National Convention at Iarrisburgl, nearly twenty years ago.  Bearing south of
west from Osawkee, we  crossed Rock and Muddy
Creeks (neither of them more rocky nor nmuddy than
the other), and were obliged by the lack of a bridge
(now being-repaired) over Halfday Creek, to keep on
west to a petty village called Indianola, whence we
turned a sharp angle through the magnificently fertile
and admirably timbered bottom of the Kaw or Kansas
to the Topeka ferry, which we reached a little after
sundown, but were delayed by a great contractor's
train which had been all day crossing, and was likely
to be a good part of the morrow, so that we did not get
across and into Topeka till nearly dark. I noticed with
sorrow that the oxen which draw these great supplywagons are often treated very cruelly, not merely in
respect to the beating and whaling which every human
brute delights in bestowing on every live thing over
which he domineers, but with regard to food and drink.
Here were cattle that had stood in the yoke all that
hot, dry day with nothing to eat or drink; and, when
they came down to the river mad with thirst, they were
all but knocked down for trying to drink. I was assured that oxen are sometimes kept in the yoke, without
food or drink, for two days, while making one of these
river crossings. There can be no excuse for this. Those
which have long to wait ought to be taken off and
driven a mile or more if necessary to grass and fed
there; at all events, they should be watered at least
twice a day. How can a competent train-master-to
say nothing of humanity- overlook the policy of this?
52 
MORE OF KANSAS.
The river is here wider than at Lawrence or Wyandot below, is nearly as muddy as the Missouri, and runs
with a swift current even to its baiiks. An attempt had
been made during the day to swim across a drove of
cattle; but the strong current carried them below the
ferry landing on the south, whence the steep bank forbade their getting out, so that they -went down the
river several miles, and three of them were drowned.
The experiment of swimming proved wretched economy,
alike in time and money.
Topeka is a village of probably one hundred houses
and one thousand inhabitants, situated on the north line
of Shawnee  County, which has the Sac and Fox Reserve
on the south, the Potawatamie on the north-west, and
the Delaware at a little distance on the north-east.
Along the north bank of the river opposite, a party of
hlalf-breeds have a reserve a mile wide by twenty miles
long, and I give the good-for-nothing rascals credit for
admirable judgment in selecting their land. There is
probably not an acre of their tract that could not be
made to produce one hundred bushels of shelled corn
by the application of less labor than would be required
to produce thir y bushels on the average in New York
or New Englai T1. The soil is a river deposit four to six
feet deep; the timber large and choice  oak, elm, bass,
black-walnut, sycamore, etc., with wild grape-vines four
to six inches through, and a thick undergrowth of
shrubbery and annuals. I begin to comprehend, though
I do not excuse, the covetous impatience wherewith
Indian reservations are regarded by their white neighbors.
53 
MOIRE OF KIMSAS.
Topeka was one of the strongholds of the free-state
cause throughout the dark days of Kansas. Hlere assembled the first convention chosen by the people to
frame a state constitution as a rallying point for defense and mutual protection against the border-ruffian
usurpation of 1855; here the free state legislature,
peacefully assembled in 1856 to devise and adopt measures looking to a redress of the unparalleled wrongs and
outrages under which Kansas was then writhing, was
dispersed by federal bayonets and cannon; here the
guns of the U. S. troops were pointed against a massmeeting of the people of Kansas, assembled in the open
air to devise and adopt measures for the redress of their
intolerable grievances, and that meeting compelled to
disperse under penalty of military execution. And here
I renew my vows of hostility to that federal standing
army until it shall have been disbanded. It is utterly
at war with the genius and perilous to the existence of
republican institutions. The regular soldier is of niecessity the blind, passive, mechanical instrument of power.
If ordered to shoot his own father, he must obey or be
shot himself. Twice has the French Republic been
crushed by Bonapartean usurpation —c,ushed by  the
bayonets of a standing army pointed a, the breasts of
her faithful legislators. A republic whose citizens are
not willing to do their own fighting-all that is necessary and proper-but must have a standing army to do
it for them, lies at the mercy of any bold, unscrupulous
adventurer who can work his way to the command or
the favor of that army. I trust ours is near its end.
After greeting friends and speaking in Topeka, I
54 
MORE OF KANSAS.
learned with surprise that the stage for Fort Riley
would start at three in-the morning, leaving but a narrow margin for sleep. On rising, however, I found that
the high wind would not allow us to cross the river yet,
and it was nearly six o'clock when we actually started.
We had now enjoyed three dry, bright, warm days,
which had turned most of the mire of the roads to a sort
of adobe, or sun-burned brick, though enough still remained in sunken holes and brook-crossings to remind
us of what had been. But the lightning had flashed,
and the clouds gathered throughout the night; and, as
we drove out through Indianola and took the military
road westward, the thunder gave indications of the
shower which burst upon us a little before nine o'clock
and poured till eleven, turning the brick of the road to
mire again. And, though the rain ceased, the day reminained sullen and lowering, with transient glimpses of
weak sunshine, to the end.
Our route lay for thirty miles through the Potawatamie Reserve, and was no longer encumbered with great
army supply-trains, as they were either north of us on
the California trail to Ilaramnie, or south on the road
crossing at Topeka and leading to Fort Union and Santa
F6e. A few of the wagons we passed this day may have
been heading for Forts Riley and Kearney; while "Pike's
Peakers," both going out, and returning disheartened,
were in considerable numbers. I do not see how those
returning could well resist the temptation to halt and
make claims, as I hear many have don.e, generally seeking them in the south part of the territory, where speculation has been less rampant than in the vicinity of the
55 
MORE OF KANSAS.
Kaw. With a wagon-load of provisions and three or
four yoke of oxen, a squatter might, even yet, by the
help of a good plow, get in twenty acres of sod-corn
this season, cut hay for winter, and break a glorious
breadth of prairie before hard frost could stop him next
fall. Whoever does this judiciously and resolutely will
have reason for gratitude to Pike's Peak, even though
he never see the color of its gold nor get nearer to it
than the Big Blue.
We traveled all day with the timber of the Kaw visible on the south, sometimes quite near us, then one to
two or three miles distant. Our road lay for a considerable distance along the bank of what seemed a deserted
bed of the river, which has since made a new and deeper
channel more to the south. At one point this old bed
is so deep that it still retains water, and now figures as
a narrow lake. We traversed the prairie, of course,
except where it was cut by the creeks coming down fromn
the north to lose themselves in the Kaw.  The Soldier,
the Red Vermillion, and another Rock Creek, were the
principal of these streams. Our road passed St. Mary's
(Catholic) Mission, where there is quite an Indian village and a very large improvement, which I guess white
men were paid to make. Yet, whether to their credit
or otherwise, I believe the truth cannot fairly be disputed, that Catholic Missions have been more successful
in establishing a permanent influence over Indians than
any others, except, perhaps, those of the Moravians.
At the Red Vermillion-still on the Potawatamie Reserve, but near its western edge-we dined; the landlady a half-breed —the dinner the hardest I ever yet
56 
MORE OF KANSAS.
paid half a dollar for.  Doubtless, however, my eyes
will be opened to an appreciation of cold hog and corn
dodger as delicacies, long before tlny are blessed with a
sight of the Sacramento.
A wide, marshy bottom-over which eacf charioteer
seeks an untraversed path, since a riit buries him so much
deeper in the mire-lies just west of the Yermillion
(which, with two or three other steep-banked streams,
we crossed on Indian toll-bridges, cheaply built and very
profitable to their owners;) whence the land rises into
rolling sandy ridges, some of them thinly wooded up
their sides with white and burr-oak.  Thence we strike
the old-fashioned deep, black prairie again —most invi  ting to the cultivator, but not so grateful to the traveler,
just after a soaking rain-and, passing the stakes and
ruinous cabin or so of one or two still-born cities, we
leach the Big Blue, which here joins the Kansas from the
north. It is nearly as wide as the Kansas or Kaw at
Lawrence, but of course neither so swift nor so deep. It
is far clearer, even just after a heavy shower, than the
Kansas; as is strikingly evinced at and below the junc tioni, where the two streams run for some distance side
by side in the same channel without mingling.
The Big Blue rises near the Platte, in what is now
Nebraska, but which will be included in Kansas if the
Platte is made her northern boundary, as it seems
likely to be. Its general course is a little east of south;
its length one hundred and fifty miles. I understand
that there is a good deal of settlement already along its
course and on its tributaries, though I judge from the
relative purity of its water that some part of this region
3*
57 
MORE OF KANSAS.
must be less fertile than those of Kansas I have
seen.
Manhattan is an embryo city of perhaps one hundred
houses, of which several were unroofed and three or four
utterly destroyed by a tornado on the wild night I passed
at Atchison (15th inst.) So violent was the tempest,
that a large sign-board was carried across the Blue and
thrown down fully half a mile from the spot at which it
was taken up; and other heavy articles were swept
away which have not since been found. Several families deprived of home and shelter by the hurricane are
temporarily lodged in the basement of the new hotel
just erected here-a three-story building 55 by 33, with
limestone walls and black-walnut finishing-an establishment of which there is urgent need. The embryo
city is located on the fiat, deep bottom in the forks of
the rivers, with a high limestone bluff, affording capital
material for building, just behind it. The Kansas comes
hither from the south-west, and has Fort Riley and its
large military reservation fifteen miles distant on its
north bank, with the intended city of Ogden just east
and "Junction City" just west of it, at the forks of the
Kansas, whence its more northerly branch is known as
the Republican, and its more southerly as the Smoky
Hill.
At Junction City, is a newspaper-the most westerly,
I presume, in Kansas, apart from the Pike's Peak region-founded and kept alive by an army sutler, and
of course " Democratic" in its inculcations. In opposition to it, The Mctnhattan F-xpress is about to be issued
here by M. Vivalde, an Italian exile and a devotee of
15 8 
MORE OF KANSAS.
universal liberty, who will of course sustain the republican cause. I commnend him and his journal to the
confidence and patronage of all who would like a weekly
bulletin from the Far West.  I spoke here last evening
in the midst of another gathering tempest, which burst
in rain as I closed, and it continued to flash and roll all
night, with considerable rain, and is cloudy and blowing
a gale to-day. I fear we shall be stopped by high water
on the plains.
I had hoped to sum up my impressions of Kansas in
this letter, but that would make it too long. Let me
close with an incident which is currently reported
throughout this region as having recently taken place
at a crossing of the Big Blue, known as Marysville (of
course not the Marysville of Bull Creek), some sixty
miles north of this place:
A party of disheartened gold-seekers, it is said, were
returning from the plains, and came to this ferry, which
they insisted on crossing without payment, saying they
had no money. -The ferryman refused to take them
over until paid-(another account says he asked them
an exorbitant price)-when they attempted to take his
boat and put themselves across-whereupon he drew
his revolver, they drawing almost at the same instant.
He was of course riddled with balls, and fell dead, but
not till he had either killed or severely wounded five of
his assailants.
One more illustration of border life: A quarrel recently arose about a "claim"-that fruitful source of
frays and lawsuits in new settlements-on one of the
creeks a few miles from this place. The stronger party,
59 
wMORE OF KANSAS.
composed of several who are known here as bad fellows,
told the resident he must leave, which he, in fear for his
life, consented to do. His wife, however, more resolute,
resolved to hold possession, and bade them defiance,
turning as she did so to go into the house and bar the
door.   As she turned, she was  fired at and. fatally
wounded. She died two hours thereafter, having first
made a statement of the affair, which was taken down
from her dying lips. The adverse party came down at
once to the nearest justice and told their story, expecting to clear their leader, who fired the fatal shot; but
the justice, after hearing them through, considered that
it implicated the whole party (five), and consequently
held them to answer to the charge of murder.
60
0
I 
V.
SUMMINXG UP ON KANSAS.
MANHATTAN, Jfay 26, 1859.
I like Kansas-that is, natural Kansas-better than I
had expected to.  The soil is richer and deeper; the
timber is more generally diffused; the country more
rolling, than I had supposed them. There are of course
heavy drawbacks  in remoteness from the seaboard,
heavy charges for bulky goods, low prices for produce,
Indian reserves, and the high price of good lumber.
For instance, pine boards used in building at this place
came from Alleghany County, N. Y., and were rafted
down some mill-stream to the Alleghany, thence down
the Alleghany to Pittsburgh and the Ohio to Cairo;
were thence taken up the    \    to St. Louis, the
Missouri to Kansas City, and the Kansas to this place,
which has but twice or thrice been reached by a steamboat.  When here, they were dog cheap at one hundred
dollars per thousand superficial feet, or ten cents for
every square foot. In the absence of steamboat navigation on the Kansas, they must here be richly worth one
hundred and twenty-five dollars per thousand feet.
And, while there is pretty good timber here for other
purposes, there is little-and that mainly black-wallnut
-that will make good boards.  The ready cotton wood
along the banks of the streams cuts easily, but warps so
when seasoned that it will draw the nails out of the 
SUMMING UP ON KANSAS.
side of a house. Elm is of course equally perverse; and
I have seen few indigenous boards that were not either
black-walnut or oak.  But much of the oak is small,
short, and gnarly; while the black-walnut is likely to
be exhausted. I see young ones coming up thickly in
some of the river bottoms; but these have much to contend with, and will not at best be large enough to saw
for many years. No doubt, the timber of Kansas increases each year, and will increase still faster as roads
and improvements are multiplied, limiting the sweep of
the prairie-fires; but it will always cost more to build a
decent house of wood in the interior of Kansas than in
any part of New York or New England-I think twice
as much. This is a heavy tax on a new country, where
not only houses but barns are a general, primary, and
pressing need. 1 rejoice to see the new timber creeping
up the bluffs of the streams; I note with pleasure that
much of this is hickory and some of it white-ash; I
doubt not that there will always be wood enough here
for fencing and fuel; but if the Pike's Peak region can
send a good lot of pine lumber (even yellow-pine) down
the Platte and the Arkansas, it will be worth more-to
Kansas than all her gold.
I consider Kansas well watered-no  prairie-state
better. I do not confine this remark to the present,
when everything is flooded, and likely to be more so. I
mean that springs, streams, creeks, rivers, are quite
universal. For my own private drinking, I should like
a supply not so much impregnated with lime; but, for
limestone water, this is generally quite good.
And the limestone itself is among the chief blessings
62 
SUMMING IUP ON KANSAS.
of Kansas. I presume it underlies every foot of her
soil I have yet traversed, with nearly every square mile
that will be comprised within the state of Kansas. You
see it cropping out from almost every bluff; it lies
thickly strewn in bowlders over the surface of every
headland or promontory that makes out into the bottoms, low prairies, or ravines; so that if you want to
use it, it is always to be drawn (or rolled) down hill.
Thou,gh not here needed as a fertilizer, it can everywhere be quarried with little labor into building-stone,
or burned for use in putting up chimneys and plastering
walls.  Though somewhat decomposed (I presume, by
the action of water upon it through thousands of years)
and readily cleaving into b)locks of suitable size for
lhouse-walls, it is said to harden by exposure to the
atmosphere, and make a very durable wall. It is the
constant though unobserved decomposition of this stone
that has contributed so largely to the fertility of this
soil, and now countervails the enormous waste through
the rivers. I presume all the guano imported yearly
into our country does not equal in fertilizing value the
annual outflow firom the Kansas river alone.
I judge that Indian corn can be grown here as
cheaply as anywhere on earth. Thousands of acres last
year produced their hundred bushels of shelled grain
per acre, at a very moderate cost for labor and none at
all for manure. An extensive farmer, who grew many
thousands of bushels near Leavenworth, assured me that
the cost of his corn, cribbed in the ear, was just six
cents per bushel of ears, equal to nine cents per bushel
of grain —three half bushels of ears of the great Ohio
63 
SUMMING UP ON KANSAS.
kind here cultivated making a bushel of grain. Of
course, this estimate excludes the cost of land, breaking
and fencing; but, making a fair allowance for these, the
net cost of that corn cannot have exceeded twenty cents
per bushel. I presume it would now sell in his crib for
forty cents, while here in the interior it is worth firom
twenty-five to thirty-five cents per bushel.
I met at Osawatamie an old Whig and now Republican friend who left New York City (where he had
been an industrious  mechanic) and settled between
Lawrence and Topeka two years ago.  He had last year
eighty acres in corn, which yielded four thousand bushels, worth to him thirty-five or forty cents per bushel.
His clear profit on this corn, above the immediate cost
of growing it, can hardly have been less than one thousand dollars. I-e will grow more this year, with wheat,
potatoes, etc.; yet he is one of a class who are popularly
supposed incapable of making money by farming.  I
suspect few life-long farmers of similar means will have
good buildings over their heads and fruit-trees and other
elements of material comfort around them sooner than
my friend.
Wheat and oats did badly last year, owing to the heavy
summer rains which rusted and blighted them. Too
little of either have been sown for this year's harvest,
yet I find both winter and spring wheat looking remarkably well almost everywhere. Oats are scarcely
more than out of the ground; yet they, too, promise
well, so far as can now be foreseen.
But an unpleasant trutth must be stated: There are
too many idle, shiftless people in Kansas. I speak not
64 
SLMMIiNG UP ON KANSAS.
here of lawyers, gentlemen speculators, and other nonproducers, who are in excess here as elsewhere; I allude
directly to those who call themselves settlers, and who
would be farmers if they were anything.  To see a man
squatted on a quarter-section in a cabin which would
make a fair hog-pen, but is unfit for a human habitationI, and there living from hand to mouth by a little of
this and a little of that, with hardly an acre of prairie
broken (sometimes without a fence up), with no garden,
no fruit-trees, "no nothing "-waiting for some one to
come along and buy out his "claim" and let him move
on to repeat the operation somewhere else-this is
enough to give a cheerful man the horrors. Ask the
squatter what he means, and he can give you a hundred
good excuses for his miserable condition: he has no
breaking-team; hle has little or no good rail-timber; he
has had the "shakes;" his family have been sick; he
lost two years and some stock by the border-ruffians,
etc., etc. But all this don't overbear the facts that, if
he has no good timber, some of his neighbors have it in
abundance, and would be very glad to have him work
part of it into rails on shares at a fair rate; and if he
has no bxeaking-team, he can hire out in haying and
harvest, and get nearly or quite two acres broken next
month for every faithful week's work he chooses to give
at that busy season. The poorest man ought thus to be
able to get ten acres broken, fenced, and into crop, each
year. For poor men gradually hew farms out of heavy
timber, where every fenced and cultivated acre has cost
twice to thrice the work it does here.
And it is sad to note that hardly half the settlers make
65 
SUMMING UP ON KANSAS.
any sort of provision for wintering their cattle, even by
cutting a stack of prairie-hay, when every good day's
work will put up a ton of it. If he has a corn-field, the
squatter's cattle are welcome to pick at that all winter;
if he has none, they must go into the bottoms and browse
through as best they can.  Hence his calves are miserable affairs; his cows unfit to make butter from till the
best of the season is over; his oxen, should he have a
pair, must be recruiting from their winiter's famine just
when he most urgently needs their work. And this ex.posing cattle all winter to these fierce prairie-winds, is
alike inhuman and wasteful. I asked a settler the other
day hlow lie could do it? "I had no time to make a
shelter for them."  "But had you no Sundays?-did
you not have these at your disposal?"  "0, yes? I don't
work Sundays." " Well, you should have worked every
one of them, rather than let your cattle shiver in the
cold blasts all winter-it would have been a work of
humanity and mercy to cut and haul logs, get up a cattlestall, and cover it with prairie-hay, which I will warrant
to be more religious than any thing you did on those
Sundays." But the squatter was of a different opinion.
How a man located in a little squalid cabin onil one of
these rich " claims" can sleep moonlit nlights under the
average circumstances of his class, passes my comprehension. I should want to work moderately but resolutely, at least fourteen hours of each secular day, until
I had made myself comfortable, with a fence arourid at
least eighty acres, a quarter of this partitioned off for
my working cattle, a decent, warm shelter to cover them
in cold or stormy weather, a tolerable habitation for
66 
S UINIING UP ON KA-NSAS.
my fanmily, at least forty acres in crop, and a young orchlarc  growing.   For one commencing with next to
nothing, I estimate this as the work of five years; after
which, he might take things more easily, awaiting the
fruit from his orchard and the coming up of his boys to
help hiTl.  But for the first four or five years, the poor
pioneer should work every hour that he does not absolutely need for rest.  Every hour's work then will save
him many hours in after life.
For the farmer who comes in with liberal means, the
task is obviously much easier. Let us suppose one to
be worth $5,000 the day he lands on the Kansas shore
of the Missouri, and see how quickly he can make a
farm and a home. I-e arrives, we will say, in August,
when hlie can see just what the country produces, whether
in a state of nature or under cultivation. ile buys a
quarter-sectioni (which is land enough for any man) in a
choice locality, including thirty or forty acres of timbered
river or creek bottom, say for $10 per acre, charges
$1,000 of the $1,600 thus called for to the account of
the pro-slavery democracy, for defeating the free land
bill, and sets to work, with two good hired men. Ile
buys five yoke of oxen for a breaking-team, a span of
good wagon-horses, a cow in fresh milk, and three heifers
which will be cows next spring, puts up a cabin that
will just do, and is ready to commence breaking by
the 1st of September.  As his men break, he follows
with the horses, sowing and harrowing in wheat so long
as that will answer, but does not stop breaking till the
ground is frozen. Now he begins to cut and draw timber for a fitter habitation to which to welcome his fam
67 
SUMING UP ON KANSAS.
ily in the spring.  Having done this, he gets good mechanics to finish it, while he and his men go to work at
fencing, by cutting saw-logs for light, narrow boards, if
there be a saw-mill convenient; if not, then by cutting
for and splitting rails. So soon as the dryest land will
answer for it, he begins to put in spring wheat, then
oats, then corn, putting up fence whenever the soil is too
wet for plowing.  Let him not forget to have a few
acres seasonably set in fruit-trees, some of them dwarfs
for early bearing. Thus his money will not have been
exhausted by the ensuing fall, when he will have crops
coming in and more than a hundred acres of his land
broken and subdued for future cultivation. I see no
reason why a resolute, good manager should not be comfortable after his first year or two, and henceforth take
the world as easily as need be. He who comes in with
but $2,000, $1,000 or $500, must of course be much
longer in working his way to a position of comfort and
independence; but if he will work right ahead, wasting
neither days nor dollars, and keeping clear of speculation and office-seeking, he can hardly fail to do well.
As to the infernal spirit of land speculation and monopoly, I think no state ever suffered from it more
severely than this. The speculators in broadcloth are
not one whit more rapacious or pernicious than the speculators in rags, while the latter are forty times the more
numerous.   Land speculation here is about the only
business in which a man can embark with no other capital than an easy conscience. For example: I rode up
the bluffs back of Atchison, and out three or four miles
on the high rolling prairie, so as to have some fifteen to
68 
SUMIINNG UP ON KANSAS.
twenty square miles in view at one glance. On all this
inviting area, there were perhaps half a dozen poor or
middling habitations, while not one acre in each hundred was fenced or broken. My friend informed me
that every rood I saw was "preempted," and held at
thirty up to a hundred dollars or more per acre.  "Preeinpted!" I exclaimed; how preernpted? by living or
lying?"  "Well," he responded, " they live a little and
lie a little." I could see abundant evidence of the lying,
none at all of the living. To obtain a preelmption, the
squatter must swear that he actually resides on the qularter-section he applies for, has built a habitation and
made other improvements there, and wants the land for
his own use and that of his family. The squatters who
took possession of these lands must every one have comnmitted gross perjury in obtaining preemption-and so it
is all over the territory, wherever a lot is supposed likely
to sell soon for more than the minimumn price. I hoard
of one case in which a squatter carried a martin-box on
to a quarter-section, and on the strength of that martinbox, swore that he had a house there "eighteen  by
twenty"-he left the officer to presume the feet. So it
is all over; the wretched little slab shanty which has
sufficed to swear by on one "claim," is now moved off
and serves to swear bv on another, when the first swearing is done. I am confident there is not at this hour
any kind of a house or other s;gn of improvement on
one-fourth of the quarter-sections throughout  Kansas
which have been secured by preemption.  The squatter
who thus establishes a "claim" sells it out, so soon as
practicable, to some speculator, who follows in his wake,
a
69 
SUMMING UP ON KANSAS.
getting from $50 to $300 for that which the fiuture bonafide settler will be required to pay $250 to $1,500 for.
Suchl, in practical operation, is the system designed and
ostensibly calculated to shield the poor and industrious
settlers from rapacity and extortioni; but which, in fact,
operates to oppress and plunder the real settler-to pay
a premium on perjury-to foster and extend speculation
-to demoralize the people, paralyze industry and impoverish the country.
But the fierce. ciilly gale has blowni away the tempest
of last night*-the clouds fly scattered and brassy-it
is time to look for the Leavenworth Express, whereof
two stages west from this point will bear me beyond the
bounds of settlement and civilized life. Adieu to friendly greetings and speakings! Adieu for a time to pen
and paper!   Adieu to bed-rooms and  wash-bowls!
Adieu (let me hope) to cold rains and flooded rivers!
Hurrah for Pike's Peak!
* There was a heavy snow storm that night at Denver, and throughout
its vicinity.
7o 
VI.
ON  THE  PLAINS.
Station 9, Pike's Peak Express Co., }
PIPE CREEK, May 28, 1859. 
I WAs detained at Manhattan nearly a day longer than
I had expected to be by high water.   Wildcat, five
miles west, and Rock Creek, seventeen miles east, were
both impassal)le on Thursday, so that an express-wagon
firom Pike's Peak was stopped behind the former, while
five mail-coaches and express-wagons faced eachl other
through part of Thursday and all of Thursday night
across the latter. Next morning, however, each stream
had run out, so that they could be forded, and at one
P. M. I took my seat in the Pike's Peak express, and
again moved westward.
Our wav was still along the United States military
road. crossing Wildcat, now a reasonable stream, and
winding for some miles over-rugged, thin-soiled limestone hills, then striking down south-westward into the
prairie bottom of the Kansas, which is as rich as land
need be.  A few miles of this brought us to Ogden, a
land-office city of thirty or forty houses, some of them
well built of stone. Just beyond this begins the Fort
Riley reservation, a beautiful tract of prairie and timber
stretching for four or five miles along the northern bank
of the Kansas, and including the sad remains of Pawnee
City, at which Gov. Reeder summoned the first (bogus) 
ON TIIHE PLAINS.
legislature of Kansas to meet-then fifty to one hundred
miles westward of anywhere. They obeyed the summons, but forthwith adjourned to Shawnee Mission, a
pro-slavery stronghold on the Missouri border. Pawnee
City is now of the things that were.
Fort Riley is a position which does credit to the taste
of whoever selected it. It is on high, rolling prairie,
with the Kansas on the south, the Republican on the
west, heavy limestone bluffs on the north, and the best
timber in middle or western Kansas all around.  The
barracks are comfortable, the hospital large and well
placed, the officers' quarters spacious and elegant, and
the stables most extensive and admirable.  I hear that
two millions of Uncle Sam's money have been expended
in making these snug arrangements, and that the oats
largely consumed here have often cost three dollars per
bushel. I have seen nothing else at all comparable to
this in the way of preparations for passing life agreeably
since I left the Missouri.
We here crossed by a rope ferry the Republican or
northern fork of the Kansas, which, like the Big Blue,
twenty-five miles back, seems nearly as large as the
Kansas at its mouth, though the Smoky Hill, or southern
fork at this point, is said to be the largest of the three.
We met at the ferry a number of families, with a large
herd of cattle, migrating from south-western Missouri to
California, and crossing here to take the road up the
right bank of the Republican to Fort Kearney and so to
Laramie. They had exhausted their patience in trying
to swim their cattle, and would hardly be able to get
them all ferried over till next day. All day, as on pre
72 
ON THE PLAINS.
ceding days, we had been meeting ox-wagons loaded
with disheartened Pike's Peakers, returning to their
homes, but some of them going down into southern
Kansas in search of " claims." Most of those we interrogated said they had been out as far as Fort Kearney
(some two hundred miles further, I believe), before they
were turned back by assurances that Pike's Peak is a
humbug.
Across the Republican, between it and the Smoky
Hill, is Junction City, as yet the most western village
in Kansas, save that another has been started some fifty
miles up the Smoky Hill. We stopped here for the
night, and I talked republicanism in the church for an
hour or so. Junction has a store, two hotels, and some
thirty or forty dwellings, one of which is distinguished
for its age, having been erected so long ago as 1858. A
patriotic Junctioner excused his city for not possessing
something which I inquired for, but which its rival,
Manhattan, was supposed to have;" for said he, " Mianhattan is three yeais old." As Junction is hardly a year
old yet, the relative antiquity of Manhattan, and the responsibilities therein involved, were indisputable. June
tion is the center of a fine agricultural region, though
timber is not so abundant here as I wish it were. This
region is being rapidly shingled with "claims;" I hope
it is likewise to be filled with settlers-though that does
not always follow. Our landlord (a German) had tried
California; then Texas; and now he is trying Kansas,
which seems to agree with him.
We started again at six this morning, making a little
north of west, and keeping the narrow belts of timber
4
73 
ON THE PLAINS.
along the Republican and the Smoky Hill respectively
in full view for several miles on either side, until the
streams diverged so far that we lost them in the boundless sea of grass. A mile or two of progress carried us
beyond any road but that traced only this spring for the
Pike's Peak expresses; for ten miles onward, no house,
no, field, no sign of human agency, this road and a few
United States surveyors' stakes excepted, was visible;
at length we came to where a wretched cabin and an
acre or so of broken and fenced prairie showed what a
pioneer had been doing through the last two or three
years, and beside it was a tavern-the last, I presume,
this side of Pike's Peak. It consisted of a crotched
stake which, with the squatter's fence aforesaid, supported a ridge-pole, across which some old sail-cloth was
drawn, hanging down on either side, and forming a
cabin some six by eight feet, and perhaps from three to
five and a half feet high-large enough to contain two
whisky-barrels, two decanters, several glasses, three or
four cans of pickled oysters and two or three boxes of
sardines, but nothing of the bread kind whatever. The
hotel-keeper probably understood his business better
than we did, and had declined to dissipate his evidently
moderate capital by investing any part of it in articles
not of prime necessity. Our wants being peculiar, we
could not trade with him, but, after an interchange of
courtesies, passed on.
Two miles further, we crossed, by a bad and difficult
ford, " Chapman's Creek," running south to the Smoky
Hill, bordered by a thin streak of timber, and meandering through a liberal valley of gloriously rich prairie.
74 
ON THE PLAINS.
Here we passed the last settler on our road to Pike's
Peak. iHe has been here two or three years; has
seventy-five acres fenced and broken, grew three thou sand bushels of corn last year, has a fine stock of horses
and cattle about him, with at least eight tow-headed
children under ten years old. Hiis house, judged super ficially, would be dear at fifty dollars, but I think he
neither needs nor wishes to be pitied.
Our road bore hence north of west, up the left bank
of Chapman's Creek, on which, twenty-three miles from
Junction, we halted at "Station 8," at 11 A. M., to
change mules and dine.  (This station should be five
miles further on, and three or four miles further south,
but cannot be for want of wood and water.) There is, of
course, no house here, but two small tents and a brush
arbor furnish accommodations for six to fifteen persons,
as the case may be. A score of mules are picketed
about on the rich grass; there is a rail-pen for the two
cows; of our landlady's two sun-browned children (girls
of ten and six respectively) one was born in Missouri,
the other at Laramie. I was told that their father was
killed by Indians, and that the station-keeper is her
second husband. She gave us an excellent dinner of
bacon and greens, good bread, apple-sauce and pie, and
would have given us butter had we passed a few days
later; but her cows, just arrived. have been over-driven,
and need a few days rest and generous feeding. The
water was too muddy-the prejudices of education
would not permit me to drink it-the spring being submerged by the high water of the brook, which was the
only remaining resource. She apologized for making
75 
ON THE PLAINS.
Ius eat in her narrow tent rather than under her brush
arbor, saying that the last time she set the table there
the high prairie-wind made a clean sweep of tablecloth and all upon it, breaking several of her not abundant dishes. I have rarely made a better dinner, though
the violent rain of the second previous night came nigh
drowning out the whole concern.
We were in the wagon again a few minutes before
noon (the hours kept on the Plains are good). for we
had thirty-five miles yet to make to-day, which, with a
mule team require a long afternoon. True, the roads
are harder here, less cut up, less muddy, than in Eastern
Kansas; but few men think how much up and down is
saved them in traveling over a civilized region by
bridges and causeways over water-courses. We still
kept north of west for several miles, so as to cling to
the high "divide" between Chapman's Creek and Solomon's Fork (another tributary of the Smoky Hill) so far
as possible. Soon we saw our first antelope, and, in
the course of the afternoon, five others; but not one of
them seemed to place a proper estimate on the value
of our society. Two of them started up so near us as to
be for a moment within possible rifle-shot; but they
widened the gap between us directly. We crossed
many old buffalo-trails and buffalo-heads nearly reduced
to the skeleton, but no signs that buffalo have been so
far east this season. Two or three of the larger watercourses we crossed had here and there a cotton-wood
or stunted elm on its banks, but the general dearth of
timber is fearful, and in a dry season there can be little
or no water on this long thirty-five miles. But it must
76 
ON THE PLAINS.
be considered that our route avoids the streams, and of
course the timber, to the utmost. The creek on which
we are encamped (a branch of Solomon's) is now a fair
mill-stream, but in a dry time might doubtless be run
through a nine-inch ring. It has considerable wood on
its banks-say a belt averaging ten rods in width.
Twenty miles back, the rock suddenly changed entirely from the universal limestone of Kansas, east of
Chapman's Creek to a decaying red sandstone; the
soil hence becomes sandy and much thinner; the grass
is also less luxuriant, though in some places still good.
For acres, especially on the higher ridges, there is little
or no soil; rock in place or slightly disturbed nearly
covering the surface. Through all this region, the furious rains, rushing off in torrents without obstruction,
have worn wide and devious water-courses, but they
are neither deep enough nor permanently wet enough
to shelter timber.  I reckon " claims" will not be
greedily hunted nor bought at exorbitant prices hereabouts for some years yet.
Our hostess for the night has two small tents, as at
No. 8, and gave us a capital supper, butter included;
but she and her two children alike testify that, in one
of the drenching thunder-storms so frequent of late,
they might nearly as well have been out on the prairie,
and that sleeping under such a visitation is an art only
to be acquired by degrees. They have a log-cabin
going up, I am happy to say. Their tents were first
located on the narrow bottom of the creek; but a
rapidly rising flood compelled them, a few nights since,
to scramble out, and move them to a higher bench of
77 
ON THE PLAINS.
prairie. It would have been pitiful to have been turned
out so, only the shelter they were enjoying was good
for nothing.
I believe I have now descended the ladder of artificial
life nearly to its lowest round. If the Cheyennesthirty of whom stopped the last express down on the
route we must traverse, and tried to beg or steal from
it-shall see fit to capture and strip us, we shall probably have further experience in the same line; but for
the present the progress I have made during the last
fortnight toward the primitive simplicity of human
existence may be roughly noted thus:
M~ay 12th.-CAicago.-Chocolate and morning newspapers last seen on the breakfast-table.
23d. —Leavenworth.-Room-bells and baths make
their final appearance.
24th.-Topeka.-Beef-steak  and wash-bowls (other
than tin) last visible. Barber ditto.
26th.-Janhattan.-Potatoes  and eggs last recognized among the blessings that " brighten as they take
their flight." bchairs ditto.
27thA.-Junction City.-Last visitation of a boot-black,
with dissolving views of a board bedroom. Beds bid
us good-by.
28th.-Poe Creek.-Benches for seats at meals have
disappeared, giving place to bags and boxes. We (two
passengers of a scribbling turn) write our letters in the
express-wagon that has borne us by day, and must supply us lodgings for the night. Thunder and lightning
from both south and west give strong promise of a
78 
ON THE PLAINS.
shower before morning. Dubious looks at several holes
in the canvas covering of the wagon.  Our trust, under
Providence, is in buoyant hearts and an India-rubber
blanket. Good-night.
79 
VII.
THE ROME OF THlE BUFFALO.
Station 11, Pike's Peak Express, 
CLEAR CREEK, May 29, 1859.
I CEASED writing No. VI. last night at midnight at
Station 9-the storm, which had been threatened since
dark, just bursting in wind and rain. The wind was a
gale, but upset neither tents nor wagons; the rain fell
for about an hour, then ceased, though a little more fell
this morning, and we have had thunder and lightning
at intervals through the day, and have it still, threatening showers before dawn. We rose early from our
wagon-bed this morning, had breakfast at six, and soon
bade adieu to Pipe Creek, with its fringe of low elms
and cotton-woods, such as thinly streak all the streams
we have passed to-day that are large enough to protect
timber from prairie-fires.  Very soon, we were off the
sandstone upon limestone again, which has been the
only rock visible for the last forty miles, and this but
sparingly. The soil is of course improved, but I think
not equal to that of Eastern Kansas. The face of the
country is slightly rolling-in one place, a level prairie
eleven miles wide —but even this is cut and washed out
by shallow water-courses, probably dry a good part of
each summner. We have crossed many streams to-day,
all making south for Solomon's Fork, which has
throughout been from two to six miles from us on our 
THE HOME OF THE BUFFALO.
left, its narrow belt of timber constantly sending out
longer or shorter spurs up the creeks which feed it on
either side. The route has been from fifty to two hundred feet above the bed of the Fork, keeping out of all
bottoms and marshes, but continually cut by watercourses, often with abrupt banks and miry beds, in one
of which only were we stalled until an extra span of
mules was sent from the other wagon to our aid. (The
express-wagons always go in pairs, for reciprocal aid
and security.) I presume all the timber we have passed
through since we left the Republican at Junction (and
we are now one hundred and ten miles from it by our
route, and perhaps one hundred in a straight line),
would not form a belt half a mile wide, with but a few
white-oaks to render it of any value except for fuel. A
low, long-limbed, twisty elm, forms three-fourths of all
the wood we have seen this side of Junction; the residue is mainly cotton-wood. The streams are usually
clear, except where riled by recent showers, and springs
are not infrequent.   If well timbered, this country
would be rather inviting. It is largely covered with
the dead stalks of the wild sunflower, which is said to
indicate a good soil for corn. The sunflower plant has
not started this season.
On rising our first ridg,e this morning, a herd of buffalo was seen grazing on the prairie some three miles
toward the Solomon; soon, more were visible; then
others. At length, a herd of perhaps a hundred appeared on the north-the only one we saw on that side
of our road during the day. Having been observed,
they were heading down the valley of a small creek
4*
81 
THE HOME OF THE BUFA-LO.
toward the Solomon. Just then, the tents and wagons
of a body of encamped Pike's Peakers appeared right
across a little creek; two men were running across the
prairie on foot to get a shot at the buffalo; another was
mounting a horse with like intent. The herd passed on
a long, awkward gallop north of the tents and struck
southwest across our road some forty rods ahead of us.
A Sharp's rifle was leveled and fired at them by one of
our party, but seemed rather to hasten than arrest their
progress.  But one old bull shambled along behind in a
knock-kneed fashion (having probably been lamed by
some former party); and he was fired at twice by our
marksmnen as he attempted to cross the road-once
when only fifteen rods distant. They thought they
wounded him fatally, but he vanished from our sight
behind a low hill, and their hasty search for him proved
unsuccessful.
Thence nearly all day, the buffalo in greater or less
numbers were visible among the bottoms of the Solomon
on our right-usually two to three miles distant. At
length, about 5 P. M., we reached the crest of a
"divide," whence we looked down on the valley of a
creek running to the Solomon some three miles distant,
and saw the whole region from half a mile to three
miles south of our road, and for an extent of at least
four miles east and west, fairly alive with buffalo.
There certainly were not less than ten thousand of
them; I believe there were many more. Some were
feeding, others lying down, others pawing up the earth,
rolling on it. etc. The novel spectacle was too tempting
for our sportsmen. The wagons were stopped, and two
82 
THE HOME OF THE BURALO.
men walked quietly toward the center of the front of the
herd.  Favored by a water-course, they crept up to
within fifty rods of the buffalo, and fired eight or ten
shots into the herd, with no visible effect. The animals
nearest the hunters retreated as they advanced, but the
great body of the herd was no more disturbed or conscious of danger than if a couple of mosquitos had
alighted among them. After an hour of this fruitless
effort, the hunters gave it up, alleging that their rifle
was so foul and badly sighted as to be worthless.  They
rejoined us, and we came away, leaving nine-tenths of
the vast herd exactly where we found them. And there
they doubtless are sleeping at this moment, about three
miles from us.
We are near the heart of the buffalo region. The
stages from the west that met us here this evening
report the sight of millions within the last two days.
Their trails chequer the prairie in every direction. A
company of Pike's Peakers killed thirteen near this
point a few days since.  Eight were killed yesterday at
the next station west of this by simply stampeding a
herd and driving them over a high creek-bank, where
so many broke their necks. Buffalo-meat is hanging or
lying all around us, and a calf two or three months old
is tied to a stake just beside our wagons. iHe was taken
by rushing a herd up a steep creek-bank; which so
many could not possibly climb at once; this one was
picked out ill the melee as most worth having, and
taken with a rope. Though fast tied and with but a
short tether, he is true game, and makes at whoever
goes near him with desperate intent to butt the intruder
83 
THE HOME OF THE BUFFALO.
over. We met or passed to-day two parties of Pike's
Peakers who had respectively lost three oxen or steers,
stampeded last night by herds of buffalo.  The mules at
the express stations have to be carefully watched to pre  serve them from a similar catastropheto their owners.
I do not like the flesh of this wild ox. It is tough and
not juicy. I do not forget that our cookery is of the
most unsophisticated pattern-carrying us back to the
age of the building of the Pyramids, at least-but I
would much rather see an immense herd of buffalo on
the prairie than eat the best of them.
The herbage hereabout is nearly all the short, strong
grass known as the buffalo-grass, and is closely fed
down; we are far beyond.the stakes of the land-sur veyor-beyond the usual haunts of white men. The
Santa Fe6 trail is far south of us; the California is con siderably north. Very probably, the buffalo on Solo mon's Fork were never hunted by white men till this
spring. Should one of these countless herds take a
fancy for a man-hunt, our riflemen would find even the
,_express-wagons no protection.
Though our road is hardly two months old, yet we
passed two graves on it to-day.  One is that of an in fant, born in a tent of the wife of one of the station masters on her way to his post, and which lived but a
day; the other that of a Missourian on his way to Pike's
Peak, who was accidentally shot in taking a rifle from
his wagon. His party seems to have been singularly
unfortunate. A camp or two further on, a hurricane
overtook them and tore their six wagons into oven-wood;
they were able to make but three passable wagons out
84 
THE HOME OF THE BUFFALO.
of the remains. Their loss in other property was serious; and they sustained much bodily harm. One more
of them was buried a camp or two further on.
Those whom we meet here coming down confirm the
worst news we have had from the Peak. There is
scarcely any gold there; those who dig cannot average
two shillings per day; all who can get away are leaving;
Denver and Auraria are nearly deserted; terrible sufferings have been endured on the Plains, and more must
yet be encountered; hundreds would gladly work for
their board, but cannot find employment-in short,
Pike's Peak is an exploded bubble, which thousands
must bitterly rute to the end of their days. Such is the
tenor of our latest advices. I have received none this
side of Leavenworth that contradict them. My informant says all are getting away who can, and that we
shall find the region nearly deserted. That is likely, but
we shall see.
A young clerk with whom I conversed at supper gave
me a little less discouraging account; but even he,
having frozen his feet on the winter journey out, had
had enough of gold-hunting, and was going home to his
parents in Indiana, to stick to school for a few years. I
commended that as a wise resolution. Next morning,
after we had started on our opposite ways, I was apprised by our conductor that said clerk was a woman!
I had not dreamed of such a thing; but his more practical or more suspicious eyes had seen through her disguise at once.  We heard more of her at Denver-quite
enough more-but this may as well be left untold.
85 
VII.
MST OF THE BUFFALO.
REISINGER'S CREEK, Station No. 13, )
Pike's Peak Express Co., May 31, 1859. 
I WOULD rather not bore the public with buffalo. I
fully realize that the subject is not novel-that Irving,
and Cooper, and many others, have written fully and
admirably upon it; and that the traveler's enthusiastic
recital falls coldly on the ear of the distant, critical, unsympathizing reader. Yet I insist on writing this once
more on buffalo, promising then to drop the subject, as
we pass out of the range of the buffalo before night.
All day yesterday, they darkened the earth around us,
often seeming to be drawn up like an army in battle
array on the ridges and adown their slopes a mile or so
south of us-often on the north as well. They are rather
shy of the little screens of straggling timber on the
creek-bottoms-doubtless from their sore experience of
Indians lurking therein to discharge arrows at them as
they went down to drink. If they feed in the grass of
the narrow valleys and ravines, they are careful to have
a part of the herd on the ridges which overlook them,
and with them the surrounding country for miles. And,
when an alarm is given, they all rush furiously off in the
direction which the leaders presume that of safety.
This is what gives us such excellent opportunities for
regarding them to the best advantage. They are mov 
LAST OF THE BUF.ALO.
ing northward, and are still mainly south of our track.
Whenever alarmed, they set off on their awkward but
effective canter to the great herds still south, or to
haunts with which they are comparatively familiar, and
wherein they have hitherto found safety. This necessarily sends those north of us across our roads often but
a few rods in front of us, even when they had started a
mile away.  Then a herd will commence running across
a hundred rods ahead of us, and, the whole blindly following their leader, we will be close upon them before
the last will have cleared the track. Of course, they
sometimes stop and tack, or, seeing us, sheer off and
cross further ahead, or split into two lines; but the general impulse, when alarmed, is to follow blindly and at
full speed, seeming not to inquire or consider from what
quarter danger is to be apprehended.
What strikes the stranger with most amazement is
their immense numbers. I know a million is a great
many, but I am confident we saw that number yesterday. Certainly, all we saw could not have stood on ten
square miles of ground. Often, the country for miles
on either hand seemed quite black with them. The soil
is rich, and well matted with their favorite grass. Yet
it is all (except a very little on the creek-bottoms, near
to timber) eaten down like an overtaxed sheep-pasture
in a dry August. Consider that we have traversed
more than one hundred miles in width since we first
struck them, and that for most of this distance the buffalo have been constantly in sight, and that they continue for some twenty-five miles further on —this being
the breadth of their present range, which has a length
87 
LAST OF THE BUFFALO.
of perhaps a thousand miles-and you have some ap  proach to an idea of their countless myriads. I doubt
whether the domesticated horned cattle of the United
States equal the numbers, while they must fall consider,-ably short in weight, of these wild ones.' Margaret
Fuller long ago observed that the Illinois prairies
seemed to repel the idea of being new to civilized life
and industry-that they, with their borders of trees and
belts of timber,lreminded the traveler rather of the
parks and spacious fields of an old country like England
-that you were constantly on the involuntary look-out
for the chateaux, or at least the humbler farm-houses,
which should diversify such a scene. True as this is or
was of Illinois, the resemblance is far more striking
here, where the grass is all so closely pastured and the
cattle are seen in such vast herds on every ridge. The
timber, too, aids the illusion, seeming to have been re duced to the last degree consistent with the wants of a
grazing country, and to have been left only on the steep
creek-banks where grass would not grow. It is hard to
realize that this is the center of a region of wilderness
and solitude, so far as the labors of civilized man are
concerned-that the first wagon passed through it some
two months ago. But the utter absence of houses or
buildings of any kind, and our unbridged, unworked
road, winding on its way for hundreds of miles without
a track other than of buffalo intersecting or leading
away from it on either hand, bring us back to the
reality.
I shall pass lightly over the hunting exploits of our
party.  A good many shots have been fired-certainly
88 
LAST OF THE BUFFALO.
not by me; even were I in the habit of making war on
nature's children, I would as soon think of shooting my
neighbor's oxen as these great, clumsy, harmless, creatures. If they were scarce, I might comprehend the
idea of hunting them for sport; here, they are so abundant that you might as well hunt your neighbor's geese.
And, while there have been several shots fired by our
party at point-blank distance, I have reason for my
hope that no buffalo has experienced any personal inconvenience therefrom. For this impunity, the foulness
of the rifle has had to answer in part; the greenness of
the sportsmen is perhaps equally responsible for it. But
then we have had no horse or mule out of our regular
teams, and the candid will admit that a coach-and-four
is not precisely the fittest turn-out for a hunting party.
I write in the station-tent (having been driven from
our wagon by the operation of greasing its wheels, which
was found to interfere with the steadiness of my hastilyimprovised table), with the buffalo visible on the ridges
south and every way but north of us. They were very
close down to us at daylight, and, till the increasing
light revealed distinctly our position, since which they
have kept a respectful distance. But a party of our
drivers, who went back seven miles on mules last evening, to help get our rear wagon out of a gully in which
it had mired and stuck fast, from which expedition they
returned at midnight, report that they found the road
absolutely dangerous from the crowds of buffalo feeding
on either side, and running across it-that, the night
being quite dark, they were often in great danger of
being run over and run down by the headlong brutes.
S9 
LAST OF THE BUFFALO.
They were obliged to stand still for minutes, and fire
their revolvers right and left, to save their lives and
their mules.
The superintendent of this division, Mr. Fuller, had
a narrow escape day before yesterday. iHe was riding his mule along our road, utterly unconscious of
danger, when a herd of buffalo north of the road were
stampeded by an emigrant train, and set off full gallop
in a south-westerly direction, as usual. A slight ridge
hid them from Mlr. F.'s sight till their leader came full
tilt against his mule, knocking him down, and going
over him at full speed. Mr. F. of course fell with the
dying mule, and I presume lay very snug by his side
while the buffaloes made a clear sweep over the concern-he firing his revolver rapidly, and thus inducing
many of the herd to shear off on one side or the other.
Hie rose stunned and bruised, but still able to make his
way to the station-with an increased respect for buffalo, I fancy, and a disposition to give them a reasonably wide berth hereafter. But he has gone out this
morning in quest of the mired coach, and our waiting
for his return gives me this chance to write without
encroaching on the hours due to sleep.
Two nights ago, an immense herd came down upon
a party of Pike's Peakers camped just across the creek
from this station, and, (it being dark) were with difficulty prevented from trampling down tents, cattle, and
people. Some fifty shots were fired into them before
they could be turned. And now our station-master has
just taken his gun to scare them off so as to save our
mules from a stampede.
90 
LAST OF THE BUFFALO.
But the teams have returned with the missing coach,
and I must break off and pack to go on.
STATION, 15, PRAIRIE DOG CREEK, May 31, evening.
We have made fifty-five miles since we started about
nine this morning, and our present encampment is on a
creek running to the Republican, so that we have bidden a final adieu to Solomon's Fork, and all other
affluents of the Smoky Hill branch of the Kansas.  We
traveled on the "divide" between this and the northern
branch of the Kansas for some miles to-day, and finally
came over to the waters of that stream (the Republican), which we are to strike some eighty miles further
on. We are now just half way from Leavenworth to
Denver, and our coach has been a week making this
distance; so that with equal good fortune we may
expect to reach the land of gold in another week. The
coaches we met here to-night have been just a week on
the way, having (like us) lost a day, but not, like us,
by high water: their bother was with wild IndiansArapahoes mainly-whom they report to be in great
numbers on our route-not hostile to us, but intent on
begging or stealing, and stopping the wagons peremptorily till their demands are complied with. They are
at war with the Pawnees, and most of their men are
now on the war-path; their women and children are
largely camped around the Express Companly's Stations,
living as they best may. The Pawnees, I believe, are
mainly or entirely south of our road.  The Arapahoes
boast of triumphs and slaughters which I am tempted
91 
LAST OF THE BUTFFALO.
to hope, have been or will be reciprocated. Indian
wars with each other are, in our day, cruel and cowardly plundering forays, fitted to excite only disgust.
As we left Station 14 this morning, and rose from the
creek-bottom to the high prairie, a great herd of buffalo
were seen in and around our road, who began to run
first north, then south, many standing as if confused
and undecided which course to take, and when at last
they all started southward, we were so near them that
our driver stopped his mules to let the immense impetuous herd pass without doing us any harm. Our
sportsman's Sharp was not loaded at the time; it afterward was, and fired into a herd at fair distance, but
I did not see anything drop. After this, they were
seen in greater or less numbers on the ridges and high
prairie, mainly south of us, but they either kept a respecttul distance or soon took one. We have not seen
one for the last twenty-five miles; but they are now
considerably further this way than they were a few
days since; and as every foot of the way thus far, and (I
hear) further, is carpeted with buffalo-grass, not here
eaten down, and as buffalo-paths and other evidences
that this is their favorite feeding-ground are everywhere
present, I presume they will be here in the course of a
week. But enough of them. And let me here proffer
my acknowledgments to sundry other quadrupeds with
whom I have recently formed a passing acquaintance.
The prairie-wolf was the first of these gentry to pay
his respects to us. He is a sneaking, cowardly little
wretch, of a dull or dirty white color, much resembling
a small, short-bodied dog set up on pretty long legs.
92 
LAST OF THE BUFFALO.
I believe his only feat entitling him to rank as a beast
of prey consists in sometimes, when hard pressed by
hunger, digging out a prairie-dog and making a mneal
of him. His usual provender is the carcass-no matter
how putrid-of any dead buffalo, mule, or ox that he
may find exposed on the prairies. Hie is a paltry
creature.
But the gray-wolf-who is also a denizen of the
prairies-(I think we have seen at least a dozen of the
species to-day)-is a scoundrel of much more imposing
caliber. IHe delights to lurk around the outskirts of a
herd of buffalo, keeping out of sight and unsuspected in
the ravines and creek-timber, so far as possible; and
wo to the unlucky calf that strays (which he seldom
does) outside of the exterior line of defence formed by
the bulls.  If very large and hungry, the gray-wolf will
sometimes manage to cut a cow off from the herd, and,
interposing between her and her companions, detain or
drive her further away, until she is beyond the hope of
rescue, when her doom is sealed. Iis liveliest hope,
however, is that of finding a buffalo whom some hunter
has wounded, so that he cannot keep up with the herd,
especially should it be stampeded. Let him once get
such a one by himself, and a few snaps at his hamstrings, taking excellent care to keep out of the way of
his horns, insures that the victim will have ceased to be
a buffalo, and become mere wolif-meat before another
morning.
It is impossible for a stranger to the prairies to realize
the impudence of these prairie-lawyers. Of some twenty
of them that I have seen within the last two days, I
93 
LAST OF THE' BUFFALO.
think not six have really run from us.- One that we
saw just before us, two hours ago, kept on his way
across the prairie, stopping occasionally to take a good
look at us, but not hurrying himself in the least on
our account, though for some minutes within good rifle
range.   Once to-day, our superintendent sent a ball
after one who was making very deliberate time away
from us, hitting him in a quarter where the compliment
should have expedited his movements; but it did not
seem to have that effect. It is very common for these
wolves to follow at night a man traveling the road on a
mule, not making any belligerent demonstrations, but
waiting for whatever may turn up. Sometimes the express-wagons have been followed in this way, but I
think that unusual. But this creature is up to any thing
wherein there is a chance for game.
The prairie-dog is the funny fellow of these partsfrisky himself, and a source of merriment to others.
iHe dens in villages or towns, on any dry, grassy ground
-usually on the dryest part of the high prairie-and
his hole is superficially a very large ant-hill, with the
necessary orifice in its center. On this ant-hill sits the
proprietor-a chunky little fellow, in size between a
gray squirrel and a rabbit-say about half a woodchuck.
When we approach, he raises the cry of danger-no
bark at all, but something between the piping of a frog
on a warm spring evening, and the noise made by a
very young puppy-then drops into his hole and is
silent and invisible. The holes are not very regularly
placed, but some thirty feet apart; and when I say that
I believe we have to-day passed within sight of at least
94 
LAST OF THE BUFFALO.
three square miles of these holes, the reader can guess
how many of these animals must exist here, even supposing that there is usually but one to each hole. I
judge that there cannot be less than a hundred square
miles of prairie-dog towns within the present buffalo
range.
That the prairie-dog and the owl-of a small, brownbacked, white-bellied species-do live harmoniously in
the same hole I know, for I have seen it. 1 presume
the owl pays for his lodgings like a gentleman, probably
by turning in some provisions toward the supply of the
common table. If so, this is the most successful example of industrial and household association yet furnished.  That the rattlesnake is ever admitted as a third
partner, I indignantly deny. No doubt hlie has been
found in the prairie-dog's home-it would be just like
him to seek so cozy a nest-but he doubtless entered
like a true border-ruffian, and contrived to make himself a deal more free than welcome. Politeness, or (if
you please) prudence, may have induced the rightful
owner to submit to a joint tenancy at will-the will of
the tenant, not that of the rightful landlord-but no consent was ever given, unless under constraint of that potent logic which the intruder carries in his head; and
warning whereof proceeds from the tip of his tail.
Of antelope, I have seen many, but not so near at
hand as I could wish.  I defer speaking of them, in the
hope of a better acquaintance.
A word now of the face of the country:
For more than a hundred miles back, I have seen no
stone, and think there is none, except at a great depth.
95 
LA.ST OF THE B'UFFALO.
Solomon's fork, where we left its vicinity, is now a stream
two rods wide, running but four to six inches of water
over a bed of pure sand, at a depth of some three or four
hundred feet below the high prairie level of the countrv.
I infer that there is no rock in place for at least that
depth. The subsoil of the prairies is generally a loamy
clay, resting on a bed of sand. The violent though not
frequent rains of this region form sheets of water, which
rush down the slopes into the water-courses, which they
rapidly swell into torrents, which, meeting no resistance
from rocks or roots of trees, are constantly deepening
or widening the ravines which run down to the creeks
on every side.  These gullies or gorges have originally
steep, perpendicular banks, over which, in times of
heavy rain, sheets of water go tumbling and roaring
into the bottom of the ravines, washing down the sodden, semi-liquid banks, and sending them to thicken the
waters of the Kansas and the Missouri. Thus the prairie, save some narrow, irregular ridges, or "divides," is
gradually scooped and worn into broader or narrower
valleys, some of which have three or four little precipices at intervals up their sides, where they formerly
had but one, and will eventually have none. For still
the soil is washing away and running off to the Gulf of
Mexico; and if this country should ever be cultivated,
the progress of this disaster would be materially accelerated. It needs to be timbered before it can be fit for
the habitation of civilized man. But still a few low
cotton-woods and elms along the margins of the larger
streams-not a cord of wood in all to each square mile
-are all the timber that is to be seen. I hear of some
96 
LAST OF THE BUFFALO.
poor oak on the broader streams, and an occasional
wlite-ash, but do not see them.
The prairie-wind shaking the wagon so that I write
in it with difficulty, bespeaks a storm at hand. Adieu!
5
97 
IX.
THE AMERICAN DESERT.
STATION 18, P. P. EXPRESS Co., June 2.
THE clouds, which threatened rain at the station on
Prairie-Dog Creek, whence I wrote two days ago, were
dissipated by a violent gale, which threatened to overturn the heavy wagon in which my fellow-passengers
and I were courting sleep-had it stood broadside to
the wind, it mnust have gone over. It is customary, I
learn, to stake down the wagons encamped on the open
prairie; in the valleys of the creeks, where the company's stations are located, this precaution is deemed
superfluous. But the winds which sweep the high prairies of this region are terrible; and the few trees that
grow thinly along the creek-bottoms rarely venture to
raise their heads above the adjacent bluffs, to which
they owe their doubtful hold on existence.
For more than a hundred miles back, the soil has
been steadily degenerating, until here, where we strike
the Republican, which has been far to the north of us
since we left it at Fort Riley, three hundred miles back,
we seem to have reached the acmne of barrenness and
desolation. We left this morning, Station 17, on a little
creek entitled Gouler, at least thirty miles back, and
did not see a tree and but one bunch of low shrubs in a
dry water-course throughout our dreary morning ride,
till we came in sight of the Republican, which has a 
THE AMERICAN DESERT.
little-a very little —scrubby cotton-wood nested in and
along its bluffs just here; but there is none beside for
miles, save a little lurking in a ravine which makes
down to the river from the north. Of grass there is
little, and that little of miserable quality-either a
scanty furze or coarse alkaline sort of rush, less fit for
food than physic. Soil there is none but an inch or so
of intermittent grass-root tangle, based on what usually
seems to be a thin stratum of clay, often washed off so
as to leave nothing but a slightly argillaceous sand.
Along the larger water-courses-this one especiallythis sand seems to be as pure as Sahara can boast.
The dearth of water is fearfiul. Although the whole
region is deeply seamed and gullied by water-coursesnow dry, but in raiiny weather mill-streams-no springs
burst from their steep sides. We have not passed a
drop of living water in all our morning's ride, and but
a few pailfuls of muddy moisture at the bottoms of a
very few of the ifast-drying sloughs or sunken holes in
the beds of dried-up creeks. Yet there has been much
rain here this season, some of it not long ago. But this
is a region of sterility and thirst. If utterly unfed, the
grass of a season would hardly suffice, when dry, to
nourish a prairie-fire.
Even the animals have deserted us. No buffalo have
been seen this year within many miles of us, though
their old paths lead occasionally across this tountry; I
presume they pass rapidly through it, as I should urgently advise them to do; not a gray-wolf has honored
us with his company to-day-lihe prefers to live where
there is something to eat-the prairie-dog also wisely
99 
THE AMERICAN DESERT.
shuns this land of starvation; no animal but the gopher
(a little creature, between a mouse and a ground-squirrel) abounds here; and he burrows deep in the sand
and picks up a living, I cannot guess how; while a few
hawks and an occasional prairie-wolf (cayota) lives by
picking here and there a gopher. They must find him
disgustingly lean.
I would match this station and its surroundings
against any other scene on our continent for desolation.
From the high prairie over which we approach it, you
overlook a grand sweep of treeless desert, through the
middle of which flows the Republican, usually in several shallow streams separated by sandbars or isletsits whole volume being far less than that of the Mohawk
at Utica, though it has drained above this point an area
equal to that of Connecticut. Of the few scrubby cotton-woods lately cowering under the bluffs at this point,
most have been cut for the uses of the station, though
logs for its embryo house are drawn from a little clump,
eight miles distant.  A broad bed of sand indicates that
the volume of water is sometimes a hundred-fold its
present amount, though it will doubtless soon be far
less than it now is. Its average depth cannot now exceed six inches. On every hand, and for many miles
above and below, the country above the bluffs is such
as we have passed over this morning. A dead mulebitten in the jaw this morning by a rattlesnake-lies
here as if to complete the scene.  Off the five weeks
old track to Pike's Peak, all is dreary solitude and
silence.
Speaking of rattlesnakes-I hasten to retract the
100
-  1:.. 11.1.,, 
THE AMERICAN DESERT.
skepticism avowed in a former letter as to the usual and
welcome residence of these venomous serpents in the
prairie-dog's burrow. The evidence of the fact is too
direct and reliable to be gainsayed. A credible witness
testifies that he and others once undertook to drown out
a prairie-dog in his domicil, and, when sufficient water
had been rapidly poured in, out came a prairie-dog, an
owl, and a rattlesnake all together. In another case, a
tremendous rain raised a creek so that it suddenly overflowed a prairie-dog town, when the general stampede
of prairie-dogs, owls, and rattlesnakes was a sight to
behold. It is idle to attempt holding out against facts;
so I have pondered this anomaly until I think I clearly
comprehend it. The case is much like that of some
newspaper establishments, whose proprietors, it is said,
find it convenient to keep on their staff "a broth of a
boy" from Tipperary, standing six feet two in his stockings and measuring a yard or more across the shoulders,
who stands ready, with an illegant brogue, a twinkle in
his eye, and a hickory sapling firmly grasped in his
dexter fist, to respond to all choleric, peremptory customers, who call of a morning, hot with wrath and
bristling with cowhide, to demand a parley with the
editor. The cayota is a gentleman of an inquiring, investigating turn, who is an adept at excavation, and
whose fondness for prairie-dog is more ardent than flattering. To dig one out and digest him would be an
easy task, if he were alone in his den, or with only the
owl as his partner; but when the firm is known or
strongly suspected to be Prairie-Dog, Rattlesnake &
Co., the cayota's passion for subterranean researches is
101 
THlE AMERICAN DESERT.
materially cooled. The rattlesnake is to the concern
what the fighting editor is to the journalistic organizations aforesaid.  And thus, while my faith is enlarged,
is my reason satisfied.
A word now on the antelope. I liked him when I
first saw him, days ago; I then wished for a better acquaintance, which wish has since been gratified; and
since I dined with him (that is, off of him) my esteem
has ripened into affection. Of the many antelopes I
have seen, I judge a majority considerably larger than
the deer of our eastern forests-not so tall nor (perhaps)
so long, but heavier in body, while hardly less swift or
less graceful in motion. He is the only animal I have
seen here that may justly boast of either grace or
beauty. His flesh is tender and delicate-the choicest
eating I have found in Kansas.  Shy and fleet as he is,
he is the chief sustenance at this season of the Indians
out of the present buffalo range. An old hunter assures
mne that, with all his timidity, hlie is easily taken by the
knowing.  To follow him is absurd; his scent is too
keen, his fear too great; but go upon a high prairie, to
a knoll or swell whence you can overlook fifteen or
twenty square miles; there crouch in a hollow or in the
grass, and hoist your handkerchief, or some red, flutterinig scarf on a light pole, which you wave gently and
patiently in the air; soon the antelope, if there be one
within sight, perceives the strange apparition: his curiosity is excited; it masters his caution; he makes
toward the strange object, and keeps drawing nearer
and nearer till he is within fifteen or twenty rods. The
rest requires no instruction.
1 -k)2 
THE AMERICAN  DESERT.
STATION 21, June 3, (evening), 1859.
Since I wrote the foregoing, we have traveled ninety
miles up the south branch of the Republican (which
forks just above Station 18) and have thus pursued a
course somewhat south of west.  In all these ninety
miles, we have passed just two live streams making in
from the south-both together running scarcely water
enough to turn a grind-stone. In all these ninety miles,
we have not seen wood enough to make a decent pigpen. The bottom of the river is perhaps half a mile in
average width; the soil in good part clay and covered
with a short, thin grass; the bluffs are naked sand-heaps;
the rock, in the rare cases where any is exposed, an odd
conglomerate of petrified clay with quartz and some
specks that resemble cornelian. Beside this, in some of
the bluffs, where clay overlies and is blended, under
peculiar circumstances, with the sand below it, a sort of
rock seems to be formed or in process of formation.
Water is obtained from the apology for a river, or by
digging in the sand by its side; in default of wood, corrals (cattle-pens) are formed at the stations by laying up
a heavy wall of clayey earth flanked by sods, and thus
excavating a deep ditch on the inner side, except at the
portal, which is closed at night by running a wagon
into it. The tents are sodded at their bases; houses
of sods are to be constructed so soon as may be. Such
are the shifts of human ingenuity in a country which
has probably not a cold of growing wood to each township of land.
Six miles further up, this fork of the Republican
emerges from its sandy bed, in which it has been lost
103 
TIM AMERICAN DESERT.
for the twenty-five miles next above. Of course, it
loses in volume in passing through such a land of drouth.
Probably thirty times to-day we have crossed the broad
sandy beds of creeks running down from the high prai ries-creeks which in winter and' early spring are sweep ing torrents, but now are wastes of thirsty sand. Thus
has it been for ninety miles-thus is it for many miles
above and I presume many also below. The road from
Leavenworth to Denver had to be taken some fifty
miles north of its due course to obtain even such a pas sage through the American Desert; on a direct line
from the head of Solomon's Fork, it must have passed
over some two hundred miles of entire absence of wood
and water.
I have seen, during the last three or four days, sevcral bands of wild Indians - Arapahoes, Cheyennes,
Kioways, Sioux, etc.-mainly the two former.   Of
these, the Arapahoes have been the most numerous and
repulsive. Their children swarmed around us at Station
16-the men being mainly absent on a marauding expedition against the Pawnees-the women staying in their
lodges. The young ones are thorough savages-their
allowance of clothing averaging six inches square of
buffalo-skin to each, but so unequally distributed (as is
the case with worldly goods in general) that the majority have a most scanty allowance.  A large Cheyeine
village is encamped around Station 19, where we stopped
last night; and we have been meeting squads of these
and other tribes several times a day. The Kioways are
camped some eight miles from this spot. They all profess to be friendly, though the Cheyennes have twice
104 
THE AMERICAN DESERT.
stopped and delayed the express-wagons on pretence of
claiming payment for the injury done them in cutting
wood, eating grass, scaring away game, etc.  They
would all like to beg, and many of them are deemed not
disinclined to steal. We are to pass through several
more encampments, but expect no trouble from them.
Thie Cheyennes are better clad, and seem to have more
self-respect than the Arapahoes, but they are all low in
the scale of intellectual and moral being, and must fade
away unless they can be induced to work.  More of
them hereafter.
The unusual dullness of this letter is partly explained
by an accident. Two evenings since, just as we were
nearing Station 17, where we were to stop for the night,
my fellow-passenger and I had a jocular discussion on
the gullies into which we were so frequently plunged, to
our personal discomfort.  He premised that it was a
consolation that the sides of these gullies could not be
worse than perpendicular; to which I rejoined with thile
assertion that they could be and were-for instance,
where a gully, in addition to its perpendicular descent
had an inclination of forty-five degrees or so to one side
('f the track.  Just then, a violent lurch of the wagon
to one side, then to the other, in descending one of these
jolts, enforced my position. Two minutes later, as we
were about to descend the steep bank of the creek-intervale, the mules acting perversely (being frightened, I
tear, by Indians) my friend stepped out to take them by
tile head, leaving me alone in the wagon. Immediately
wse began to descend the steep pitch, the driver pulling
'.p with all his might, when the left rein of the leaders
5*
105 
THE AMERICAN DESERT.
broke, and the team was in a moment sheared out of the
road and ran diagonally down the pitch. In a second,
the wagon went over, hitting the ground a most spiteful blow. I of course went over with it, and when I
rose to my feet as soon as possible, considerable bewildered and disheveled, the mules had been disengaged by
the upset and were making good time across the prairie,
while the driver, considerably hurt, was getting out
from under the carriage to limp after them. I had a
slight cut on my left cheek and a deep gouge from the
sharp corner of a seat in my left leg below the knee,
with a pretty smart concussion generally, but not a bone
started nor a tendon strained, and I walked away to the
station as firmly as ever, leaving the superintendent and'
my fellow-passenger to pick up the pieces and guard
the baggage from the Indians who instantly swarmed
about the wreck. I am sore yet, and a little lame, but
three or four days' rest if I can ever get it-will make
all right. This is the first and only accident that has
happened to the express-line, though it has run out some
thirty passage-wagons from Leavenworth, and perhaps
half so many back from Denver, over a track where
there was no track six weeks ago. And this was the
result of a casualty for which neither driver nor company
was to blame.
Three days hence, I hope to be at Denver (one hundred and eighty-five miles distanft), whence our latest
advices are very cheering to the hearts of the legions of
faint and weary gold-seekers we have passed on the
way. I trust, for their sakes, that this news will prove
fully true.
106 
X.
GOOD-BYE TO THE DESERT.
DENVER, June 6, 1859.
MY last, I believe, was written at Station 20, ninety
miles up the Republican from the point at which the
Leavenworth Express Company's road strikes that river
in the great American desert. Six miles farther up, the
stream disappears in.the deep, thirsty sands of its wide
bed, and is not seen again for twenty-five miles. Even
a mile or two below its point of disappearance, I learn
that recent excavations in its bed to a depth of eight
feet have failed to reach water. Its reappearance below
this point is marked, and seems to be caused, by the
tinlely junction of a small tributary from the south,
which appears to flow over a less thirsty bed, and pours
into the devouring sands of the Republican a small but
steady stream, aided by which the river begins to riappear, first in pools, and soon in an insignificant but
gradually increasing current.   At  the head of this
"sink," the stream disappears in like manner to that of
its emergence. Here is Station 22, and here are a socalled spring, and one or two considerable pools, not
visibly connected with the sinking river, but doubtless
sustained by it. And here the thirsty men and teams
which have been twenty-five miles without water on the
Express Company's road, are met by those which have
come up the longer and more southerly route by the 
GOOD-BYE TO THE DESERT.
Smoky Hill, and which have traveled sixty miles since
they last found water or shade. This is a sore trial for
weary, gaunt, heavy-laden cattle, and doubtless proves
fatal to many of them. The Pike's Peakers from the
Smoky Hill whom I met here, had driven their oxteams through the sixty miles at one stretch, the time
required being two days and the intervening night.
From this point westward, the original Smoky Hiill
route is abandoned for that we had been traveling,
which follows the Republican some twenty-five miles
further. Its bed is often dry, or only moistened by little
pools exuding from the meagre current which filters
slowly thriough the deep sands below.  Where the bed
is narrow and the channel under one bank, the petty
stream is seen creeping slowly away to the Kansas, the
Missouri, the Mississippi, the Gulf of Mexico.   Of
course there are seasons when the river runs aboveground throughout, and others when the "sink" is far
longer than now.
The face of the country remains as I have already
described it, save in the greater scarcity of wood and
water. The bluffs are usually low, and the dry creeks
which separate them are often wide reaches of heavy
sand, most trying to the ill-fed teams. There is little
grass on the rolling prairie above the bluffs, and that
little generally thin, dead, worthless. Some of the drycreek valleys have a little that is green but thin, while
the river bottom-often half a mile wide-is sometimes
tolerably grassed, and sometimes sandy and sterile. Of
wood, there is none for stretches of forty or fifty miles:
the corrals are made of earth, and consist of a trench
108 
GOOD-BYE TO TIlE DESERT.
and a mud or turf wall; one or two station-houses are
to be built of turf if ever built at all; and at one station the fuel is brought sixty miles from the pineries
further west.  Even the grasses are often coarse and
rushy, or so alkaline as to be injurious to cattle; the
more common plants seem to be wild sage and wild
wormwood. The cactus-which had begun to appear
some two hundred miles back-grows common, but is
dwarfed by the pervading sterility; the Spanish nettle
and prickly pear are abundant further on. But little
rock is seen, and that looks like a volcanic conglomerate.
Yet the river, such as it is, is the life of this region;
the groulnd-squirrel of the prairies digs his holes profusely in its vicinage; the hawk and the raven circle
and swoop in pursuit of him; the antelope often looks
down from the ridges, and is hunted with success; the
bark of the cayote is heard; the gray-wolf prowls fearless and ferocious, and does not hesitate to rob cows of
their young calves in spite of the desperate maternal resistance, and even to attack and disable ponies. The
harness of the mules which draw the express-wagons
have been often gnawed and injured as they hung up
beside the tents, in which half a dozen men were sleeping,, by these impudent miscreants. They may easily be
shot by any one who will bait and patiently, skillfully
hunt them.
A ride over a rolling "divide" of some twenty miles,
brought us to the "Big Sandy," running south-west to
become tributary (when it has anything to contribute)
to the Arkansas.  Like the Republican, it is sometimes
a running stream, sometimes a succession of shallow
109 
GOOD-BYE TO THE DESERT.
pools, sometimes a waste of deep, scorching sand. A
few paltry cotton-woods, a few bunches of low willow,
may have graced its banks or those of some dry creek
running into it, in the course of the twenty miles or so
that we followed up its northern bank, but I do not now
remember any.  I recollect only that the grass at intervals along its narrow bottoms seemed a little better than
on the upper course of the Republican. One peculiarity of the Big Sandy I had not before observed-that
of a thin, alkaline incrustation-mainly of soda, I believe-covering many acres of the smoother sands in its
dry bed. Hence I infer that.the water of its stagnant
pools must be prejudicial to man or beast. At length
we crossed its deep, trying sand and left it behind us,
passing over a high "divide," much cut up by gullies
through which the water of the wet seasons tears its
way to the Arkansas on the south or the Platte on the
north, until we struck, at five last evening, the first living tributary to the Platte-a little creek called Beaver,
which I have not seen on any map. It is about ten
miles east of the Bijou, with which it probably unites
before reaching the Platte.
After leaving the valley of Big Sandy, the grass of
the uplands be('omes better, and is no longer confined
to the water-courses. It spreads in green luxuriance
up the southward slopes of considerable hills, which
seems to be owing to vast drifts of snow in winter,
swept over and off the tops of hills by the fierce prairiewinds, and piled up here to a height of fifteen or twenty
feet, to be slowly dissolved by the warmer suns of the
spring months, and thus give rise to an after-growth of
110 
GOOD-BYE TO THE DESERT.
grass which contrasts strongly with the surrounding
sterility.
At Beaver Creek we saw, for the first time in many
weary days-for more than two hundred miles at the least
-a clump of low but sturdy cotton-woods, thirty or
forty in number-part of them laid low by the devastating axe, but still giving hope that the desert was nearly
past.  And, six or seven miles further, just as night was
falling, we came in sight of pines, giving double assurance that the mountains were at hand. Pike's Peak
in the west-south-west, and Long's Peak in the westnorthl-west, (the latter nearly the direction of Denver),
had stood revealed to us hours before, by the gleam of
their snowy diadems, as the morning sun dispelled the
chill mists of the preceding night; but their majesty
was a bleak and rugged one; while the pines, though
but scattered clumps of the short and scrubby variety
known in New-England and the south as pitch-pine,
lent a grace and hospitality to the landscape which only
the weary and wayworn, who  have long traversed
parched and shadeless deserts, can appreciate. They
grow here mainly in steep ravines, and often show marks
of fire which the bareness of the surrounding prairiessterile as "pine plains" are apt to be-renders to me inexplicable. Possibly, the fires that scorched them were
kindled in the leafy carpet spread beneath them by the
trees themselves.
This is but the northern outskirt of the pine region,
which stretches far south, through Arkansas and beyond, soon thickening into forests and widening to a
breadth of some sixty miles. Scattered as it is, I could
ill 
GOOD-BYE TO THE DESERT.
hardly repress a shout on meeting it. And it was a
pleasure to see, last evening, the many parties of wayworn  gold-seekers  encamped  beside our way, after
their long journey through a woodless region, surrounding great, ruddy, leaping fires of the dead pitch-wood,
and solacing themselves for their long privation by the
amplest allowance of blaze and warmth; for the climate
of the American desert is terrible. Be the day ever so
hot in the sun's unsoftened glare, the night that follows
is sure to be chill and piercing, driving the musketoes
and bnffalo-gnats to their hiding-places directly after
sunset. The fierce prairie-wind searches to the marrow
(ice froze a quarter of an inch thick on the Plains on
the 26th of May), and a shower at this season is very
apt to be accompanied by hlail as well as thunder aind
lightning.  I trust our country has no harsher climate,
save high among her grandest mountains.
From the Bijou to Cherry Creek-some forty milesI can say little of the country, save that it is high rolling prairie, deeply cut by several streams, which run
north-eastwardly to join the Platte, or one of its tributaries just named. We passed it in the night, hurrying
on to reach Denver, and at sunrise this morning stopped
to change mules on the bank of Cherry Creek, twelve
miles south of this place (which is situated at the junction of the creek with the south fork of the Platte).
The "foot hills" of the Rocky Mountains seemed but
a few miles west of us during our rapid ride down the
smooth valley of the Cherry Creek, which has a fine
belt of cotton-wood only, but including trees of immense
size-not less than three to four feet in diameter. The
112 
GOOD-BYE TO THE DESERT.
soil of the adjacent prairie seems light and sandy,
but well grassed, and capable of yielding oats, potatoes,
etc.; but the elevation (hardly less than six thousand
feet), and the proximity of the Rocky Mountains, whose
snow-covered crests, gleaming between and over the
"foot hills," seem hardly twenty miles distant, must ever
render the growth of corn difficult, if not absolutely
impossible. Wheat, I understand, has been grown fifty
to eighty miles south of this, with moderate success.
Still, if the adjacent gold mines realize the sanguine
expectations now entertained here, this region will require miillions on millions' worth of food fromn the rich
prairies and bottoms of Kansas proper, Nebraska, and
Missouri, and we shall need but the Pacific railroad to
open up a most beneficent home-trade, and give the rich
valley of the Missouri and its immediate tributaries
better markets than those of the east.
And I fervently trust that the fond expectations of
these gold-seekers, however chastened, may not be disappointed. For the sake of the weary, dusty, foot-sore
thousands I have passed on nmy rapid journey from
civilized Kansas to this point, I pray that gold may be
found here in boundless extent, and reasonable abundance. Throughout the next six weeks, they will be
dropping in here, a hundred or more per day; and I
trust that they are not to be sent home disappointed,
spirit-broken, penniless. If they must recross the great
desert with their slow-muloving teams, may they be enabled to do so with lighter hearts and heavier purses.
For the very mothers who bore them would hardly
recognize their sons now toiling across the Plains, and
113 
GOOD-BYE TO THEi DESl,ltT.
straggling into this place, hideously hirsute, recklessly
ragged, barefoot, sun-browned, dust-covered, and with
eyes shielded (where they have them) by goggles from
the glare of the prairie-sun, reflected from the desert
clay. A true picture of gold-seekers setting out from
home, trim and jolly, for Pike's Peak, and of those
same gold-seekers, sober as judges, and slow-moving as
their own weary oxen, dropping into Denver, would
convey a salutary lesson to many a sanguine soul. Nay,
I have in my mind's eye an individual who rolled out
of Leavenworth, barely thirteen days ago, in a satisfactory
rig, and a spirit of adequate self-complacency, but who
-though his hardships have been nothing to theirsdropped into Denver this mnorning in a sobered and
thoughtful frame of mind, in dust-begrimied and tattered habiliments, with a patch on his cheek, a bandage
on his leg, and a limp in his gait, altogether constituting a spectacle most rueful to behold.  It is likely to be
some time yet before our fashionable American spas,
and summer resorts for idlers will be located among the
Rocky Mountains.
As to gold, Denver is crazy. She has been low in
the valley of humiliation, and is suddenly exalted to
the summit of glory.  The stories of days' works, and
rich leads that have been told me to-day-by grave,
intelligent men-are absolutely bewildering. I do not
discredit them, but I shall state nothing at second-hand
where I may know if I will. I have come here to lay
my hand on the naked, indisputable facts, and I mean
to do it. Though unfit to travel, I start for the great
diggings (fifty miles hence nearly due west in the glens
of the Rocky Mountains) to-morrow morning.
114 
XI.
THE KANSAS GOLDXDIGGINGS.
IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS,
Gregory's Diggings, June 9, 1859.  f
WE left Denver at six yesterday morning, in a wagon
drawn by four mules, crossing immediately by a rope
ferry the south fork of the Platte. This fork is a swift,
clear, cold stream, now several feet deep and some
twenty rods wide, but fordable except when snows are
melting in the mountains. Many gold-seekers' wagons
were waiting to cross, and more were momently arriving, so that the ferryman at least must be making his
pile out of the diggings.  Henceforward, our way lay
north-west for fifteen miles, across a rolling and wellgrassed prairie, on which one or two farms had been
commenced, while two or three persons have just established "ranches" —that is, have built each his corral, in
which cattle are herded at night, while allowed to run
at large on the prairie during the day: $1.50 per month
is the usual price per head for herding in this way, and
the cattle are said to do very well.  The miners leave
or send back their cattle to hlerd on these prairies, while
they prosecute their operations in the mountains where
feed is generally scarce.
Reaching Clear Creek, (properly Vasquer's Fork), a
cold, swift, rocky-bottomed stream, which emerges just
above through a deep, narrow cation from the Rocky 
TIIE KANSAS GOLD-DIGGINGS.
Mountains-we left our wagons, saddled tire mules and
forded the creek-(and it was all our mules could do to
stemn its impetuous current)-ascended a gentle, grassy
slope to the foot of Rocky Mountains-which had for
an hour seemed almost within a stone-throw on our left.
Now they were to be faced directly, and the prospect
was really serious. The hill on which we were to make
our first essay ill climbing, rose to a height of one thousand six hundred feet in a little more than a mile-the ascent for most of the distance being more than one foot in
three. I never before saw teams forced up such a precipice; yet there were wagons with ten or twelve hundred weight of mining tools, bedding, provisions, etc.,
being dragged by four to eight yoke of oxen up that
giddy precipice, with four or five men lifting at the
wheels of each.  The average time consumed in the ascent is some two hours. Our mules, unused to such
work, were visibly appalled by it; at first they resisted
every effort to force them up, even by zigzags. My
companions all walked, but I was lame and had to ride,
much to my mule's intense disgust. He was stubborn,
but strong, and in time bore me safely to the summit.
New as this rugged road is-it was first traversed five
weeks ago to-day-death had traveled it before me.
A young man, shot dead while carelessly drawing a
rifle from his wagon, lies buried by the roadside on this
mountain. I have heard of so many accidents of this
nature-not less than a dozen gold-seekers having been
shot in this manner during the last two months-that I
marvel at the carelessness with which fire-arms are
every where handled on this side of the Missouri.  Had
o,,.
116 
THE KANSAS GOLD-DIGGINGS.
no single emigrant across the Plains this season armed
himself, the number of them alive at this moment
would have been greater than it is.
We traveled some two miles along the crest of this
mountain, then descended, by a pitch equally sharp with
the ascent, but shorter, to a ravine, in which we rested
our weary animals and dined. That dinner-of cold
ham, bread and cheese-was one of the best relished of
any I ever shared. Re-saddling, we climbed another
precipice a little less steep-and so up and down for ten
miles, when we descended into the narrow valley of a
little branch of Clear Creek, and thenceforward had ten
miles of relatively smooth going, crossing from one valley to another over hills of moderate elevation and easy
ascent.
A wilderness of mountains rose all around us, some
higher, some lower, but generally very steep, with sharp,
narrow ridges for their sunmmnits. Some of them are
thinly grassed, between widely scattered trees up their
sides and on their tops; but they are generally timbered, and mainly with yellow-pine, some of it quite
large, but more of it smnall and apparently young.
High on the mountains, this pine is short and scraggy,
while in the ravines it grows tall and shapely, but averagres not more than a foot in diameter. Hurricanes
h]ave frequently swept these mountains, prostrating the
pines by scores; fires have ravaged and decimated
them; still, pines on the summits, pines on the hill
sides, pines even in the ravines, are all but universal.
The balsam-fir grows sparingly in the ravines; hemlock,
also, is reported, though I have not seen it: but the
117 
THE KANSAS GOLD-DIGGINGS.
quaking-asp or aspen-which seems but a more delicate
species of cotton-wood-is thick-set in the ravines, and
sometimes appears on the more moderate acclivities, as
do gooseberry bushes in the glens. Brooks of the purest water murmur and sing in every ravine; springs
abound; the air is singularly pure and bracing; the elk,
black-tailed deer and mountain-sheep are plentiful, except where disturbed by the in-rush of emigration;
grouse are common and bold: the solitude was sylvan
and perfect until a few weeks ago.  All is now being
rapidly changed, and not entirely for the better.
We had a smart shower, with tlunder and lightning, during the afternoon, which compelled us to halt a
few minutes. Another such this afternoon, indicates
that it is a habit of the country. I am told, however,
that though thunder is common, rain is generally withheld at this season, or confined to a mere sprinkle.
Night fell upon us, while yet six or seven miles from
the diggings, and we camiped in the edge of the pines,
on the brow of a gentle acclivity, with a prospect of
grass as well as water for our weary, hungry beasts
down the slope south of us. Mine had fallen to her
knees in the last water-course we had passed, very
nearly throwing me over her head; had she done it, I
am sure I had not the strength left to rise and remount,
and hardly to walk the remaining half mile.  As it
was, I had to be lifted tenderly firom my saddle and laid
on a blanket, with two more above me, where I lay
while the fire was built, supper prepared, and a lodge
of dry poles and green pine boughs hastily erected. I
was too tired to eat, but the bright, leaping flame from
118 
THE KANSAS GOLD-DIGGINGS.
the dry pines heaped on our fire gradually overcame
the shivering, which was about the only sign of vitality
I showed when first laid down, and I at length resumed
the perpendicular by an effort, and took my place in
our booth, where sleep but fitfully visited me during
that bright, cool, short summer night. But this left me
more time to rub my chafed and stiffened limbs, so that,
when breakfast was called in the morning, I was ready,
appetite included, and prepared to dispel the apprehensions of those who had predicted, on seeing me taken
off my mule, that I must be left there for at least a day.
By six o'clock, we were again in the saddle, and pushing on, over a stony but rather level table-land, which
extended for two or three miles, thickly covered with
young pines and aspens, to the next ravine, whence the
road leads up a short, steep hill, then down a very long,
equally steep one, to Ralston's fork of Clear Creekbeing as rapid and rock-bottomed as where we had
crossed the main creek the day before thirty miles
below, but with only one-third the volume of water, so
that we forded it easily without a wet foot. A little
runnel coming in from the west directly at the ford,
with its natural translucency changed to milky white
ness by the running of its waters through sluices in
which the process of gold-washing was going forward,
gave us assurance that we were in immediate proximity
to the new but already famous workings called, after
their discoverer, " Gregory's I)iggings."*
I shall not here speak of their pecuniary success or
* Now (October) known as "Mountain City."
119 
TIlE KANSAS GOLD-DIGGINGS.
promise, though I have visited, during the day, a majority of those which have sluices already in operation,
and received reports from my fellow-visitors from nearly
all the others.: Having united with them in a statement
- to be herewith forwarded-of what we saw and
learned, I refer those who feel any interest in the matter to that statement.  What I propose here to do is to
give the reader some idea of the place and its general
aspects.
The little brook which here joins Clear Creek from
the west starts at the foot of mountains three or four
miles distant, and runs in a usually narrow ravine between generally steep hills from five hundred to fifteen
hundred feet high. Gregory's lead is very near its
mouth; half a mile above seems the heart of the present
mining region, though there are already sluices in operation at intervals for at least two miles up the runnel,
and others are soon to be started at intervals above
them. Three or four miles south-west firom its mouth,
are Russell's Diggings, where coarse gold is procured,'
but I was unable to visit them. Prospecting is actively
going forward in every direction, and vague reports of
lucky hits or brilliant prospects are started on this side
or on that, but I have not been able to verify them.
It is no disparagement to the others to say that, though
mining is carried on at various points within a radius of
thirty miles from this spot, "Gregory's Diggings" are
to-day the chief hope of gold-mining in the Rocky
Mountains.
Six weeks ago, this ravine was a solitude, the favorite
haunt of the elk, the deer, and other shy denizens of the
120 
THE KANSAS GOLD-DIGGIN'GS.
profoundest wildernesses, seldom invaded by the foot steps of man. I believe this strip of country has long
been debatable land between the Utes and the Arapa hloes, which circumstance combined with its rarely acces sible situation to secure its wild tenants against human
intrusion and persecution. I ]hear that the Arapahoes
say that a good "lodge-pole trail "-that is, one which a
pony may traverse with one end of the lodge-poles on
his back, the other trailing behind him-exists from
this point to the open prairie where Clear Creek debouches from the mountains-a trail which doubtless
winds along the steep sides of the ravines and avoids
the rugged heights necessarily traversed by the miner's
wacgol-road.  Should these diggings justify theirpreseilnt
promise, I doubt not a road will in time be made, reducing by one-half-say five thousand feet-the present
aggregate of ascent and descent between this and Denver.  But an unworked wagon-road must avoid the
sides of these steep-banked ravines, running square up
,thie fixes and along the crests of the mountains, so that
this spot is destined to remain barely accessible for at
least another year.
This narrow valley is densely wooded, mainly with
the inevitable yellow-pine, which, sheltered from  the
fierce winds which steep the mountain-tops, here grows
to a heighlt of sixty or eighty feet, though usually but.a
foot to eighteen inches in diameter. Of these pines,
log,-cabins are constructed with extreme facility, and
probably one hundred are now being  built while three
r ifour hundred more are in immediate contemplation.
7'itey are covered with the green boughs of the pines,
121 
THE KANSAS GOLD-DIGGINGS.
then with earth, and bid fair to be commodious and
comfortable. As yet, the entire population of the valley
-which cannot number less than four thousand, including five white women and seven squaws living with
white men-sleep in tents, or under booths of pine
boughs, cooking and eating in the open air. I doubt
that there is as yet a table or chair in these diggings,
eating being done around a cloth spread on the ground,
while each one sits" or reclines on mother earth.  The
food, like that of the plains, is restricted to a few staples
-pork, hot bread, beans and coffee forming the almost
exclusive diet of the mountains; but a meat-shop has
just been established, on whose altar are offered up the
ill-fed and well-whipped oxen who are just in from a
fifty days' journey across the plains, and one or two
cows have been driven in, as more would be if they
could here been subsisted. But these mountains are
mainly wooded, while the open hill-sides are so dry
during summer that their grass is very scanty. It is
melancholy to see so many over-worked and half-starved
cattle as one meets or passes in this ravine and on the
way hither. Corn is four dollars per bushel in Denver,
and scarce at that; oats are not to be had; there is not
a ton of hay within two hundred miles, and none can
ever be brought hither over the present road at a cost
below forty dollars per ton. The present shift of humane
owners is to herd their oxen or mules on the rich grass
of the nearest prairies for a week or so, then bring then
in here and keep them at work for a week or mnore, letting them subsist on browse and a very little grass, and
then send them down the mountain again. This, bad
122 
THIE lANSAS GOLD-DIGGINGS.
as it is, seems the best that can be done. Living of all
kinds will always be dear at these mines, where Ameri can flour is now selling at the rate of forty-fonr dollars
per barrel, and bacon is worth fifty cents per pound;
sugar ditto.
I presume less than half the four or five thousand
people now in this ravine have been here a week; he
who has been here three weeks is regarded as quite an
old settler.  The influx cannot fall short of five hundred
per day, balanced by an efflux of about one hundred.
Mlany of the latter go away convinced that Rocky
Mountain gold-mining is one grand humbug.  Some of
them have prospected two or three weeks, eating up
their provisions, wearing out their boots-and finding
nothing,. Others have worked for the more fortunate
for one dollar per day and their board and lodgingcertainly not high wages when the quality of the living
is considered.  And I feel certain that, while someperhaps many- will realize their dreams of wealth here,
a far greater number will expend their scanty means,
tax their powers of endurance, and then leave, soured,
heart-sick, spirit-broken. Twenty thousand people will
have rushed into this ravine before the 1st of September, while I do not see how half of them  are to find
profitable employment here. Unless, therefore, the area
of the diggings shall meantime be greatly enlargedof which there is no assurance-I cannot imagine how
half the number are to subsist here, even up to that
early setting in of winter which must cause a general
paralysis of mining, and consequently of all other Rocky
Mountain industry. With the gold just wrested from
123 
TIlE KANSAS GOLD-DIGGINGS.
the earth still glittering in my eyes-and one company
has taklen out to-day, at a cest of not more than twenty five dollars a lump (condensed by the use of quicksilver)
which looks like a steel-yard-poise and is estimated as
worth five hundred and ten dollais —I adhlere to my
long,-settled conviction that, next to outright and indisputable gambling, the hardest (thoughl sometimes the
quickest) way to obtain gold is to miine for it-that a
good farmer or mechanic will usually make money
faster-and of course immeasurably easier-by sticking
to his own business thani by deserting it for gold-digging
-and that the man who, hlaving flailed in some other
pursuit, calculates on retrieving, his fortunes by  goldmining, makes a mistake which he will be likely to rue
to the end of his days. 
We had a famous gathering a few rods from this tent
this evening.  The estimate of safe men puts the number present at fifteen hundred to two thousand. Though
my name was mnade the excuse for it, brief and forcible
addresses were made by several others, wherein  ining,
postal, and express facilities, the Pacific railroad, thle
proposed new Rocky ]Mounttain state, temperance, gamlbling, etc., etc., were discussed with force and freedom.
Such a gatlerinng of men suddenly drawn; hither fionI
every section, and nearly every state, in a glen where
the first axe was raised, tile first tent pitched by white
men, less than six weeks ago, should have inspired the
dullest speaker with earnestness, if not with eloquence.
Mining quickens alinost every department of useful
industry.  Two coal-pits are burning close at hand.  A
blacksmith has set up his forge here, and is making a
124 
THE KANSAS GOLD-DIGGINGS.
good thing of sharpening picks at fifty cents each. A
vol-.ntteer post-office is just established, to which an
express-office will soon attach itself.  A provision store
will soon follow; then groceries; then dry goods; then
a hotel, etc., until within ten years tile tourist of the
continent will be whirled up to these diggings over a
longer  but far easier road winding around the mountaintops rather than passing over them, and will sip his
chocolate and read his New York paper —not yet five
days old-at the " Gregory IIouse," in utter unconsciouisness that this region was wrested from the elk and
the mountain-sheep so recently as 1859.
.,-1
DENVER, June 10, 1859.
We left the diggings yesterday morning, and came
down to the foot of the mountains, in spite of a drizzliij,g rain from noon to three or four o'clock, wl-lich at
ope time threatened a heavy shower.  We made a poor
shelter of a buffalo-skin and a rubber blanket, stretched
across a fallen tree, and there waited half an hour;
but, finding the rain neither stopped nor grew violent,
wve saddled up and came on. Two accidents, which
might have proved serious happened to members of our
party-the first to ]Ir. ~illard, of Cincinnati, who, riding at some distance from all others, was thrown by his
mule's saddle slipping forward and turning under him,
so that he fell heavily on his left arm, which was badly
bruised, and thence was dragged a rod with his heel
fast in the stirrup. His mule then stopped; but when
I rode up behind him, I dared not approach him lest I
should start her, and waited a moment for the friend
125 
TIrE KANSAS GOLD-DIGGINGS.
who, having heard his call for help, was coming up in
front.  M1r. V. was released without further injury, but
his arm is temporarily useless.  The other casualty happened to Sir. Kershaw, of New York, who, riding to
my assistance at Clear Creek crossing at nightfall, was
thrown by his mule's starting at the rush of a savage
dog, and considerably injured, though hlie is nearly well
to-day.  It would have been to me a source of lasting
sorrow had his fall resulted in more serious damage.
When we reached Clear Creek on our way up three
mornings since, though the current rushing from the
mountains looked somewhat formidable, I charged it
like a Zouave, and  was greeted with three ringing
shouts from the assembled Pike's Peakers, as I came
up, gay and dripping, on the north shore.  But now,
thoulgh the water was but a few inches higher, the
starch was so completely taken out of me by those
three days' rough experience in the mountains, that I
had neither strength nor heart for the passage. I felt
that the least stumble of my mule over the round, slippery stones that fill the channel would fling me, and
that I was unable to stand a moment in that rushing
torrent.  So, driving, in my mule after the rest of the
party, and seeing her reach the south bank safely,
though with great difficulty-breaking a girth and
spilling saddle, blanket, etc., into the water-I betook
myself to a spot, half a mile up stream, where the creek
is split by islets into three channels, and where a rude
foot-bridge of logs affords a dry-shod passage. Here I
was met by my  friend with his mule, and in a few
minutes rode to our wagon, beside which we found
126 
THIE KANSAS GOLD-DIGGINGS.
supper in an emigrant tent and lodging in several, 4nd
at four o'clock this morning harnessed up and drove
illto Denver-just three whole nien out of a party of
six, and all as weary and care-worn as need be, but all
heartily gratified with our experience of three days in
the Rocky Mountains.
127 
XIL
THE PLAINS-THE MOUNTAINS.
DENVER, June 15, 1859.
1  Now far greater contrasts than that between the
region which stretches hlundieds of miles eastward from
this spot toward the -iissouri, and is known as fhe
PlaiUs, and that which overlooks us on the west, and,
alike by its abrupt and sharp-ridged foot-hills seeming
just at hand, and its glittering peaks of snow in the
blue distance, vindicates its current designation, The
.fotntains.  Let mne elucidate:
The plains are nearly destitute of human inhabitants.
Aside from  the buffalo-range-which has been steadily
narrowing ever since Daniel Boone made his home in
Kentucky, and is now hardly two hundred miles wide
-it affords little sustenance and less shelter to man.
The antelope are seldom seen in herds-three is the
highest number I observed together, while one, or at
most two, is a more common spectacle. One to each
mile square would be a large estimate for all that exist
on the plains. Elk are scarcely seen at all, even where
they have hardly ever been hunted or scared.  Of deer,
there are none, or next to none.  For the plains are the
favorite haunt of beasts and birds of prey-of the
ravenous and fearless gray-wolf, of the cayote, the
raven, and the hawk-the first hanging on the flanks of 
THE PLAINS-TIE:fOURNTAINS.
evely great herd of buffalo, ready to waylay any foolish
calf or heedless heifer that imay chance to stray for
water or fi'esher grass beyond the protection of the
hard-headed and chivalrous patriarchs, behind whose
-igilaniit ranks there is comparative safety, and counting
as their property any bull, even, whom wounds or disecse or decrepitude shall compel to fall behind in the
perpetual mnarch.  For, while a stray buffalo, or two, or
three, may linger in some lonely valley for months-for
all winter, perhaps-the great herds which blacken the
earth for miles in extent cannot afford to do so-they
arc so immenesely numi erous and find their safety in
traveling so compactly that they must keep moving or
starve. Avoiding, so far as possible, the wooded ravines
of the slender water-courses, where experience has taught
them to dread the lance-like arrow of the lurking Indian,
they keep to the high "divides," or only feed in the valleys while they have these well covered  by sentinel
luills to give warning of any foe's approach. Take away
the buffalo, and the plains will be desolate far beyond
their present desolation; and I cannot but regard with
sadness the inevitable and not distant fate of these noble
and harmless brutes, already crowded into a breadth of
country too narrowe  for them, and continually hunted,
slaughtered, decimated, by the wolf, the Indian, the
white man. They could have stood their ground against
all in the absence of fire-arms, but "villainous salpeter"
is too much for them.  They are bound to perish; I
trust it may be oftener by sudden shot than by slow
starvation.
Wood and water-the prime necessities of the trav
6*
129 
THE PLAINS THE MOUNTAIlS.
eler as of the settler-are in adequate though not abundant supply for a hundred miles and more on this as
they are throughout on the other side of the buffalorange; at length they gradually fail, and we are in a
desert indeed. No spring, no brook, for a distance of
thirty to sixty miles (which would be stretched to more
than a hundred* itf the few tracks called roads were not
all run so as to secure water so far as possible)-rivers
which have each had fifty to a hundred miles of its
course gradually parched up by force of sun and wind,
and its waters lost in their own sands, so that the weary,
dusty traveler vainly digs for hours in their dry beds in
quest of drink for his thirsty cattle-rivers which dare
not rise again till some firiendly brook, hlaving its source
in some specially favored region, pours in its small but
steady tribute, moistens the sands of the river-bed, and
encourages its waters to rise to the surface again. In
one case, an emigrant assures me that lie dug down to
the bed-rock of one of these rivers, yet found all dry
sand. 
I know not that I can satisfactorily account, even to
myself, for the destitution of wood which the Plains
everywhere present, especially the western half of them.
The poverty of the soil will not suffice, for these lands,
when sufficiently moistened by rain or tlhawing snowdrifts, produce grass, and are not so sterile as the rocky
hills, the pebbly knolls, of New England, which, never
* Since writing the above, I learn by a newly arrived Pike's Peaker
that the waterless stretch of desert is already a hundred miles long, and
that every day's sun is extending it.
130 
THE PLAINS-THlE M()OUNTAINS.
theless, produce wood rapidly and abundantly. On the
Prairies of Illinois, Missouri, and eastern Kansas, the
absence of wood is readily accounted for by the annual
fires which, in autumn or spring, sweep over nearly
every acre of dead grass, killing every tree-sprout that
may have started up from scattered seeds or roots runnirig from the timber in the adjacent ravine beneath
the matted grass. But here are thousands of acres too
poorly grassed to be swept by the annual fires-on
which the thinly scattered reed-stalks and bunch-grass
of last year shake dryly in the fierce night-winds-yet
not a tree nor shrub relieves the tameness, the bareness,
the desolation, of thousands after thousands of acresnot a twig, a scion, gives promise of trees that are to
be.  For a time, the narrow ravine or lowest intervale
of the frequent streams were fairly timbered with cotton-wood, and low, sprawling elm, with a very little oak,
or white-ash at long intervals intermixed; but these
grew gradually thinner and feebler until nothing but a
few small cottonwoods remained, and these skulking
behind bluffs, or in sheltered hollows at intervals of
twenty to forty niles.  Once in ten or twenty miles, a
bunch of dwarf willows, perhaps two feet high, would
be found cowering in some petty basin washed out by
a current of water many years ago; but these, like the
cotton-woods, are happy if able to hold their own; indeed, I have seen much evidence that wood was more
abundant on the Plains a hundred years ago than it
now is. Dead cotton-woods, of generous proportions,
lie in the channels of dry brooks on which no tree nor
shrub now grows; and, at one or more stations of the
11 
THE PLAINS-THIIE 3OITNTAINS.
express-company, near the sink of tlie Repulblican, they
find dead pine eight miles up a cieek, where no living
p)ine has been seen for generations. I judge that the
desert is steadily enlarging its borders and at the same
time intensifying its barrenness.
The fierce drouth that usually prevails throughout
the summer, doubtless contributes to this, but I think
the violent and all but constant winds exert a still more
disastrous potency.   Iligh winds are of frequent, all
but daily, occurrence here, within a dozen miles of the
great protecting bulwark of. the Rocky 3fountains;
while, from a point fifty miles eastward of this, they
sweep over the Plains almost constantly, and at times
with resistless fury.  A  driver stated on our way lip,
with evey appearance of sincerity, that he had known
instances of tires being blown off from wagon-wheels
by the tornados of the Plains; and, hard to swallow as
that may seem, I have other and reliable assurance that,
when the Alissourianis' camup, on the express-road, was
swept by a hurricane, five or six weeks ago, so that,
after the wreck, but three decent wagons could be
patched up out of their six, as I have already narrated,
one of the whleel-tires was found not only blown off but
nearly strailghtened out! There is almost always a good
breeze at mid-day and after, on the Plains; but, should
none be felt during the day, one is almost certain to
spring up at sunset, and blow  fiercely through the
night.  Thus, though hot days, or parts of days, are
frequent on the Plains. I have experienced not even a
_moderately warm  night.  And  thus trees  are not;
mainly because the winds uproot or dismember them,
132 
THE PLAINS-THE TTOUNTAITNS.
or so rockl and wrench thlen  while young, that their
roots cannot suck up even the little nourishment that
this soil of bakin(, clay resting on porous sand would
fain afford them.  Thus the few shoots that cleave the
surface of the earth soon wither and die, and the broad
landscape remains treeless, cheerless, forbidding.
But the dearth of water and wood on the plains is
paralleled by the poverty of shrubbery and herbage. I
have not seen a strawberry-leaf-far from  me be the
presumption of looking for a berry! —since I left the
Mfissouri three weeks  ago;  and  the last blackberry
.bramble I observed grew on Chapman's Creek-at all
events, the other side of the buffalo-range. A raspberry-cane has not blessed my  sight these  three weary
weeks, nor aughlit else that might be hoped to bear an
old-fashioned fruit, save the far-off blackberries aforesaid, and two or three doubtful grape-vines on some
creek a great way back.  The prickly pear, very rare
and very green, is the only semblance of fruit I discovered on the plains; a dwarfish cactus, with its leaves
close to the ground; the Spanish nettle-a sort of vegetable porcupine-a profusion of wild sage, wild wormwood, and other such plants, worthless alike to man and
beast, relieved by sonie well-gnawed grass in the richer
valleys of winter watercourses (the flora usually very
scanty and always coarse and poor)-such are my recollections of the three hundred miles or so that separate
the present buffalo-range from the creeks that carry
snow-w-ater to the Platte and the pines that herald our
approach to the Rocky Mountains.
1,0)3 
THE PLAINS-THE MOUNTAINS.
THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
And now all changes, but slowly, gradually.  The
cactus, the Spanish nettle, the prickly pear continue,
even into and upon the mountains; but the pines,
though stunted and at first scattered, give variety, softness and beauty to the landscape, which becomes more
rolling, with deeper and more  fiequent valleys, and
water in nearly all of them; the cotton-woods along the
streams no longer skulk behind blliffs or hide in casual
hollows; you may build an honest camp-fire without
fear of robbing an embryo county of its last stick of
wood, and water your mules generously without drying
up some long, pretentious river', and condemning those
who come after you to weary, thirsty marches through
night and day. The cotton-woods, as you near the windquelling range of protecting heights, which rise, rank
above rank, to the westward, (the more distant still
white-robed with snow) grow large and stately-some
of them sixty to seventy feet high, and at least three
feet in diameter; the unwooded soil ceases to be desert
and becomes prairie once more; but still this is in the
main a sandy, thinly grassed region, which cannot compare with the prairies of Illinois, of Iowa, or eastern
Kansas.
There seems to be as rich and deep soil in some of the
creek-bottomns, especially those of the South Platte, as
almost anywhere; and yet I fear the husbandman is
doomed to find even this belt of grassed and moderately
rolling land, which stretches along the foot of the Moun tains to a width of perhaps twenty miles, less tractable
134 
THE PLAINS-THIE MOUNTAINS.
and productive than fertile. It lies at such an elevation
-fronm  five thousand to six thousand feet above the
ocean level-that, though its winters are said to be
moderate, its springs cannot be early.  There was a fall
of a foot of snow in this region on the 26th of 3Iay,
when ice formed to a quarter-inch thllicknless on the
Plains; and when summer suddenly sets in, about the
1st of June, there are hot suns by day, and cool, strong
winds by ni,ght, with a surfeit of petty thunder squalls,
but little or no rain. The gentle rain of last Thllursday
in the mountains fell, for a short time, in sheets just at
their feet-say for a breadth of five miles-and there
ceased. Hardly a drop fell within five miles west, or
for any distance east of this place, thoughl the earth was
soaked only ten miles further west.  Hence, the enterprizing few who have commenced farms and gardens
near this poilnt, tell me that their crops have made no
progress for a week or two, and can make none till they
have rain. I trust wheat and rye will do well here
whenever they shall be allowed a fair chance; barley
and oats, if sowed very early on deeply-plowed land,
may do tolerably; but corn, though it comes up well
and looks rank at present, will hardly ripen before frost,
even should it escape paralysis by drouth; while potatoes, peas, and most vegetables will probably require
irrigation, or yield but sparingly. Yet, should the gold
mines justify their present promise, farming, in the
right localities at the base of these mountains, even by
the help of irrigation, will yield-to those who bring to
it the requisite sagacity, knowledge, and capital-richer
rewards than elsewhere on earth. Everything that can
135 
TH-E- PLAINS-THE I[OUTNTAINS.
be growni here will command treble or quadruple prices
foir years; and hlie who produces anytlhing calculated to
diversity and improve the gross, mountainous diet of
salt pork, hot bread, beans, and coffee, nlow necessarily
all but universal in this rc,ionl, will be justly entitled
to rank with public benefactors.
And the Rocky Alountains, with their grand,  aromatic forests, their grassy glades, their frequent springs,
and dancing, streams of the briglhtest, sweetest water, their
pure, elastic atmosphere, and their unequalled game
and fish, are destined to be a favorite resort and home
of civilized man. I never visited a region where physical life could be more surely prolonged or fully enjoyed.
Thousands who rush hither for gold will rush away
again disappointed and disgusted, as thousands have
already done; and yet the gold is in these mountains,
and the right men will gradually unearth it.  I shall
be mistaken if two or three millions are not taken out
this year, and some ten millions in 1860, thoiugh all the
time there will be, as now, a stream of rash adventurers
heading away firom the diggings, declaring that there is
no gold tlhere, or next to none. So it was in California
and in Australia; so it must be here, where the obstacles
to be overcome are greater, and the facilities for getting
home decidedly better. All meii are not fitted by nature
for gold-dig gers; yet thousands will not realize this until
they have been convinced of it by sore experience. Any
good phrenologist should have been able to tell half the
people who rushed hither so mnadly during the last two
months that, if these mountains had been half made of
gold, they never would get any of it except by minding
I 6 
THiE P.LAINS-TIIE  _()U-t'TAI. INS.
their own proper business, which was quite other than min in(.  And still the long plrocession is erossing' the Platte
and Clear Creek, and pressing up the "Hill Difficulty"
in mIad pursuit of gold, whereof not one fifth will carry
back to the states so much as they brought away.  New
leads will doubtless be discovered, new veins be opened,
new "diggings" or districts become the lage-.for it
were absurd to suppose that little ravine known  as
Gr-egory's, rtunning to Clear Creek, the sole depository
of gold worth workling in all this iegion-and in time
the Rocky MIountains will swarm with a hardy, iiidustrious, carergetic lwhite population.  Not gold alone,
but lead, iron, and (I think) silver or cobalt, have already been diseovered here, and other valuable minerals,
doubtless will be, as the mountains are more thoroughly
explored-for as yet they have not been even run over.
Those whlo are now intent on the immediate organization and admission of a new state may be too fast, yet
I believe the Rockyv 3iouiltains, and their immediate
vicinity-say between Fort Laramie on the north, and
Taos on the southl-will within three years have a white
population of one hundred thousand, one half composed
of men in the full vigor of their prime, separated by
deserts and waste places from the present states-obliged
to rely on their own resources in any emergency, and
fully able to protect and govern themselves.  Why not
let them be a state so soon as reasonably may be.
1lining is a pursuit akin to fishling, and hunting, and,
like them, enriches thie few at the cost of the many.
This region is doubtless foreordained to many chlanges
of fortune; to-day, giddy with the intoxication of sue
13 i 
THE PLAINS-TIE MOUNTAINS.
cess-to-morrow, in the valley  of hIumiliationi.   One
day, report will be made on the Alissouri by a party of
disappointed gold-seekers, that the " Pike's Peakl humbug" has exploded, and that every body is fleeing to the
states who can possibly get away; the next report will
represent these diggings as yellow with gold.  Neither
will be true, yet each in its turn will have a certain thin
substratum of fact for its justification.   Each season
will see its thousands turn away disappointed, only to give
place to other thousands, sanguine and eager as if none
had ever failed. Yet I feel a strong conviction that
each succeeding monthl's researches will enlarge the field
of mining operations, and diminish the difficulties and
impediments which now stretch across the gold-seeker's
path, and that, ten years hence, we shall be just beginning fairly to appreciate and secure the treasures now
buried in the Rocky Mountains.
138 
XIII.
THE GOLD IN  THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
DENVER, June 20, 1859.
For some ten years past, vague stories affirming or
implying the existence of gold in our country's principal chain of mountains, have from time to time reached
the public ear; but they seemed to rest on very slight
or insecure foundations, and attracted but limited and
transient attention. An Indian's, or trapper's, or trader's bare assertion that, in traversing the narrow ravines and precipitous heights of our American Switzerland lie had picked up a piece of quartz lustrous with
gold, or even a small nugget of the pure metal, was calculated to attract little attention, while California was
unfolding her marvelous treasures, and while the fact
stood forth clear and unquestioned, that not one pound
of the precious dust from all the region watered by the
Missouri's mountain tributaries had ever been known
to swell the world's aggregate of the all-desired metal,
and not one company, or individual even, was known
to be seeking the yellow idol on this side of the backbone of our continent. So far as I can learn, the first
three parties ever organized to search for gold in all
this Rocky Mountain region, were fitted out in the
springii of 1858, from the Cherokee nation firom Missouri,
and from Kansas (Lawrence) respectively; and these,
though they carried home or sent home large stories of
the auriferous character of the country they "pros 
THE GOLD  N THI-IE ROCKY M()IO'TAINS.
pected," took with them precious little gold.  But their
reports aroused a spirit of gold-seekiiig adventure in
others, so that. the ensuing (last) fall witnessed a rush of
three or four hundred, mainly men of broken fortunes
from the dead mushroom "cities" of Nebraska and Kansas, to the region watered by the South Platte and the
more northerly sources of the Arkansas. For some reason, this point —the junction of Cherry Creek with the
South.Platte-becamie the focus of the gold-ihunt; here
those who staid tihrough the autumn and winter busied
themselves in putting up log cabins, and writing home
to their friends in the states, accounts of the richness of
this region in gold-a metal which, except in very minite quantities, they had seen but with the eye of faith.
I doubt that three thousand dollars' worth of gold in
every shape, had been taken out by the five or six hunldred seekers who camne to this region in hot pursuit of
it, down to the first day of last month —May, 1859.  I
doubt it, not merely because I have never seen any reliable accounts of that much gold being sent or received
fiom here prior to that date, but because the gold does
not exist where it had almost exclusively been soulght
down to that day.  Cherry Creek, thoughl its extremne
sources are near Pike's Peak, is so headed off from the
mountains by the South Platte, that I can hardly realize
that it should bring down any gold at all; and, at best,
washing for gold the sands of either of these streams
near their junction, seems to me much like washling the
banks of the Amazon, in MIaritime, Brazil, for the gold
of thile Andes.  Yet nearly all the gold-hunting of this
region, up to last month, had been done in the sands of
140 
xIII.
THE GOLD IN TIHE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
DENVER, June 20, 1859.
For some ten years past, vague stories affirming or
implying the existence of gold in our country's principal chain of mountains, have from time to time reached
the public ear; but they seemed to rest on very slight
or insecure foundations, and attracted but limited and
transient attention. An Indian's, or trapper's, or trader's bare assertion that, in traversing the narrow ravines and precipitous heights of our American Switzerland he had picked up a piece of quartz lustrous with
gold, or even a small nugget of the pure metal, was calculated to attract little attention, while California was
unfolding her marvelous treasures, and while the fact
stood forth clear and unquestioned, that not one pound
of the precious dust fromn all the region watered by the
Missouri's mountain tributaries had ever been known
to swell the world's aggregate of the all-desired metal,
and not one company, or individual even, was known
to be seeking the yellow idol on this side of the backbone of our continent. So far as I can learn, the first
three parties ever organized to search for gold in all
this Rocky Mountain region, were fitted out in the
spring of 1858, from the Cherokee nation from Missouri,
and firom Kansas (Lawrence) respectively; and these,
though they carried home or sent home large stories of
the auriferous character of the country they "pros 
TIlE GOLD) IN THE IOCKIY MiOLNTAINS.
these creeks, most of it miles distant from the m-nountains.
There is testimony that several dollars' wvorthl of dust per
day to the hand was thus washed out in certain happily
chosen spots; but such successes were transient; and,
despite all the glowing accounts set forth in letters to
the states, it is clear that all the gold-washling done
throu ghout this region up to last month, had not paid
an average of fifty cents per day's work; wvlile the cost
of each mana's subsistence, while thus employed, cannot
have fallen short of a dollar per day. And thle high
waters of the streams preclude advantageous washing in
the spring, even were gold far more abundant and endu ring in their sands than it has yet been proved.
Such was the actual state of things when the first
flood of gold-seekling immigration began to pour in upon
Auraria and Denver two months or more ago.  Many
of the seekers had left home with very crude ideas of
gold-di,ggingi,, impelled by glowing bulletins from writers who confounded sanguine expectations with actual
results, and at best sl)oke of any casual realization of
five to ten dollars fi'om  a day's washiing as though it
were a usual and reliable reward of gold-seeking industry tihrougliout this region.  Many  wsho  came  were
doubtless already wearied and disgusted with the hardships of their tedious journey-with sleeping in wet
blankets through stormns of snow and hurricanes of hlail,
and urging hollow and weary cattle over imnamense, treeless plains, on wvhich the grass had hardly started.
Comling in thus weather-beaten, chafed and soured, and
finding but a handful of squalid adventurers living in
the rudest log huits, barred out from the mountains by
141 
THE GOLD IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
snow and ice, and precludea from washing, the sands of
the streams on the plains by high water, they jumped
at once to the conclusion that the whole thing was a
humbug, got up by reckless speculators to promote selfish ends.  They did not stop to reason, much less to
explore; but, spurred by a laudable even if untimnely
longing to "see Nancy and the children," they turned
their cattle's heads eastward and rushed pell-mlell down
the Platte, sweeping back nearly all they met.  I estimnate the number who have started for " Pike's Peak"
this season and turned back at not less than forty thousand, and their positive loss by the venture (inii time,
clothing and money) at not less than an average of fifty
dollars eachi-or, in all, two millions of dollars.
Meantime, a few of the pioneers of this region —mainly experienced gold-miners from Georgia, California,
and even Australia-were quietly proceeding to prospect the mountains, so fast as the disappearance of snow
and ice would permit-and, before the snow was fairly
off the hithler ranges, while it still lay solid and deep on
the central and higher chain, Air. J. I-I. Gregory, a'veteran Georgia gold-digger, had struck the lead on a
branch of Vasquer's Fork (Clear Creek) some thirty
miles west of this place by an air-line and forty-five by
trail, which has since been the main focus and support
of the gold-fever. Other leads have since been opened
in the same ravine and its vicinity; Mr. Green Russell
(another Georgian) is reported to be doing exceedingly
well in his " guleli diggings" three miles souttl-west of
Gregory's; we have various reports of good leads struck
at sundry points ten to fifteen miles west, south and
-W 142 
THE GOLD IN THE ROCKY M3OUNTAINS.
north of Gregory's; and we' have a further report that
quartz of marvelous richness in gold has been found on
the other side of the snowy range, some sixty miles west
of Gregory's, and not far from the Middle Park, whence
the water flows to Grand River, and thence, through the
Colorado, into the Gulf of California.
I indorse none of these reports as absolutely true,
thoughl all but the last are probably so.  Tens of thousands wsill vainly ransack these mountains for gold
through weeks and months, and leave them at last
ra(ged and despondent, as hundreds are leaving them
now; yet rich leads will continue to be struck, veins to
be opened, sluices to be constructed, through years to
come; and I shall not be disappointed to find the district yet prospected a mnere corner of the Rocky Mountain Gold Region, of which the center is very probably
a hundred miles north or south of this point.  It may be
north (of Laiamie even.  All that has yet been done
toward the thioroughl development of the gold-producing
capacity of the Rocky Mountains is very much what
tickling an elephant's ear with a pin would be toward
dissecting him.
But will disemboweling these mountains in quest of
gold pay?  A  very pregnant question.  I answer-It
will pay some; it will fail to pay others.  A few will
be amply and suddenly enriched by finding "leads"
and selling "claims;" some by washing those " claims;"
other some by supplying the mountains with the four
apparent necessaries of mining  life-lwhisky, coffee,
flour, and bacon; others by robbing the miners of their
hard earnings through the instrumentality of cards,
143 
144      THE GOLD IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
roulette, and the "little joker;" but ten will come out
here for gold for every one who carries back so much as
he left home with, and thousands who hasten hither
flushed with hope and ambition will lay down to their
long rest beneath the shadows of the mountains, Nvith
only the wind-swept pines to sigh their requiem.
Within this last week, we have tidings of one young
gold-seeker committing suicide, in a fit of insanity, at
the foot of the mountains; two more found in a ravine,
long dead and partially devoured by wolves; while five
others, with their horse and dog, were overtaken, some
days since, while on a prospecting tour not far firom
Gregory's, by one of those terrible fires which, kindled
by the culpable recklessness of some camping party,
finds ready aliment in the fallen pine leaves which
carpet almost the entire mountain region, and are
fanned to fury by the fierce gales which sweep over the
hill-tops, and thus were all burned to death, and so
found and buried, two or three days since-their homes,
their names, and all but their fearful fate, unknown to
those who rendered them the last sad offices. Ah! long
will their families and friends vainly await and hope for
the music of footsteps destined to be heard no more on
earth! Thus, Death seems to be more busy and relentless on these broad, breezy plains, these healthful, invigorating mountains, than even in the crowded city or
the rural district thick-sown with venerable graves.
It is my strong belief that gold is scarcely less abiundant in the Rocky Mountains than in California, though
it seems, for many reasons, far less accessible. It is
first. Much further from the sea-board, or from any 
THE GOLD IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
navigable water or means of easy approach; second.
Belted by dcserts and by regions on which little or no
rin falls in summer, so that food, and almost every
necessary of life, will here be permanently dearer than
in Calif6rnia; third. So elevated (six thousand feet and
over above tide-water) that little can be done at mining
for a full half of each year; and fourth. Most of the
gold which has been broken down and washed out of
the veins by water-courses has been so swept along and
dispersed by the fierce mouintain-torrents that very little
of it can be profitably washed out; hence, mining here
must be mainly confined to the veins, and will thus involve blasting, raising by windlass, etc., etc., and so require large investments of eapital for its energetic and
successful prosecution. While, therefore, I believe that
these mountains will soon be yielding gold at the rate
of many millions per annum, I say most emphatically
to the poor men who want gold and are willing to work
for it,-This is not the country for you! Far better seek
wealth further east through growing wheat, or corn, or
cattle, or by any kind of manual labor, than come here to
dig gold. One man may possibly acquire wealth faster
in this gold-lottery than in New England or Kansas;
but let one thousand poor men come hither to mine,
while the same number resolve to win a competence by
eminent industry and frugality in the east, and the latter will assuredly have more wealth at five years' end
than the former-and will have acquired it with far less
sacrifice of comfort, health and life.
And here let me say, in closing up the subject, that I
think the report made by Messrs. Richardson, Villard
7
145 
146      TIlE GOLD IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
and myself, of what we saw and learned at Gregory's
Di,ggiings, is fully justified by more recent results.  For
example: we gave the first four days' product of W.
Defrees & Co. from Indiana (running one sluice) at $66,
$80SO, $95, and $305 respectively-the four following
days not returned. I have since obtained them; and
they range as follows: $257, $281, $203, $193-or $388
more than those of the four days for which we gave the
returns. This company then sold out their claimn for
seven thousand dollars, and on the eighth of June opened
a sluice on another, which in four days produced as follows: $31, $205, $151, $213. Another Indiana company, miscalled Sopris, Hlenderson & Co., in our report,
ran two sluices on the 9th and 10th, realizing about
$450 per day, and on the 11th had three sluices in operation for the first, and cleaned up $1,009 (really worth
about $900) from the product of that day's labor of
twelve men. Some scores are doing well, though few
quite so well as this; but of the thousands who are doing nothing-at least, realizing nothing-who shall repolrt? Some of these issue daily from the mountains,
out of provisions, out of means, out of heart; and,
between this and snow-fall, thousands like them will
come out, still more hungry, weary, forlorn, and take
their way down the Platte as gaunt and disconsolate as
men ever need be.  But this, and mnuch more, will not
dissuade new thousands from rushing to take their
places, so long as it is known that the Rocky Alountains
contain gold.
P. S. — -A friend just in from the,Iounitains, who had
a narrow escape from the flames, confirms our worst ru 
THE GOLI) IN TflE ROCKY M[OUNTAINS.
inors of disaster and death.  lHe says not less than fif t(ebnd men  have  fallen victims to the conflagration,
wlticeh  is still raging, and threatens even the dense
crowd of tents and cabins at Gregory's. My friend in forms me that the fire began very near where we camped
idurinlg my first weary night in the Mountains, and
would seen to have been purposely set by reckless sim pIetons curious to see the woods in a blaze!  He thinks
the victims were generally, if not uniformly, smothered
before the fire reached them-the dense, pitchy smoke
at once shrouding the vision and obstructing respira tion. He says the flames swept throu,lgh the pines and
above their tops to a hiei,ghllt of two hundred feet, with
a roar and a rash appalling even to look on.  He was
oblig,ed to run his mule at her utmost speed for two or
three miles, in order to effect his escape.  If this drouth
continues-as it is likely to do for months-the moun
tains this side of the snowy range will be nearly burned
over for at least fifty miles north and south of the Gregory trail, driving out all that is left of game, killing
much of the timber, and rendering thie country every
way more inhlospitable-a most superfluous proceeding.
I hear of still further discoveries further up in the
Mountains-some of them gulch or water-course digg,ings, which are said to pay very well.  They have
just begun to work the sanld of Clear Creek  at the
point where it issues from the mountains.   Another
friend just from Gregory's, says hlie fears the victims of
the fires now raging in that quarter will number one
* Another friend just arrived says certainly seventeen.
14 i' 
THE GOLD IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
h,tnclred. The limbs of the green pines are burned off
close to the trunks, and the columns of roaring flame
seem to fill the sky. The Gregory settlement was in
some danger when my informants left it yesterday.
148 
xIV.
"LO! TIE  POOR INDIAN!"
DENVER, June 16, 1859.
I IAVE been passing, meeting, observing and trying
to converse with Indians almost ever since I crossed the
Missouri.  Eastern  Kansas  is chequered with  their
reservations —Delaware, Kaw, Ottawa, Osage, Kickapoo, Potawatamnie and others-while the buffalo-range,
and all this side belong to, and are parceled among the
Cheyennes, the Arapahoes, and the Apaches-or perhaps among the two former only, as Indian boundaries
are not very well defined. At all events, we have met
or passed bands of these three tribes, with occasional
visitors from the Sioux on the north, and the Camanches on the south-all these tribes having for the present a good understanding.  Thie Utcs, who inhabit the
mountains, and are stronger and braver than any one
of the three tribes first named, though hardly a match
for them all, are at war with themi; the Aarapaho chief,
Left-Hand, assures me that his people were always at
war with the Utes-at least, he has no recollection, no
tradition, of a time when they were at peace. Some
two or three hundred lodges of Arapahoes are encamped
in and about this log city, calculating that the presence
of the whites will afford some protection to their wives
and children against a Ute onslaught while the "braves "
are off on any of their fighting-that is, stealing-expe 
150
;LO  TIlE POOR INI)IAN!"
ditions.  An equal or larger body of Utes are camped
in the mountains, some forty or fifty  miles west, and
the Arapalho warriors recently returned in triumiph from
a war party, on which they mianaged to steal about a
hundred horses from the Utes, but were obliged to kill
most of them in their rapid flight, so that they only
lrolght home forty more than they took away.  They
are going out again in a day or two, and have been for
some days practising secret incantations and public observances with reference thereto.  Last midnight, they
were to have had a grand war-daice, and to have left
on the war-path to-day; but their meni, sent out after
their horses, reported that they saw three Utes on the
plain, which was regarded as premonitory of an attack,
and the "braves" stood to their arms all night, and
were very anxious for white aid in case of a Ute foray
on their lodges here in Denver.  Such an attack seems
very improbable, and I presume the three Utes who
caused all this uproar were simply scouts or spies, on
the watch for just such marauding surprise-parties as
our Arapaho neighbors are constantly meditating. I
do not see why they need take even this trouble.  There
are points on the mountain range west of this city,
where a watchman with a sharp eye and a good glass
would command the entire plain for fifty mniles north,
south, and east of him, and night hence give intelligence of any Arapaho raid at least a day before a brave
entered the mountains. For, thlough it is true that Indians on the war-path travel or ride mainly by night,
I find that the Arapahocs do this only after they have
entered on what they consider disputed or dangerous 
c LO, TIIE POOR INDIAN!'
ground-that they start from their lodges in open day,
and only advance under cover of darkness after they
are within the shadows of the mountains.  Ilence, the
Utes, who are confessedly the stronger, might ambush
and destroy any Arapaho force that should venture into
their Rocky Mountain recesses, by the help of a good
spy-g,lass, and a little White forecast.
But the Indians are children.  Their arts, wars, trea ties, alliances, habitations, crafts,,properties, commerce,
comforts, all belong to the very lowest and rudest ages
of human existence.  Some few of the chiefs have a
narrow and short-sighted shrewdness, and very rarely
in their history, a really great man, like Pontiac or Tecumseh, has arisen among thern; but this does not shake
the general truth that they are utterly incompetent to
cope in any way with the European or Caucasian race.
Any band of schoolboys, from ten to fifteen years of
age, are quite as capable of ruling their appetites, devising and upholding a public policy, constituting and
conducting a state or community, as an average Indian
tribe.  And, unless they shall be treated as a truly
Christian community would treat a band of orphan
children providentially thrown on its hands, the ablorigines of this country will be practically extinct within
the next fifty years.
I have learned to appreciate better than hitherto, and
to mnake more allowance for, the dislike, aversion, contemnpt, wherewith Indians are usually regarded by their
whlite neighbors, and have been since the days of the
Puritans.  It needs but little familiarity with the actual,
palpable aborigines to convince any one that the poetic
151 
15  LO, THE POOR INDIAN!
Indian-the Indian of Cooper and Longfellow-is only
visible to the poet's eye.  To the prosaic observer, the
average Indian of the woods and prairies is a being who
does little credit to human nature-a slave of appetite
and sloth, never emancipated from the tyranny of one
animal passion save by the more ravenous demands of
another. As I passed over those magnificent bottonms
of the Kansas which form the reservations of the Delawares, Potawatamies, etc., constituting the very best
corn-lands on earth, and saw their owners sitting around
the doors of their lodges at the height of the planting
season and in as good, bright planting, weather as suu
and soil ever made, I could not help saying, "These
people must die out-there is no help for them.  God
has given this earth to those who will subdue and cultivate it, and it is vain to struggle against Ilis righlteous
decree."  And I yesterday tried my  powers of persuasion on Left-IHand-the only Arapaho chief who
talks Einglisli-in favor of an Arapaho tribal farinm-say
of two hundred acres for a begininnig-to be broken and
fenced by the common efforts of the tribe, and a patclthlerein allotted to each head of a family who would
agree to plant and till it-I apprehend to very little
purplose.  For Left-Hiand., though shrewd in his way, is
an Indian, and every wlhit as conservative as Boston's
Beacon street or our Fifth Avenue.  lie knows that
there is a certain way in which his people have lived
fi'om time immemorial, and in which they are content
still to live, knowing and seeking no better.  He may
or mnay not have heard that it is the common lot of
prophets to be stoned and of reformers to be crucified;
152 
L()O, TIIE POOR INDIAN!"
but lie probably comprehends that squaws cannot fence
anid plow, and that " braves" are disincelined to any
suchlt steady, mionotonous exercise of their imuscles.  I
believe there is no essential difference in this respect
between "braves" of the red and those of the white
race, since even our country's bold defenders have not
been accustomed to manifest their intrepidity in the
corn-fields along their line of marel, save in the season
of roasting-ears; and the verb "to soldier" has acquired,
tlhrotilghout Christendom in all its moods and tenses, a
significane beyond the need of a glossary.  Briefly, the
"brave," whether civilized or savage, is not a worker, a
p)rodtucei; and where the men are all "braves," with a
war always on hand, the prospect fbr productive iindustry is gloomy indeed. If, then, the hope of Indian renovation rested mainly on the men, it would be slender
enough. There is little probability that the present
generation of "braves " can be weaned from the traditions and the habits in which they find a certain personal consequence and immunity from daily toil, which
stand them instead of intelligence and comfort. Squalid
and conceited, proud and worthless, lazy and lousy, they
will strut out or drink out their miserable existence, and
at length afford the world a sensible relief by dying out
of it. 
But it is otherwise with the women. Degraded and
filthy as they are, beyond description or belief, they
bear the germ of renovation for their race, in that they
are neither too proud nor too indolent to labor.  The
squaw accepts work as her destiny fromn childhood. In
her fathler's lodge, as in that wherein she comes in turn
7*
1.53 
6; LO THE POOR INDIAN!
to hold a fifth or sixth interest in a husband-(for all
Indians are polygamists in theory, and all who have
means or energy become such in practice)-she comnprehlends and dutifully accepts drudgery as her " peculiar
institution." She pitches and strikes the tent, carries it
from one encampment to another, gathers and chops the
wood, and not only dresses and cooks the game which
forms the family's food (when they have any) but goes
into the woods and backs if home, when her lord returns
with the tidings that he has killed something.  Tanning
or dressing hides, making tents, clothing, moccasins, etc.,
all devolve on her.  Under such a udispensation, it is not
difficult to believe that she often willingly accepts a
rival in the affections of her sullen master, as promising a
mitigation rather than an aggravation of the hardships
of her lot.
And yet even the Indian women are idle half their
time, from sheer want of any thing to do. They will
fetch water for their white neighbors, or do any thing
else whereby a piece of bread may be honestly earned;
and they would do ten times more than they do, if they
could find work and be reasonably sure of even a mea_ger reward for it.
I urge, therefore, that in future efforts to improve the
condition of the Indians, the women be specially re garded and appealed to. A conscientious, humane,
capable christian trader, with a wife thoroughly skilled
in household manufactures and handicraft, each speak ing the language of the tribe with whom they take up
their residence, can do more good than a dozen average
missionaries. Let them keep and sell whatever articles
154 
C LO  THE POOR INDIAN!    "
are adapted to the Indians' needs and means, and let
them constitute and maintain an Industrial School, in
which the Indian women and children shall be freely
taught how to make neatly and expeditiously not only
moccasins, but straw hats, bonnets, and (in time) a hundred other articles combining taste with utility. Let a
farm and garden be started so soon as may be, and vegetables, grain, fruits given therefrom in exchange for
Indian labor therein, at all timnes when such labor can
be made available. Of course, the school, though primiarily industrial, should impart intellectual and religions instruction also, wisely adapted in character and
season to the needs of the pupils, and to their perception of those needs.   Such an enterprise, combining
trade with instruction, thrift with philanthropy, would
gradually mould a generation after its own spiritwould teach them to value the blessings of civilization
before imposing on them its seeming burdens; and
would, in the course of twenty years, silently transform
an indolent savage tribe into a civilized christian community.  There may be shorter modes of effeeting this
transformation, but I think none surer.
Doubtless, such an enterprise demands rare qualities
in its head-that of patience prominent among them.
The vagrancy of the Indians would prove as great an
obstacle to its success as their paltry but interminable
wars. Very often, in the outset, the apostle of industry
and civilization would find himself deserted by all his
pupils, lured away by the hope of success elsewhere in
marauding or hunting.  But let him, having first deliberately chosen his location, simply persevere, and they
155 
a LO, THE POOR INDIAN!"
will soon come round again, glad enough to find food
that may be had even for solid work; for all I can learn
impels me to believe that hunger is the normal state of
the Indian, diversified by transient interludes of gluttony. Meat is almost his only food; and this, though
plentiful at seasons, is at others scarcely obtainable in
the smallest quantities, or dried to the toughness of leather. The Indian likes bread as well as the white; he
must be taught to prefer the toil of producing it to the
privation of lacking it. This point gained, he will easily be led to seek shelter, clothing, and all the comforts
of civilized life, at their inevitable cost; and thus his
temporal salvation will be assured. Otherwise, his extermination is inexorably certain, and cannot long be
postponed.
156 
xL.
WESTERN CHARACTERS.
DENVER, June 21, 1859.
I YNow it is not quite correct to speak of this region
as "Western," seeing, that it is in fact the center of
North America and very close to its backbone. Still,
as the terms "Eastern" and "Western" are conventional and relative-Castine being "Western " to a Bluenose and Carson Valley, "Eastern" to a Californian-I
take the responsibility of grouping certain characters I
have noted on the plains and in or about the mountains
as "Western,"  begging that most respectable region
which lies east of the buffalo-range-also that portion
which lies west of the Colorado-to excuse the liberty.
The first circumstance that strikes a stranger traversing this wild country is the vagrant instincts and habits
of the great majority of its denizens-perhaps I should
say, of the American people generally, as exhibited here.
Among any ten whom you successively meet, there will
be natives of New England, New York, Pennsylvania,
Virginia or Georgia, Ohio or Indiana, Kentucky or
Missouri, France, Germany, and perhaps Ireland.  But,
worse than this; you cannot enter a circle of a dozen
persons of whom at least three will not have spent some
years in California, two or three have made claims and
built cabins in Kansas or Nebraska, and at least one
spent a-year or so in Texas. Boston, New York, Phila 
WESTERN CHARACTERS.
delphlia, New Orleans, St. Louis, Cincinnati, have all
contributed their quota toward peopling the new gold
region. The next man you meet driving an ox-team,
and white as a miller with dust, is probably an ex-banker or doctor, a broken merchant or manufacturer from
the old states,'who has scraped together the candle-ends
charitably or contemptuously allowed him by his creditors on settlement, and risked them oil a last desperate
cast of the dice by coming hither.  Ex-editors, ex-printers, ex-clerks, ex-steamboat men, are here in abundance
-all on the keen hunt for the gold which only a few
will secure. One of the stations at which we slept on
our way up-a rough tent with a cheering hope (since
blasted) of a log house in the near future-was kept by
an ex-lawvyer of Cincinnati and his wife, an ex-actress
from our New York Bowery-she being cook.  Omnibus-drivers from Broadway repeatedly handled the ribbons; ex-border ruffians from civilized Kansas-some
of them of unblessed memory-were encountered on
our way, at intervals none too long. All these, blended
with veteran Mountain men, Indians of all grades from
the tamest to the wildest, half-breeds, French trappers
and voyageurs (who have generally two or three Indian
wives apiece) and an occasional negro, compose a medley such as hardly another region can parallel. Honolutlu, or some other port of the South Sea Islands, could
probably match it most nearly.
The old mountaineers form a caste by themselves, and
they prize the distinction.  Sonme of tlhem arc Frecnclmen, or Franco-Americans, who have been trapping or
trading in and around these mountains for a quarter of
158 
WESTERN CHARACTERS.
a century, have wives and children here, and here
expect to live and die.  Some of these have accumu lated property and cash to the value of two hundred
thousand dollars, which amount will not easily be reduced, as they are frugal in everything (liquor sometimes excepted), spend but a pittance on the clothing of
their families, trust little, keep small stocks of goods,
and sell at large profits. Others came years ago from
the states, some of them on account each of a " difficulty" wherein they severally killed or savagely maimed
their respective  antagonists under circumstances on
which the law refuses to look leniently; whence their
pilgrimage to and prolonged sojourn here, despite enticing placards offering five hundred dollars or perhaps one
thousand dollars for their safe return to the places that
knew them once, but shall know them no more.  This
class is not numerous, but is more influential than it
should be in giving tone to the society of which its
members form a part.  Prone to deep drinking, soured
in temper, always armed, bristling at a word, ready
with the rifle, revolver or bowie-knife, they give law
and set fashions which, in a country where the regular
administration of justice is yet a matter of prophecy, it
seems difficult to overrule or disregard.  I apprehend
that there have been, during my two weeks sojourn,
more brawls, more fights, more pistol-shots with criminal intent in this log city of one hundred and fifty
dwellings, not three-fourths completed nor two-thirds
inhlabited, nor one-third fit to be, than in any community
of no greater numbers on earth. This will be changed
in time-I trust within a year, for the empty houses are
159 
WESTERN CHARAOTERS.
steadily finding tenants from the two streams of emigration rolling in daily up the Platte onl the one hand,
down Cherry Creek on the other, including some scores
of women and children, who generally stop here, as all
of them should; for life in the mountains is yet horribly
rough. Public religious worship, a regular mail and
other civilizing influences, are being established; there
is a gleam of hope that the Arapahloes-who have made
the last two or three nights indescribably hideous by
their infernal war-whoops, songs and dances-will at
last clear out on the foray against the Utes they have so
long threatened, diminishing largely the aggregate of
drunkenness and riot, and justifying expectations of
comparative peace. So let me close up my jottings from
this point-which circumstances beyond my control
have rendered so voluminous-with a rough ambrotype
of
LIFE IN DENVER.
The rival cities of Denver and Auraria front on each
other from either bank of Cherry Creek, just before it is
lost in the South Platte. The Platte has its sources in
and around the South Park of the Rocky Mountains, a
hundred miles south-west of this point; but Cherry
Creek is headed off from them by that river, and, winding its northward course of forty or fifty miles over the
plains, with its sources barely touching the Mountains,
is a capricious stream, running quite smartly when we
came here, but whose broad and thirsty sands have
since drank it all up at this point, leaving the log footbridges which connect the two cities as useless as an
160 
AVI'STnIN  CIIHAIA.CTERS.
ice-house in November.  The Platte, aided by the melting of the snows on the higher mountains, runs nearly
full-banked, though the constant succession of hot suns
and dry winds begins to tell upon it; while Clear Creek
(properly Vasquer's Fork), whichl issues directly from
the Mountains just above its crossing on the way to the
Gregory diggings, is nearly at its highest, and will so
remain till the inner mountains are mainly denuded of
their snowy mantles. But, within a few days, a footbridge has been completed over the Platte, virtually
abolishing the ferry and saving considerable time and
money to gold-seekers and travelers; while another over
Clear Creek precludes not only delay but danger-several wagons having been wrecked and two or three men
all but drowned in attempts to ford its rapid, rocky
current.  Thus the ways of the adventurous grow daily
smoother; and they who  visit this region ten years
hence, will regard as idle tales the stories of privation,
impediment, and "hair-breadth'scapes" which are told,
or night be, by the gold-seekers of 1859.
Of these rival cities, Anraria is by far the more venerable-some of its structures being, I think, fully a year
old, if not more. Denver, on the other hand, can boast
of no antiquity beyond September or October last. In
the architecture of the two cities there is, notwitlistanding, a striking similarity-cotton-wood logs, cut firom the
adjacent bottom of the Platte, roughly hewed on the
upper and under sides, and chinked with billets of split
cotton-wood on the inner, and with mud on the outer
side, forning the walls of nearly or quite every edifice
wllich adorns either city. Across the center of the in
161 
WESTERN CHARACTERS.
terior, from shorter wall to wall, stretches a sturdy
ridge-pole, usually in a state of nature, from  which
"shlooks," or split saplings of cotton-wood, their split
sides down, incline gently to the transverse or longer
sides; oni these (in the more finished structures) a coating of earth is laid; and, with a chimney of mud-daubed
sticks in one corner, a door nearly opposite, and a hole
beside it representing or prefiguring a window, the
edifice is complete.  Of course, many have no earth on
their covering of shooks, and so are liable to gentle
inundation in the rainy season; but, though we have
had thunder and lightning almost daily, with a brisk
gale in most instances, there has been no10 raili worth
inaming such here for weeks, and the unchinked, barely
shlook-covered houses, through whose sides and roofs
you may see the stars as you lie awake nighlts, are
decidedly the cooler and airier. There is a new hotel
nearly finished in Auraria, which has a second story
(but no first story) floor; beside this, mine eyes have
never yet been blessed with the sight of any floor whatever inii either Denver or Auraria. The last time I slept
or ate with a floor under me (our wagonl-box and mother
eaLrtlh excepted) was at Junction-City, nearly four weeks
ago.  The "Denver IloLuse," which is the Astor IHouse
of the gold region, has walls of logs, a floor of earth,
with windows and roof of rather flimsy cotton-sheeting;
while every guest is allowed as good a bed as his
blallnkets will make.  The clharges are no higher tlan
at the Astor and other first-elass hotels, except for
liquor-twenty-five cents a drink for dubious whisky,
colored and nicknamed to suit the taste of customers
162 
'WE~STERN CIIAIACTERS.
being thle re(gular rate throughouit this region.  I had
the hlonor to be shaved there by a nephew (so hle assured
me) of!Iurat, Bonaparte's king of Naples-thle honor
and the shlave together costing but a paltry dollar. Still,
a few days of such luxury surfeited me, mainly because
the main or drinking-room was also occupied by several
blacklegs as a gambling-hall, and their incessant clamnor
of "Whlo'll go me twenty?  The ace of hearts is the
winning card.  Whoever  turns the ace of hearts wins
the twenty dollars," etc. etc., persisted in at all hours
up to midnilght, became at length  a nuisance,  from
which I craved deliverance at alny price.  Thlen  the
visitors of that drinking and gambling-room had a careless way, when drunk, of firing revolvers, somietimes at
each otlihei, at other tiines quite miscellaneously, which
struck nme as inconvenient for a quiet guest with only
a leg and a half, hlence in poor condition for dodging
bullets.  So I left.                                      1
Howv do you live in Denver?" I inquired of a New
York friend some weeks domiciled here, in whose companyI   I visited the mines.  " 0, I've jumped a cabin,"
was his cool, matter-of-course reply.  As jumping  a
cabin was rather beyond my experience, I inquired
further, and learned that, finding, an uninhabited cabin
that suited him, hlie had quietly entered and spread his
blankets, eating  at home or  ablroad  as opportunity
mighlt suggest.  I found, on further inquiry, that at
least one-third of the habitations in Denver and Auraria
were desolate when we  came here (they have been
gradually filling up since), some of the owners having
gone into the nmountains, digging or prospecting, and
163 
WESTERN CHARACTERS.
taken their limited supply of household goods along
with them; while others, discouraged by the poor show
of mining six weeks ago, when even the nearer mnoun tains were still covered with snow and ice, rushed pell mell down the Platte with the wild reflux of the spring
emigration, abandoning all but what they could carry
away. It is said that lots and cabins together sold for
twenty-five dollars-so long as there were purchasers;
but these soon failing, they were left behind like camp fires in the morning, and have since been at the service
of all comers.
So, in company with a journalizing friend, I, too,
have "jumped a cabin," and have kept to it quite
closely, under a doctor's care, for the last week or ten
days. It is about ten fbet square, and eight feet high,
rather too well chinked for summer, considering that it
lacks a window, but must be a capital house for this
country in winter.  I board with the nearest neighbor;
and it is not my landlady's fault that the edible resources of Denver are decidedly limited. But even
these are improving. To the bread, bacon, and beans,
which formed the staple of every meal a short time ago,
there have been several recent additions; milk, which
was last week twenty-five cents per quart, is now down
to ten, and I hear a rumor that eggs, owing to a recent
increase in the number of hens, within five hundred
miles, from four or five to twelve or fifteen, are about
to fall from a dollar a dozen to fifty cents per dozen.
On every side, I note signs of progress-improvementmanifest destiny:-there was a man about the city yesterday with lettuce to sell-and I am credibly assured
164 
WESTERN CHARACTERS.
that there will be green peas next month-actually
peas!-provided it should rain soakingly meantimewhereof a hazy, lowering sky would seem just now to
afford some hope. (P. S. The hope has vanished.)
But I-already sadly behind, and nearly able to travel
again-must turn my back on this promise of luxuries,
and take the road to Laramie to-day, or at furthest tomorrow. 
165 
FROhI DENVER TO LARAMIIE.
some thirty habitations, covering the entrance to " Boulder Diggings," twelve miles westward in the mountains.
iere we found four wagons, two of them with horseteamns, each conveying the luggage of four or five men
who, having taken a look at this gold-region, had decided to push on for California, most of them, I believe,
through what is known as the "Cherokee Trail," which
forms a part of the shortest practicable route from Denver to Salt Lake. I was strongly tempted at Denver to
join one of tliese parties, and go through this pass-had
I stood firmly on both feet, I think I should have done
it, saving distance, though losing time.  We all camped
for the night beside a small brook, the rippling of
whose waters over its pebbly bed fell soothingly on the
drowsy ear. I had the wagon to myself for a bedchllamber, while my three companions spread their buffalo-skin and blankets on the grass, and had the vault
of heaven for their ceiling. The night was cool and
breezy; our mules were picketed on the grass at a
short distance; our supper of fried pork and pilot-bread
had not surfeited us; and we slept quietly till the first
dawn of day, when our mules were quickly harnessed,
and we left our fellow-campers still torpid, pushing on
fifteen miles, and crossing two deep, swift, steep-banked
creeks (St. Vrain's Fork, and a branch of Thompson's
Creek) before stopping for feed and breakfast. After
two hours' rest, we harnessed up, and made twenty
miles more before stopping, at the crossing of the other
fork of Thompson's Creek for dinner. Here we found
a caravan moving fromn Missou-i to California, which
reminded me of the days of Abraham and Lot. It
167 
FROM DENNvER TO LARAIlE.
comprised six or seven heavy wagons, mainly drawn by
oxen, with a light traveling carriage and pair of lhorses
conveying the patriarchi's family, some two or three
hundred head of cows, steers, and young cattle, with
three or four young men on horseback  driving and
keeping the herd.  Girls were milking, women cooking
or washing, children playing-in short, here was the
material for a very fair settlement, or quite an imposing
IKansas city. While we were snoozing, they hitched
up and moved on before us, but we very soon overtook
and passed them. There are scores of such caravans
now on the various roads to California, many of which
will see very hard times ere they reach Carson Valley,
and some still harder before they get fairly across the
Sierra Nevada.  Many of them are behind time; the
feed-for most of the way scanty at best-has been devoured by the cattle ahead of them, and the drouth forbids the growth of more until September, in which
month snow begins to fall heavily on the Sierra Nevada. And it will not tend to rouse their flagging
spirits to meet-as I am well assured they inust-sihnilar
caravans of people, who, having tried California to
their full satisfaction, are now moving back to Missouri
again. Was there ever another such vagrant, restless,
discontented people, pretending to be civilized, as ours!
Pushing on steadily over a reasonably level country,
though crossed by many deep and steep-banked dry
gullies, and perhaps one petty living stream, we stood
at 5 r. M. on the south bank of Cache-la-Poudre, seventy
miles from Denver, and by far the most formidable
stream between the South Platte and the Laramie. Our
168 
FROM- DENVER TO LARAMIE.
conductor was as brave as mountaineer need be, but he
was wary as well, and had seen so many people drowned
in fording such streams, especially the Green River
branch of the Colorado, on which he spent a year or
two, that he chose to feel his way carefully.  So he
waited and observed for an hour or more, meantime
sending word to an old French mountaineer friend from
Utah, who has pitched his tent here, that his help was
wanted. There had been a ferry-boat at this crossing
till two nights before, when it went down stream, and
had not since been heard of. A horseman we met some
miles below, assured us that there was no crossing; but
this we found a mistake-two men mounted on strong
horses crossing safely before our eyes, and two heavyladen ox-wagons succeeding them ill doing the same.
save that one of them stuck inl the stream, and the oxen
had to be taken off and driven out, being unable to pull
it while themselves were half buried ill the swift current.
But these crossings were made from the other side, where
the entrance was better and the current rather favored
the passage; the ox-wagons were held to the bottom by
the weight of their loads, while our "ambulance" was
light, and likely to be swept down stream. At length
our French fi'iend appeared, mounted on a powerful
horse, with an Indian attendant on another such.  He
advised us to stay where we were for the night, promising to come in the morning with a heavy ox-team and
help us over. As this, however, involved a loss of at
least ten miles on our next day's drive, our conductor
resolved to make anl attempt now. So the Frenchman on
his strong horse took one of our lead-mules by the halter
169 
FROM DENVER TO LARAMIE.
and the Indian took the other, and we went in, barely
escaping an upset from going down the steep bank obliquely, and thus throwing one side of our wagon much
above the other; but we righted in a moment and went
through the water being at least three feet deep for
about a hundred yards, the bottom broken by the bowlders, and the current very strong. We camped so soon
as fairly over, lit a fire, and, having obtained a quarter
of antelope from our French friend, proceeded to prepare and discuss a most satisfactory supper. Table, of
course, there was none, and we had unluckily lost our
fork; but we had still two knives, a sufficiency of tincups and plates, with an abundance of pork and pilotbread, and an old bag for table-cloth which had evidently seen hard service, and had gathered more dirt
and blood in the course of it than a table-cloth actually
needs. But the antelope ham was firesh, fat, and tender; and it must have weighed less by three pounds
when that supper was ended than when its preparation
was commenced.
By the way, there was a discussion at supper between
my three companions-all mountaineers of ripe experience-as to the relative merits of certain meats, of
which I give the substance for the benefit of future travelers through this wild region, buffalo I found to be a
general favorite, though niy own experience of it makes
it a tough, dry, wooden fiber, only to be eaten under
great provocation. I infer that it is poorer in spring
than at other seasons, and that I have not been fortunate in cooks. Bear, I was surprised to learn, is not
generally liked by mountaineers-my companions had
170 
FROM DENVER TO LARAMIE.
eaten every species, and were not pleased with any.
The black-tailed deer of the mountains is a general
favorite; so is the mountain-hien or grouse; so is the
antelope, of course; the elk and mountain-sheep less
decidedly so. None of our party liked horse, or knew
any way of cooking it that would make it really pala table, though of course it has to be eaten occasionally,
for necessity hath no law-or rather, is its own law.
Our conductor had eaten broiled wolf, under compulsion,
but could not recommend it; but he certified that a slice
of cold boiled dog-well boiled, so as to free it from
rankness, and then suffered to cool thoroughly-is ten der, sweet and delicate as lamb. I ought to have ascer tained the species and age of the dog in whose behalf
this testimony was borne-for a young Newfoundland
or king Charles might justify the praise, while it would
be utterly unwarranted in the case of an old cur or mastiff-but the opportunity was lost, and I can only give
the testimony as I received it.
Cache-la-Poudre seems to be the center of the antelope counltry. There are no settlements, save a small
beginning just at this ford, as yet hardly three months
old-between Denver, seventy miles on one side, and
Laramie, one hundred and thirty on the other. The
North Platte and the Laramie, both head in the mountains, forty to eighty mniles due west of this point, thence
pursuing a generally north course for more than a hundred miles among the hills, which are here lower and
less steep than further south. The bold, high, regular
front displayed by the Rocky Mountains for at least a
hundred (and, I believe, for two hundred) miles south
171
I 
FROM DENVER TO LA1AMIE.
of the Cache-la-Poudre, hence gradually melts away
into a succession of softer, rounder, lower hills; snow
disappears; the line between the mountains  and the
plains is no longer straight and sharply defined; and
the still waters of the plain have for some miles an alkaline appearance, beside being very scarce in summer.
The Cherokee Trail plunges into the mountains on the
north side of and very near to Caehe-la-Poudre; and
henceforth we overtake no emigrants moving westward
-none of any sort-but meet a few in wagons makiong
for Boulder City or the Gregory Diggings.  Since we
crossed Clear Creek, on which there is on this trail a
decent firinge of cotton-wood, we had seen but the
merest shred of small cotton-woods and some shrub
willow at wide intervals along the larger water-courses
but the pine still sparsely covered the face of the Rocky
Mountains.  Caelhe-la-Poudre has quite a fair belt of
cotton-wood; thenceforth there is scarcely a cord of
wood to a township for the next fifty or sixty miles; and
the pine is no longer visible on the hills near us, because
they expose little rock, and hence are swept by the annual fires.  The high prairie on either side is thinily,
poorly grassed, being of moderate fertility at best, often
full of pebbles of the average size of a goose-egg, and
apparently doomed to sterility by drouth. This region,
though inferior in soil, and less smooth in surface, is not
dissimilar in its topography to Lomibardy, and like it
will in time be subjected to systematic irrigation, should
the IRocky Mountain gold mines prove rich and extensive.  Some of the streams crossed by our road might
easily be so dammed at their egress friom the mountains
172 
FROM DEANER TO LARATIfE.
as to irrigate miles in width to the South Platte, forty
or fifty miles distant; and, at the prices which vegetables must always command here should the gold mines
Isrove inexhaustible, the enterprise would pay well. I
was told at Cache-la-Poudre that encouraging, signs of
gold had been obtained on that stream, though it had
only begun to be prospected.
We were up and away betimes, still over thinlygrassed, badly-watered prairie, rather level in its general outlines, but badly cut by steep-banked watercourses, now dry.  Some shallow ponds are also formed
here in the wet season, but the last of them had just
dried up.  We drove fifteen miles, and stopped for
breakfast on a feeble tributary of Caelhe-la-Poudre,
named Box Elder, from a small tree which I first observed here, and vlwhich is poorer stuff, if possible, than
cotton-wood. This is the only tributary which joins the
Cache-la-Poudre below its egress from the mountains.
All the streams of this region are largest where they
emerge from the mountains, unless re-enforced below by
other streams having a like origin; the thlirsty prairie
contributes nothing, but begins to drink themn up from
the time they strike it.  The smaller streams are thus
utterly absorbed in the course of five to ten miles, unless they happen sooner to be lost in some larger creek.
Drouth, throughout each summer, is the inexorable and
desolating tyrant of the plains.
Rising from the valley of Box Elder, we passed over
a divide, and were soon winding our way among the
aButtes, or irregular, loosely a,,ggregated hills, which
form a prominent feature of the next seventy or
173 
FROM DENVER TO LARAM.
them, are continually increasing the acuteness of their
angles and gouging more and more decidedly into their
banks, occasionally flinging down tons of undermined
earth into their channels to be gradually carried off, as
so much has already been. In such places, the Buttes
are nearly perpendicular and square-faced; but they
are more apt to be circular, and steeper near the summit than below. In some instances, the earth is of a
bright vermilion color; in others, partly thus and partly white; giving the Buttes a variegated and fantastic
appearance, like that of the Pictured Rocks of Lake
Superior. When first seen from a distance, the ensemble
of the red Buttes is very striking. But the white clay,
as it is gradually washed away, leaving surfaces almost
or quite perpendicular exposed to the action of sun, air
and water, is, by some occult agency, gradually hardened into a kind of rock, of which long ranges of perpendicular bluffs are composed, sometimes miles in
extent, but broken and disturbed at intervals by the intervention of water-courses or other influences.
After leaving Box Elder, our road gradually ascended,
winding among the rounded and less regularly arranged
Buttes first described above, but passing no water but
a single spring and little available grass, until it descends a long hill to a fork of Howard's Creek, twenty
miles from Box Elder. Hlere we stopped for dinner at
3, P. M., beside, two or three wagon's of Pike's Peakers,
from whom we obtained a generous supply of fresh
bread and another antelope ham, very much to the improvement of our edible resources. (I may as well
explain here that all the emigrants we met going into
175 
FROM DENVER TO LARAMIE.
the I-.insas digings, had started fioni the Missouri, on
the north side of the Platte, and had failed to cross at
Shinn's ferry, sixty-five miles up the latter stream, supposing that they could do so at Fort Kearney, or some
other point below the forks; but, in the absence of
ferries, the high water had headed them off, and forced
them clear up to Laramie whence they were now working southward, having lost fully two hundred miles by
neglecting to cross the Platte where they mnight have
done so).  Ii all this region, it is a settled maxim, that
you must cross (if you can) a stream directly upon
reachling, it, if your way lies across it, never camping
before you do so, lest a sudden rise should obstruct
your passage for days. MIany have lost a fortnight's
weary travel by failing to heed this rule in spirit with
reg,ard to the Platte.
We moved again at five, passing over a high ridge,
and into a broad valley, with rounded hills on the west,
and a range of such precipitous clay-rock bluffs as I
have tried to describe on the east. These bluffs were
broken through at intervals, and the streams that came
down the hills on the west ran out at the brooks, after
traversing the valley for two or three miles, and flowed
away east to join Howard's Fork and the South Platte.
Our trail here bore considerably west of north, evidently to reach the mouth of the Cheyenne Pass.  We
had hoped to make our next camp at that point; but
night fell upon us before reaching it, and we stopped
on a little run where we found water and good grass,
close under the mountains, and in one of the loneliest
spots I ever beheld. Not a tree nor shrub was visible,
. l6 
FROM DENVER TO LARAMIE.
the lfnsasi di,,sia, had started firomn the Missouri, on
the north side of the Platte, and had failed to cross at
Shinn's ferry, sixty-five miles up the latter stream, supposing that they could do so at Fort Kearney, or some
other point below the forks; but, in the absence of
ferries, the high water had headed them off, and forced
them clear up to Laramnie wlhenee they were now working southward, having lost fully two hundred miles by
neglecting to cross the Platte where they mnight have
done so).  In all this region, it is a settled maxim, that
you must cross (if you can) a stream directly upon
reaching it, if your way lies across it, never camping
before you do so, lest a sudden rise should obstruct
your passage for days.  MNaniy have lost a fortnight's
weary travel by failing to heed this rule in spirit with
reg,ard to the Platte.
We moved again at five, passing over a high ridge,
and into a broad valley, withl rounded hills on the west,
and a range of such Jprecipitous clay-roeck bluffs as I
have tried to describe on the east.  These bluffs were
broken through at intervals, and the streams that camne
down the hills on the west ran out at the brooks, after
traversing the valley for two or three miles, and flowed
away east to join H[oward's Fork and the South Platte.
Our trail here bore considerably west of north, evidently to reach the mouth of the Cheyenne Pass. We
had hoped to make our next camp at that point; but
night fell upon us before reaching it, and we stopped
on a little run where we found water and good grass,
close under the mountains, and in one of the loneliest
spots I ever beheld. Not a tree nor shrub was visible,
. l6 
FROMI DENVER TO LARAMIE.
ior had been for miles; yet, it was not difficult to
atlier dry.sticks enough to cook our supper, proving
what I have elsewhere observed, that wood was formerly more common in all this region than now.  We
had all turned in by nine, and were doing very well,
when a rush, by one of our mules, apprised; us that he
was loose, having  broken  his lariat;  he was soon
caught and made fast; and we all addressed ourselves
to slumber agtain. In an hour, however, there was a
fresh alarm, and not without reason; for three of our
mules had gone, we could not tell whithler. The first
impression was, that a band of Chleyeunes, who were
known to be encamped in the mountains very near us,
had, unsuspected by us, been watchilng our progress from
their heighlits~ and had stolen down under cover of the
deep darkness, unfastened, and started our mules with
intent to run them off.  This was not an agreeable view
of the case, as we could hope neither to recover nor
replace our faithful animals for at least a week. I-lowever, a little watching of the mule still fast, convinced
our conductor that the others had started back on the
road we had traversed, which was a route the Cheyennes were most unlikely to take, while so near their
Ihiding-places in the mountains. So two of our men
started on the back track, but returned in an hour
unsuccessful. Then the remainiingl mule was saddled
and bridled-and he had to be thrown down twice before hlie would submit to the operation-when our conductor mounted him, expecting to be instantly thrown
by the perverse beast, unused to the saddle, but he was
happily disappointed, and started down the road on a
8*
177 
FROM DENVER TO LARAMIE.
brisk trot. By this time there was moonlight; and he
found all the missing mules a little beyond the point
to which he had previously proceeded on foot, and
brought them back in triumph. It was now break of
day, and we resolved to feed and breakfast for once
before starting. We did so, and moved on at six, A. M.~
reaching "Camp Walbach," at the mouth of the Cheyenne Pass, in less than half an hour.
Let me halt here a moment to illustrate the military
and public land systems of the iUnited States. It last
year entered the head of some genius connected with
the War department, that the public interest or safety
required the establishment of a military post at this
point, and one was accordingly planted and maintained
there throughout last winter. Of course, buildings were
required to shelter the officers, soldiers, and animals
in that severe climate, and they were accordingly erected; some of the timber being tiransported from Laramie
-a distance of fully eighty miles. In the main, however, they are built of pine logs from the adjacent
mountains, the crevices being plastered with mud.  In
the spring, the troops were very properly withdrawn,
leaving half a dozen good serviceable houses, and a
superior horse-shed and co7ral untenanted.  Hereupon,
three lazy louts have squatted on the premises, intending to start a city there, and to hold and sell the government structures under a claim of preemption! I
need hardly say that, in the absence of any United
States survey, with the Indian title still unextinguished,
this claim is most impudent; but that will not prevent
their asserting it, and I fear with success. The private
178 
FROM DENVER TO LARAMIE.
interest on one side will be strong, with none on the
other; they can threaten to exert a political influence,
favorably or adversely, as the case may be, to those
whom they find in power; if they are only tenacious
enough, impudent enough, they will probably carry
their point. Yet, they might as fairly preempt the
White House at Washington, should they ever chance
to find it vacant.
We drove on across a badly-gullied region, wherein
are the heads of Horse Creek-the first stream on our
route that runs to the North Platte-and struck the
Chugwater just where it emerged from the mountains,
about eleven, A. m. Thence, we followed down this
creek more than forty miles, crossing it four times, and
finally leaving it on our left to cross the Laramie river,
eight or ten miles above this place.
The Chugwater is a rapid, muddy mill-stream, running in a deep, narrow, tortuous channel, and constantly
gouging into one bank or the other, except where the
willows and some other small shrubs oppose the resistance of their matted roots to the force of the current.
The rocky hills sometimes crowd the stream closely,
compelling the road to make a circuit over the high
prairie adjacent to avoid the impracticable canons
through which the stream frets and foams on its devious
way. The " Red Buttes" are numerous and conspicuous
on the upper course of this creek-the ochry earth or
rock which gives them their peculiar color being accounted a rich iron ore. On the lower bottoms of this
stream, we found far better grass than elsewhere on this
journey.  But the day was hot, and our mules suffered
179 
FROM 1)DENV], TO LARIAMIE.
so much from musketoes and flies that they ate fitfully
and sparingily where we halted for dinner, and again
where wve stopped for the night.  We were unable to
stop where the grass was best, because we could not
there get our anim:lals down the steep creek-bank to
water.
We made our last camp at a point thirty miles from
fis post, having made one hundred and sixty miles in
three days' steady travel, hampered by the necessity of
findiilng grass and water for our beasts.  With grain, I
think they would easily have made sixty-five miles per
day.  We stopped beside a stone-and-nmud shanty of
very rude construction, where a Frenclh-mian had this
spring made a small damn across the Chlugwater, so as to
irrigate and fence (by a ditch) a small piece of intervale,
on iwhich lie had attempted to grow some grains and
vegetables, with rather poor promise of success.  IIe
was absent, and no person or donmestic animal to be seen
about his place.  The night was uncommonly warm for
this region-the niusketoes a good deal more attentive
than obliging.  We rose early again, came on ten miles
for breakfast, passing almost continually between two
rows of magnificent buttes, often lookiig in the distance
like more or less ruined castles; one of them reminded
me strongly of the Roman Coliseum.  Two miles after
breakfast, we crossed the Chugwater for the last time,
and left it running north to the Laramie, while we struck
a more easterly course for this place. Two miles further
on, we came to a most excellent spring- the first I had
seen since I emerged from the Rocky AIounltains, by
Clear Creek, two weeks before. I had been poisoned by
180 
FRiOM DENVER TO LARAMIE.
brook water-often warm and muddy-so long that I
could hardly get enough of this. We now passed over
twelve or fifteen miles of high, rolling, parched, barren
prairie, and halted for dinner by a little brook-the only
one that crosses our trail between the Chugwater and
Laramie-after which we drove down opposite this
place in an hour, but were obliged to go two miles below, and pay $2 50 bridge-toll to get across the Laramie,
now very high, and looking decidedly larger at their
juinction than the North Platte itself.
I have been tediously minute in my record of this
cross-march to reach the high road to California, because
some kind friends have remonstrated with me against
the fancied perils of my journey, as if I were running
recklessly into danger.  I believe this portion of my
route is at least as perilous as any other, being the only
part not traversed by a mnail-stage or any public conveyance, and lying wholly through a region in which
there are not a dozen white settlers, all told, while it is
a usual battle-ground between hostile tribes of Indians.
But we were never in any shadow of danger; and,
though I was compelled to economize steps in order to
complete the healing of my lame leg, I have rarely had
a more pleasant journey. Let any one who wishes an
independent and comfortable ride, just run up to Denver and ask my friend D. B. Wheelock to harness up his
four-mule team to the Rockaway wagon and take hinm
over to Laramnie, and if he does not enjoy a fine prospect, bracing breezes, a lively pace and excellent company, then he will be less fortunate than I was.
181 
XVII.
,LARAMIE TO SOUTf PASS.
SOUTH PASS, Rocky Mountains, July 5, 1859.
I EXHAUSTED all the possibilities of obtaining a lodging in Laramie before applying to the commander of
the post; but no one else could (or would) afford me a
shelter on any terms; so I made a virtue of necessity,
and applied to Captain Clark, who at once assigned me
a room-there being few troops there at present-and
for the five days I remained there I slept between a
floor and a roof, after five weeks' experience of the more
primitive methods of keeping cold and storm at bay.
I was treated with more than hospitality-with generous kindness-by Captain Clark, Lieutenants Hascall
and Follett, and Dr. Johns-and yet the long tarry
became at length irksome, because I had already lost
too much time, and was most anxious to be moving
westward. Finally, the mail-stage from the East hove
in sight on the morning of June 30, but halted just
across Laramie River all day, repairing coach; and it
was eight, P. M., when it started-I alone perched on
the summit of its seventeen mail-bags as passenger —
he who had thus far filled that exalted post kindly giving way for me, and agreeing to take instead the slower
wagon that was to follow next morning. We forded
the swollen Laramie two miles above the fort, in the last
vestige of twilight-had the usual trouble with mules 
LARMIE TO SOUTH PASS.
turning about in mid-stream, tangling up the team, and
threatening to upset the wagon-but overcame it after
a while, got safely out, drove on fifteen miles to Warm
Spring-a fountain which throws out half water enough
for a grist-mill, all which is drank up by the thirsty
sands through which it takes its course, before it can
reach the Platte, only three or four miles distant. We
camped here till daylight, then lost two hours in hunting up our mules, which had been simply tied in pairs,
and allowed to go at large in quest of the scanty grass
of that region. They were found at last, and we went
on our way rejoicing.
I shall not weary my readers with a journal of our
travels for the last four days. Hitherto, since I left
civilized Kansas, I had traversed routes either newly
opened, or scarcely known to the mass of readers; but
from Laramie I have followed the regular California
and Oregon Overland Trail, already many times described, and by this time familiar to hundreds of thousands. Suffice it that, for over two hundred miles from
Laramie, it traverses a region substantially described
in my notes of my journey from the buffalo-range to
Denver, and from Denver to Laramie; a region, for the
most part, rainless in summer and autumn, yet on whose
soil of more or less sandy clay, lacking support from
ridges of underlying rock, has been more seamed, and
gouged, and gullied, and washed away, by the action
of floods and streams than any other on earth-a region
of bluffs and buttes, and deep ravines, and intervales,
and shallow alkaline lakelets, now mainly dried up, and
streams running milky, even when low, with the clay
183 
LARAMIE TO SOUTH PASS.
gullied from their banks, and sent off to render the Mis souri a river of mud, and to fertilize the bottoms of the
lower Mlississippi. Occasionally, but not so firequently
as southl of Laramnie, the clay-hills, hardened into rock
by some alchemy of nature, present the perpendicular
fronts and ruinous-castle aspects already described-in
a few instances, the scanty creeks which make their
way from the mountains to the North Platte, or the
Sweetwater run through narrow canons of such rock;
but usually each creek has washed out for itself a wide
valley, and the bluffs or buttes, where they exist, are
distant many miles onl one side if not on both. In a
few places, the mountains are so near that their thinlyscattered,  stunted,  scraggy yellow-pines  are plainly
seen-are even close beside us; but usually the prospect is composed of rolling prairie very scantily grassed
and often thickly covered for nmiles on miles by the
everlasting sage-bush of this desolate region. This is
not an anomaly, as migniht be supposed-the stem lives
for years, perhaps centuries, though the shoots and
leaves die * every autumn. Another shrub, less common, but which often thickly covers hundreds of acres,
is the grease-wood-a low, prickly bush, growing in
bunches, like the sage-bush, and looking like a bad imnitation of the English privet. Besides these two miserable shrubs, the dry land, other than the mountains,
for hundreds of miles, produces a very little burnt-up
grass in patches, and a good many ill-favored weeds of
* I guess this is a mistake; fnrther observation induces me to believe
that the sage-bush is an evergreen.
184 
LARAMIE TO SOIJTH PASS.
no known or presumed value.  Of wood, the Platte
and its more easterly tributaries have, at intervals, a
shred of the eternal cotton-wood of the plains, much of
it the more scrubby and worthless species known as
bitter cotton-wood, with a very little of the equally
worthless box-elder-and that is all.  But, one hundred
and forty miles this side of Laramie, we leave the Platte,
which here comes from the south, and strike nearly
forty miles across a barren "divide" to its tributary,
the Sweetwater, which we find just by Independence
Rtock, quite a landmark in this desolate region, with
several low mnountains of almost naked rock around it,
having barely soil enough in their crevices to support a
few dwarfish pilles.  Five miles above this is the Devil's
Gate-a passage of the Sweetwater, through a perpendicular canion, some twenty-five feet wide, and said to
be six hundred feet high-a passage which must have
been cut while the rock was still clay. Here a large
party of AMormions were caughlt by the snows, while on
their way to Salt Lake, some years since, and compelled
to encamp for the winter, so scantily provided that
more than a hundred of tlihein'mdied of hunger and hardship before spring.  lIany more must have fallen victims had not a supply-train from Salt Lake reached
them early in the season.  And here is a fountain of
cold water-the first that I had seen for more than a
hundred miles, though there is another on the long
stretch from the Platte to the Sweetwater, which is said
to be good, but a drove of cattle were making quite too
free with it when we passed. Ihere the weary crowds
of emigrants to California were to gather yesterday for
185 
LGARAMIE TO SOUTH PASS.
a celebration of the "glorious fourth," and I was warmly
invited to stop and participate, and I now heartily wish
I had, since I find that all our haste was in vain.
It was midnight of the 3d, when we reached the mail route station known as the Three-Crossings, from the
fact that so many fordings of the Sweetwater (here con siderably larger than at its mouth, forty miles or more
below) have to be made within the next mile. We had
been delayed two hours by the breaking away of our
two lead-mules, in crossing a deep water-course after
dark-or rather by the fruitless efforts of our conductor
to recover them. I had been made sick by the bad
water I had drank from the brooks we crossed during
the hot day, and rose in a not very patriotic, certainly
not a joyful mood, unable to eat, but ready to move on.
We started a little after sunrise; and, at the very first
crossing, one of our lead-mules turned about and ran
into his mate, whom he threw down and tangled so
that he could not get up; and in a minute another
mule was down, and the two in imminent danger of
drowning. They were soon liberated from the harness,
and got up, and we went out; but just then an emigrant on the bank espied a carpet-bag in the watermine, of course-and fished it out.  An examination
was then had, and showed that my trunk was missingthe boot of the stage having been opened the night
before, on our arrival at the station, and culpably left
unfastened. We made a hasty search for the estray,
but without success, and, after an hour's delay, our conductor drove off; leaving my trunk still in the bottom
of Sweetwater, which is said to be ten feet deep just
186 
LARAMIE TO SOUTH PASS.
below our ford. I would rather have sunk a thousand
dollars there. Efforts were directed to be made to fish
it out; but my hope of ever seeing it again is a faint
one. We forded Sweetwater six times yesterday after
that, without a single mishap; but I have hardly yet
become reconciled to the loss of my trunk, and, on the
whole, my fourth of July was not a happy one.
Our road left a southerly bend of Sweetwater aftei
dinner, and took its way over the hills, so as not to
strike the stream again till after dark, at a point three
miles from where I now write. We passed, on a high
divide some miles before we were crossing of the Sweetwater, a low swamp or meadow known as "Ice Springs,"
from the fact that ice may be obtained here at any time
by digging down some two or three feet into the frosty
earth.   We  met several wagon-loads of come-outers
from Mormonism on their way to the states in the course
of the afternoon; likewise, the children of the Arkansas
people killed two years since, in what is known as the
mountain-meadows-massacre. We are now nearly at
the summit of the route, with snowy mountains near us
in several directions, and one large snow-bank by the
side of a creek we crossed ten miles back. Yet our
yesterday's road was no rougher, while it was decidedly
better, than that of any former day this side of Laramie,
as may be judged from the fact that, with a late start,
we made sixty miles with one (six mule) team to our
heavy-laden wagon. The grass is better for the last
twenty miles than on any twenty miles previously; and
the swift streams that frequently cross our way are cold
and sweet. But, unlike the Platte, the Sweetwater has
isli 
LARAMIE TO SOUTH PASS.
scarcely a tree or bush growing on its banks; but up
the little stream on which I am writing, on a box in the
mail company's station-tent, there is glorious water,
some grass, and more wood than I have seen so close
together since I emerged from the gold diggings on Vas quer's Fork, five hundred miles away. A snow-bank,
forty rods long and several feet deep, lies just across the
brook; the wind blows cold at night; and we had a
rain-squall-just rain enough to lay the dust-yesterday
afternoon. The mail-agent whom we met here has
orders not to run into Salt Lake ahead of time; so he
keeps us over here to-day, and will then take six days
to reach Salt Lake, which we might reach in four.  I am
but a passenger, and must study patience.
A word on the Salt Lake mail. Of the seventeen
bags on which I have ridden for the last four days and
better, at least sixteen are filled with large bound books,
mainly Patent Office Reports, I judge-but all of them
undoubtedly works ordered printed at the public costyout6 cost, reader!-by Congress, and now on their way
to certain favored MIormons, franked (by proxy) "Pub.
Doe. Free, J. M]. Bernlhisel, M. C."  I do not blame
Mir. B. for clutching his share of this public plunder,
and distributing it so as to increase his own popularity
and importance; but I do protest against this business
of printing books by wholesale at the cost of the whole
people for free distribution to a part only. It is every
way wrong and pernicious. Of the one hundred and
ninety thousand dollars per annum paid for carryilng the
Salt Lake mail, nine-tenths is absorbed in the cost of
carrying these franked documents to people who contrib
188 
LARAMIIE TO SOUTII PASS.
ute little or nothing to the support of the government
in any way.  Is this fair?  Eaclh Patent Office Report
will have cost the treasury four or five dollars by the
time it reaches its destination, and will not be valued by
the receiver at twenty-five cents. Why should this business go on?  Why  not "reform it altogethler?"  Let
Congress print whatever documents are needed for its
own information, and leave the people to choose and
buy for themselves. I have spent four days and five
nights in close contact with the sharp edges of Mr
IBernlhisel's " Pub. Doc."-have done my very utmost to
make them present a smooth, or at least endurable surface; and I am sure there is no slumber to be extracted
therefrom unless by reading them-a desperate resort,
which no rational person would recommend. For all
practical purposes, they might as well-now that the
printer has been paid for them-be where I heartily wish
they were-in the bottom of the sea.
189 
XVIII.
SOURT PASS TO BRIDGER.
BIG SANDY, Oregon, July 6, 1859.
I WROTE last from the Mail Company's station-tent in
" Quaking Asp Cafion," at the east end of the South
Pass, three miles off the direct and well-beaten road
from the Missouri to Salt Lake, and so to California,
which was formerly the road to Oregon as well. But
Col. Lander, at the head of a U.S. exploring and pioneer party, has just marked and nearly opened a new
road through the Canion aforesaid, which makes a Northern cut-off, and strikes the old Oregon Trail some fourteen miles south of Fort Hall, saving sixty miles on the
journey to Oregon, and striking through to California
on a northerly route, which I think passes to the north
of Honey Lake, and thence over the Sierra down one
of the forks of the Yuba. I cannot, of course, say that
this is better than the old route, but it can hardly be
more destitute of grass; while the naked fact that it
divides the travel, affords cheering hope of a mitigation
of the sufferings and hardships of the long journey. I
missed seeing Col. Lander, to my regret; but I am sure
he is doing a good work, for which thousands will have
reason to bless him. At all events, a great majority of
the California, with all the Oregon emigration, are turning off on the new route, and I pray that they may find 
SOUTH PASS TO BRIDGER.
on it food for their weary, famished cattle, and a safe
journey to their chosen homes.
Though the elevation of the Pass is nearly 8,000 feet
above the ocean level, I never endured heat exceeding
that of yesterday in and about the station-tent. The sun
rose clear, as it almost always does here in Summer,
soon dispelling the chill which attends every night in this
region; and by nine o'clock the heat was most intense.
But the afternoon brought clouds, a wind and a petty
rain-squall, and the following night was cold enough to
still any mosquitoes but those of the Rocky Mountains.
I suspect these would sing and bite even with the mnercury at zero.
Toward evening, I climbed the hill on the east of the
Cation, and obtained from its summit a wide prospect,
but how desolate! These hills are of volcanic formation,
a kind of coarse slate, the strata upheaved almost perpendicularly, the surface shattered and shingly, with
veins of hard quartz running across them. There is
scarcely a bushel of soil to each square rod, of course
no grass, and little vegetation of any kind. To the
north, say ten to twenty miles away, is a snow-streaked
range of the Rocky Mountains; to the south, some
miles across the Sweetwater, are lower and less barren
hills, with some snow-banks and some wood-quakinigasp and yellow-pine-on their northern slopes.  The
Sweetwater heads among the mountains to the north
and north-west.  There is a little well-gnawed grass on
its immediate banks and on those of its tributarieson the high rolling land which fills all beside of the
wile space between the mountains north and those south,
191 
SOUTIH PASS TO BRIDGER.
there is not a mule-feed to each acre. Some greasewood at intervals, the eternal sage-bush, and a few
weeds, with the quaking-asp and yellow-pine afore said, and a thick tangle of bitter cotton-wood (which is
a bad caricature of our swarnp-alder) thatching por tions of a few of the smaller streams, comprise the
entire vegetation of this forlorn region.
We started at seven this morning, came down to the
old Salt Lake, Oregon, and California Trail at the Sweetwater, crossed and left that creek finally, and traversed
a slightly rolling country for seven miles to the "Twin
Buttes," two low, clay-topped mounds which mark the
point from which the water runs easterly to the Gulf of
-Mexico, and westerly to the Pacific.  If any one has
pictured to himself the South Pass as threading some
narrow, winding, difficult, rocky mountain-gorge, hlie is
grievously mistaken. The trail through the South Pass
is the best part of the route from Atchison to California;
the clay has here been almost wholly washed away and
carried off. so that the road passes over a coarse, heavy,
gravelly sand, usually as compact and smooth as the
best illustrations of the genius of MIacAdam. I never
before traversed forty-five miles of purely natural road
so faultless as that through the South Pass which I
have traveled to-day. But this tract would be good for
roads, as it seems absolutely good for nothing else. The
natural obstacles to constructing a railroad through this
region are not comparable to those overcome in the construction of the Camden and Amboy.
Passing the Twin Buttes — the distance between the
mountains on the north and the hills on the south being
192 
SOUTII PASS TO BRIDGER.
not less than thirty miles, and thenceforth westward
rapidly wideninig-we ran down the side of a dry, shallow water-course some five miles, to a wet, springy
marsh or morass of fifteen or twenty acres, covered with
poor, coarse grass, in which are found the so-called
"Pacific Springs."  The water is clear and cold, but
bad. Perhaps the number of dead cattle of which the
skeletons dot the marsh, made it so distasteful to me.
At all events, I could not drink it. This bog is long
and narrow; and from its western end issues a petty
brook, which takes its way south-westwardly to the
Sandy, Green River, the Colorado and the Gulf of California. Hence, toward the south and west, no hills are
visible-nothing but a sandy, barren plain, mainly covered with the miserable sage-bush.
Twelve miles further on, we crossed -Dry Sandy-not
quite dry at this point, but its thirsty sands would surely
drink the last of it a mile or so further south. Five
mniles beyond this, the old and well-beaten Oregon Trail
strikes off to the northwest, while our road bends to the
southwest. We are now out of the South Pass, which
many have traversed unconsciously, and gone on wondering and inquiring when they should reach it. Seven
miles further brought us to IZittle Sandy, and eight
more to Big Sandy, whereon is the station at which, at
four P. M. we (by order), stopped for the night.  All
these creeks appear to rise in the high mountains many
miles north of us, an.d to run off with constantly diminishing volume, to join the Colorado at the south. Neithecr has a tree on its banks that I have seen-only a few
low willow bushes at long intervals-though I hear that
9
193 
SOUTH PASS TO BRIDGER.
some cotton-wood is found on this creek ten miles above.
Each has a "bottom " or intervale of perhaps four rods
in average width, in which a little grass is found, but
next to none on the high-sandy plains that separate them.
Drouth and sterility reign here without rival.
FORT BRIDGER, Utah, July 8, 1859.
We crossed Big Sandy twice before quitting it-once
just at the station where the above was written, and
again eighteen miles further on.  Twelve miles more
brought us to Green RPiver-a stream here perhaps as
large as the Alohalwk at Schenectady or the Hudson at
Waterford. It winds with a rapid, muddy current
thllrough a deep, narrow valley, much of it sandy and
barren, but the residue producing some grass with a few
large cotton-woods at intervals, and  some worthless
bushes.  There are three rope ferries within a short distance, and two or three trading-posts, somewhat frequented by Indians of the Snake tribe. Eighteen miles
more of perfeet desolation brought us to the next mail
coimpany's station on Black's Fork, at the junction of
IIam's Fork, two-large mill-streams that rise in the
mountains south and west of this point, and run together
into Green River. They have scarcely any timber on
their banks, but a sufficiency of bushes-bitter cottonwood, willow, choke-chlerry, and some others new to me
-with more grass than I have found this side of the
South Pass. On these streams live several old mountaineers, who have large herds of cattle which they are
rapidly increasing by a lucrative traffic with the emigrants, who are compelled to exchange their tired, gaunt
194 
SOUTH PASS TO BRIDGER.
oxen and steers for fresh ones on almost any terms. R.
I)., whose tent we passed last evening, is said to have
six or eight hundred head; and, knowing the country
perfectly, finds no difficulty in keeping them thr()ough
summer and winter by frequently shifting them front
place to place over a circuit of thirty or forty miles. J.
RI., who has been here some twenty-odd years, began
with little or nothing, and has quietly accumulated
some fifty horses, three or four hundred head of neat
cattle, three squaws, and any number of half-breed
children. He is said to be worth seventy-five thousand
dollars, though he has not even a garden, has probably
not tasted an apple nor a peach these ten years, and
lives in a tent which would be dear at fifty dollars. I
instance this gentleman's way of life not by any means
to commend it, but to illustrate the habits of a class.
Whlite men with two or three squaws each are quite
comnmon throughout this region, and young and relatively comely Indian girls are bought from their fathers
by white men as regularly and openly as Circassians at
Constantinople. The usual range of prices is from forty
to eighty dollars-about that of Indian horses. I hear
it stated that, though all other trade may be dull, that
in young squaws is always brisk on Green River and
the North Platte. That women so purchased should be
discarded or traded off, as satiety or avarice may suggest, and that they should desert or deceive their pur
chasers on the slightest temptation, can surprise no one.
I met an Irishman on Big Sandy whose squaw had recently gone off witlih. an Indian admirer, leaving him
two clever, bright, half-breed children of seven and five
195 
SOUTH PASS TO BIIDGER.
years.  I trust that plank in the republican natio,nal
platform, which affirmns the right and duty of Congressional prohibition, not only of slavery in the territories
but of polygamy also, is destined to be speedily embodied
in a law.
We passed yesterday the two places at which a body
of Mormons  late in 1857, surprised and burned the
supply-trains following in the rear of the federal troops
sent against them.  The wagons were burned in corral,
and the place where each stood is still distinctly marked
on the ground. It seems incredible, yet I am assured
it is undoubtedly true, that none of the military officers
who were severally dispatched from Kansas, late that
season on the road to Salt Lake without a corimmander
and with no definite instructions, was directed to afford
any protection or give any feed to these important
towns. It is lamentable that presidents and secretaries
of war are not subjeet to court-martials.
We have for the last two days been passing scores of
good log or ox-chains-in one instance, a hundred feet
together-which, having been thrown away by California emigrants to lighten the loads of their famishled,
failing cattle, have lain in the road for months, if not
years, passed and noted by thousands, but by none
thought worth pickling, up.  One would suppose that
thle traders, the herdsmnen, the Indians, or some other of
the residents of this region, would deem these chains
worth having, but tlhey do not.  I had already become
accustomed to the sighlt of wagon-tire, wagon-boxes, etc.,
rejected and spurned in this way; but good, new chains
thus begging for owne,'s, I have only noted this side of
196 
SOUTH PASS TO BRIDGER.
the South Pass. They are said to be still more abundant further on.
This morning, I was agreeably surprised by a greeting
firom three acquaintances I made in Denver, who invited
me to share their outfit and journey to California, who
left Denver the morning before I did, and beside whom
I camped my first night on the road to Laramie.  They
are just thlroug,h the Cherokee Trail, entering the mountains at Cache-la-Poudre and crossing Green River by a
ferry some thirty miles below the point at which I did.
They were detained one day making a raft on which to
ferry their wagon over the North Platte, and found
some rough places in the mountains; at one of which
they were obliged to unhitch their horses and let their
wag,on down a steep pitch by ropes. They bfound the
water of Bitter Creek-along which lies their road for
a hundred miles or so-bitter indeed; and in some
places grass was deficient; but their horses look nearly
as well as when they left Denver. Their route has of
course been some two hundred and fifty miles shorter
than mine, and they will reach Salt Lake scarcely a day
behind nme. I wish I had been able to accompany them
on their rugged and little-traveled route.
Onil the other side of the Pass, we had mainly clear,
hot days; on this side, they are cloudy and cool.  We
had a little shower of rain with abundance of wind
night before last, another shower last night, and more
rain is now threatened. Yet all old residents assure me
that rain in Summer is very rare throughout this region.
We stop to-night at a point only one hundred miles
from Salt Lake, with two rugged mountains to cross, so
that we are not to reach that stopping,-place till Monday.
197 
XIX.
FROM BRIDGER TO SALT LAKE.
SALT LAKE CITY, Utah, July 11, 1859.
FORT Bridger, whence my last was sent, may be regarded as the terminus in this direction of the Great
American Desert.   Not that the intervening country is
fertile or productive, for it is neither; but at Bridger
its character visibly changes. The hills we here approach are thinly covered with a straggling growth of
low, scraggy cedar; the sage-bush continues even into
this valley, but it is no longer universal and almost alone;
grass is more frequent and far more abundant; Black's
Fork, which, a few miles below, runs whitish with the
clay-wash of the desert, is here a clear, sparkling mountain torrent, divided into half a dozen streams by the
flat, pebbly islets on which the little village-or rather
post-is located; while, twelve miles up its course, an
improvement of 500 acres, begun some years since by
the Mormonils, has this season been put under cultivation,
with ilattering, prospects. Oats, barley, potatoes, peas,
etc., are the crops sought; and the enterprising growers
have contracts for the supply of Fort Bridger at prices
which will insure them a liberal return in case they realize even a moderate yield.  This may seem a small
matter; but I doubt that there are, in all, 500 acres
more under cultivation in the 250,000 square miles or
more lying between the forks of the Platte on the east, 
FROM BRIT)GER TO SALT LAKE.
the Salt Lakle Basin on the west, the.settlements of
Necw-){cxico,>ii the southl, and the Yellow Stone on the
north. Yet in this radius are included several military
posts at which every bushel of grain consumed costs an
average of $5, while potatoes and other edible roots
would command nearly as good prices, could they be
bad. There are herdsmen at intervals throughout all
this region wl-ho have each their hundreds of heads of
cattle, but who hardly know the taste of a potato or
turnip, who have never planted nor sowed an acre, and
never contemplated the possibility of growing an apple
or cherry, though they expect to live and die in this region.  I trust, therefore, that the Fort Bridger enterprise
will succeed, and that it will incite to like experiments
in the vicinity of each wilderness post. The present
enormous cost of our mnilitary service in this immense
desert may thus be sli,ghtly compensated by proving the
great desert not absolutely worthless, and creating a basis of civilization for its rude, nomadic, lawless, but
hardy, bold, and energetic pioneers.
From Fort Bridger (named after an Indian trader who
first settled here; then settled as an outpost and reliefstation by the MAormons when they began to people this
valley, but abandoned by them on the approach, late in
'57, of the army, by which it has since been held) the
Salt Lake trail rises over a high, broad ridge, then descends a very steep, rocky, difficult hill to Big Muddy,
a branch of Black's Fork, where-12 miles from Bridger-is the MLail Comnpany's station, at which we had
expected to spend the night. But the next drive is 60
miles, and our new conductor wisely decided to cut a
199 
FROM BRIDGER TO SALT LAKE.
piece off of 4 that evening, as the road at the other end
was hazardous in a dark night.  So we moved on a little after sundown, rising over another broad ridge, and,
after narrowly escaping an upset in a gully dug in the
trail by that day's violent shower, camped 15 miles on,
a little after 11 P. m. The sky was densely clouded;
the moon nearly down; it was raining a little and blowing more, as we lay down to rest, most of us under the
sullen sky.  An  hour or more thereafter, our mules
(which were simply tied in pairs by long ropes and thus
turned out to graze) were somehow disturbed, and our
stage-men challenged and stood ready to repel the supposed depredator. Hle proved, however, to be a friend,
traveling on mule-back from Bridger to this place, who
had wandered off the trail in the deep darkness, and
perhaps been carried amnong our animals by the fondness of his own for congenial society; so all was soon
ri,ght, and the new comer unsaddled, pulled off his
.,
blankets, and was soon couched among us. At daylight we were all astir, and drove down to Bear River,
only three or four miles distant, for breakfast.
We halted before crossing, beside what is here called
a grocery, the only other structure on that side of the
river being a blacksmith's shop (consisting, I believe, of
a bellows and anvil under the open sky), to which some
part of our rigging was sent for repair, while we prepared and ate breakfast. There were two or three men
sleeping in wet blankets on the grass, who rose and
made a fire on our appearance. The grocery was irregularly constructed of boxes which had once contained
goods, but, having fulfilled that end, were thus made
200
'A. 
FROMI BRIDGER TO SALT LAKE.
useful afresh. I suppose it was six feet high, and five
by eight in diameter, though no tvwo of its sides were
of the same height. An old tent-cloth for covering coinpleted the edifice, from which we obtained sardines,
canned lobster, and prepared coffee which was said to
contain sugar and cream, but which was voted by our
drinkers a swindling humbug.  I believe these articles
exhausted the capabilities of the concern; but, as we
had bread, we needed no more. Some of our party
thoug,ht otherwise, however; they called for whisky or
some kindred beverage, and were indignantly disgusted
at its non-production.  They had become inured to groceries containing nlothling that could by possibility be
eaten; but a grocery devoid of some kind of "rot," as
the fiery beverage was currently designated, was to
them a novel and most distasteful experience. However, a man was at once dispatched across the creek to
a similar establishment, but more happily furnished,
whence hle soon returned with the indispensable fluid
(price $3 for a flask containing perhaps a pint and a
half of some diabolic alcoholic concoction, wherein the
small modicum of genuine whisky had taken to itself
seven other devils worse than the first), and our breakfast was finished to general satisfaction.
A word here on the liquor traffic throughout this
reg,ion. A mercantile firm in this city, in order to close
out promptly its extra stock of liquors, offers to sell
whisky at the extraordinarily low price of $3 50 per
gallon.  I believe the common price from Laramie westward to the Sierra Nev'da is $8 per gallon; but it is
usually sold to consumers by the bottle, holding less
9*
201 
FROM BIRIDGER TO SALT LAKE.
than a quart, for which the charge is $2 up to $3 50,
but seldom below $2 50.  And such liquor!  True, I
have not tasted it; but the smnell I could not escape;
and I am sure a more wholesome potable might be compounded of spirits of turpentine, aqua fortis, and steeped tobacco. Its look alone would condemn it-soapy,
ropy, turbid, it is within bounds to say that every pint
of it contains as much deadly poison as a gallon of pure
whisky. And yet fully half the earnings of the working men (not including the Mormons, of whom I have
yet seen little) of this whole region are fooled away on
this abominable witch-broth and its foster-brother tobacco, for which they pay $1 to 2 50 per pound! The
log-tavern-keeper at Weber, of whom  our mail-boys
bought their next supply of "rot," apologetically observed, "There a'n't nothing bad about this whisky;
the only fault is, it isn't good." I back that last assertion with my whole heart.
Fording Bear River-here a swift, rocky-bottomed
creek, now perhaps forty yards wide, but hardly three
feet deep-we rose gradually through a grassy valley,
partially inclosed by high, perpendicular stone Buttes,
especially on the right.  The  stone (evidently once
clay) outposts of one of the Buttes are known as "The
Needles." We thence descended a long, steep hill into
the valley of "Lost Creek,"-Ay  "lost," I could not
divine, as the creek is plainly there —a fair trout-brook,
running through a grassy meadow, between high hills,
over which we made our way into the head of "Echo
Canon," down which we jogged some twenty miles to
Weber River.
202
v 
FR,()t lBI'IDGEL, TO  SAI,T LAKE.
This c:rlion reminded me afriesli tlit evil and good
are stironII(y iiitei,wNoven in oul early lot.  Throughout
the desolate region which stretches fi'om the Sweetwater
nearly or quite to Bridger, we had in the main the best
natural road I ever traveled-dusty, indeed, and, in
places, abrupt and rou,gh, but equal in the average to
tlhe carefully-made and annually-repaired roads of New
Eiig,land. But in this fairly-grassed ravine, hemmed in by
steep, picturesque blufifs, with slprings issuing fr-)im their
bases, and gradually gathering into a trout-brook as we
neared the Weber, we found the "going decidedly bad,"
and realized that in the dark it could not but be dangeroiIs. For the brook, with its welcome fringe of yellow,
cloke-clerryT, service-berry, and other shrubs, continually zigzag,ged from  side to side of the carion, compelling us to descend and ascend its precipitous banks, and
cross its sometimes mliry bed, often with a smart chance
of breaking an axle, or upsetting
We stopped to feed and dine at the site of " General
Well's Caimp" during the M2ormon War of 1857-8, and
passed, ten miles below, the fortifications constructed
under his orders in that famous campaign.  They seem
childish affairs, more suited to the genius of Chinese
than of civilized warfare. I cannot believe that they
would have stopped the Federal troops, if even tolerably
led, for more than an hour.
We reached our next station on the Weber, a little
after 5, P. MI., and did not leave till after an early breakfast next (yesterday) morning. The Weber is, perhaps,a little larger than the Bear, and runs through a deep,
narrow, rugged valley, with no cultivation so far as we
203 
FROMI BRIDGEr TO SALT LAKE.
saw it.  Two "groceries," a blacksmithl's-shop, and the
mail-station, are all the habitations we passed in follow ing down it some four or five miles to the shaky pole bridge, on which we crossed, though it is usually ford able. We soon after struck off up a rather steep, grassy
water-course which we followed to its head, and thence
took over a "'divide" to the head of another Such, on
which our road wound down to "East Cation Creek,"
a fair, rapid trout-brook, running through a deep, nar row ravine, up which we twisted, crossing and reeross ing the swift stream, until we left it, greatly diminished
in volume, after tracking it through a mile or so of low,
swampy timber, and fiequent mud-hloles, and turned up
a little runnel that came feebly brawling down the side
of a mountain. Tile trail ran for a considerable dis tance exactly in the bed of this petty brooklet-said
bed consisting wholly of round, water-worn granite
bowlders, of all sizes, from that of a pigeon's egg up to
that of a potash-kettle; when the ravine widened a lit tle, and the trail wound from side to side of the water course as chances for a foothold were proffered by one
or the other. The bottom of this ravine was poorly
timbered with quaking-asp, and balsam-fir, with some
service-berry, choke-cherry, mountain currant, and other
bushes; the whole ascent is four miles, not very steep,
except for the last half-mnile; but the trail is so bad,
that it is a good two hours' work to reach the summit.
But, that summit gained, we stand in a broad, open,
'level space on the top of the Wahsatch range, with the
Uintah and Bear ]llountains on either hand, forming a
perfect chaos of wild, barren peaks, some of them snowy,
20 
FROM BRIDGER TO SALT LAKE.
between which we have a glance at a part of the Salt
Lake Valley, some thirty miles distant, though the city,
much nearer, is hidden by intervening heights, and the
lake is likewise concealed further to the right.  The
descent toward the valley is steeper and shorter than
the ascent from the side of Bear River-the first halfmile so fearfully steep, that I judge few passengers ever
rode down it, though  carriage-wheels are uniformly
chained here. But, though the southern face of these
mountains is covered by a far more luxuriant shrubbery
than the northern, among which oaks and maples soon
make their appearance for the first time in many  a
weary hundred miles. None of these seem ever to grow
into trees; in fact, I saw none over six feet high. Some
quaking-asps, from ten to twenty-five feet high, the
largest hardly more than six inches thllrough, cover
patches of these precipitous mountain-sides, down which,
and over the low intervening mountain, they are toilsomely dragged fifteen or twenty miles to serve as fuel
in this city, where even such poor trash sells for fifteen
to twenty dollars per cord. The scarcity and wretchedness of the timber-(I have not seen the raw material
for a decent ax-helve growing in all my last thousand
miles of travel)-are the great  discouragement and
drawback with regard to all this region. The parched
sandy clay, or clayey sand of the plains disappeared
many miles back; there has been rich, black soil, at
least in the valleys, ever since we crossed Weber River;
but the timber is still scarce, small, and poor, in the
ravines, while ninety-nine hundredths of the surface of
the mountains is utterly bare of it. In the absence of
205 
FROMi BRIDGER TO SALT LAKE.
coal, how can a region so unblest ever be thickly settled,
and profitably cultivated?
The descent of the mountain on this side is but two
miles in length, with the mail conmpany's station at the
bottom.  Here (thirteen miles from the city, twentyseven from Bear River) we had expected to stop for the
night; but our new conductor, seeing that there were
still two or three hours of good daylight, resolved to
come on.  So, with fiesh teams, we soon crossed the
"little mountain "-steep, but hardly a mile in ascent,
and but half a mile in immediate descent-and ran
rapidly down some ten nmiles through the narrow ravine
known ashl Emigration Canon," where the road, though
much traversed by Mormons as well as emigrants and
merchant-trains, is utterly abominable;  and, passing
over but two or three miles of intervening plain, were
in this city just as twilight was deepening into night.
SALT LIxE CITY wears a pleasant aspect to the emigrant or traveler, weary, dusty, and browned with a
thousand miles of jolting, fording, camping, through the
scorched and naked American Desert. It is located
mainly on the bench of hard gravel that slopes southward from the foot of the mountains toward the lake
valley; the houses-generally small and of one storyare all built of adobe (sun-hardened brick), and have a
neat and quiet look; while the uniform breadth of the
streets (eight rods) and the "magnificent distances" usIually preserved by the buildings (each block containing
ten acres, divided into eight lots, giving a quarter of an
acre for building,s and an acre for garden, fruit, etc., to
206
r 
FR0O5 BItIDGEl'n TO SALT LAKE.
each hotscelolder), malke up an ensermble seldom equaled.
Tlhen the rills of brighlt, sparkling, leaping water which,
diverted from the streams issuing from several adjacent
mountain canrions, flow through each street and are conducted at will into every garden, diffuse an air of freshness and coolness which none can fail to enjoy, but
which only a traveler in summer across the Plains can
fully appreciate. On a single business street, the postoffice, principal stores, etc., are set pretty near each
other, thoungh not so close as in other cities; everywhere
else, I believe, the original plan of the city has been
wisely and happily preserved. Southward firom the
city, trie soil is softer and richer, and there are farms of
(I judge) ten to forty or sixty acres; but I am told that
the lowest portion of the valley, nearly on a level with
the lake, is so impregnated with salt, soda, etc., as to
yield but a grudging return for the husbandman's labor. I believe, however, that even this region is available as a stock-range-thousands on thousands of cattle,
mainly owned in the city, being pastured here in winter
as well as summer, and said to do well in all seasons.
For, though snow is never absent from the mountainchains which shut in this valley, it seldom lies long in
the valley itself.
The pass over the Wahsatch is, if I mistake not, eight
thousand three hundred feet above the sea-level; this
valley about four thousand nine hundred.  The atmosphere is so pure that the mountains across the valley to
the south seem but ten or fifteen miles off; they are
really from twenty to thirty.  The lake is some twenty
miles westward; but we see only the rugged mountain
207 
FROM BRIDGER TO SALT LAKE.
known as "Antelope Island" which rises in its center,
and seems to bound the valley in that direction. Bothi
the lake and valley wind away to the north-west for a
distance of some ninety miles-the lake receiving the
waters of Weber and Bear Rivers behind the mountains
in that direction. And then there are other valleys like
this, nested among the mountains south and west to the
very base of the Sierra Nevada. So there will be room
enough here for all this strange people for many years.
But of the Mormons and Mormonism, I propose to
speak only after studying them; to which end I remain
here several days longer.
208
4 
XXI.
TWO HOURS WITH BRIGHlAM YOUNG.
SALT LAKE CITY, Utah, July ]13, 1859.
My friend Dr. Bernhisel, late delegate in Congress,
took me this afternoon, by appointment, to meet B'ighlam Young, President of the Mormon Church, who had
expressed a willingness to receive me at two P. M. We
were very cordially welcomed at the door by the president, who led us into the second-story parlor of the
largest of his houses (he has three), where I was introduced to Hieber C. Kimball, General Wells, General
Ferg,uson, Albert Carrington, Elias Smith, and several
other leading men in the church, with two fill-grown
sons of the president. After some unimportant conversation on general topics, I stated that I had come in
quest of fuller knowledge respecting the doctrines and
polity of the Mormon Church, and would like to ask
some questions bearing directly on these, if there were
no objection.  President Young, avowing his willingness
to respond to all pertinent inquiries, the conversation
proceeded substantially as follows:
II. G.-Am I to regard Mormonism (so-called) as a
new religion, or as simply a new development of Christianity.
B. Y.-We hold that there can be no true Christian
Church without a priesthood directly commissioned by,
and in immediate communication with the Son of God 
xx I.
~ -w   xoJE.~,    -  ~~_   H~rJ   O J'G
SALT LAKE CITY, Utah, July 13, 1859.
My friend Dr. Bernhisel, late delegate in Congress,
took me this afternoon, by appointment, to meet Biigfam ~ouzng, President o/'fie fLo-rmon C         wlure  wfio  ad
expressed a willingness to receive me at two P. M. We
dent, who led us into the second-story parlor of the
largest of his houses (he has three), where I was intro  duced to Hieber C. Kimball, General Wells, General
Ferguson, Albert Carrington, Elias Smith, and several
other leading men in the church, with two fill-grown
sons of the president. After some unimportant conver  sation on general topics, I stated that I had come in
quest of fuller knowledge respecting the doctrines and
polity of the Mormon Church, and would like to ask
some questions bearing directly on these, if there were
no objection. President Young avowing his willingness
to respond to all pertinent inquiries, the conversation
proceeded substantially as follows:
II. G.-Am I to regard Mormonism (so-called) as a
new religion, or as simply a new development of Chris  tianity?.
B. Y.-We hold that there can be no true Christian
Church without a priesthood directly commissioned by,
and in immediate communication with the Son of God
0 
TWO I HOURS WITH BRIGHlA[M YOUNG.
and Saviour of mankind.  Such a church is that of thel
Latter-Day Saints, called by their erermiies Mtoiiiions;
we know no other that even pretends to have present and
direct revelations of God's will.
-I. G.-Then I am to understand that you regard all
other churches professing to be christian as the Church
of Rome regards all churches not in communion with
itself-as schismatic, heretical, and out of the way of
salvation?
B. Y.-Yes, substantially.
f5. S.-Apart from this, in what respect do your
doctrines differ essentially from those of our Orthodox
Protestant Churches-the Baptist or Methodist, for
example?
B. Y.-We hold the doctrines of christianity, as revealed in the Old and New Testaments-also  in the
Book of Mormon, which teaches the same cardinal truths
and those only.
.1. G.-Do you believe in the doctrine of the Trinity?
B. Y.-We do; but not exactly as it is held by
other churches. We believe in the Father, the Son,
and the IHIoly Ghost, as equal, but not identical-not as
one person  [being],*   We  believe in all the  bible
teaches on this subject.
II. G.-Do you believe in a personal  devil-a distinct, eonscious, spiritual being, whose nature and acts
are essentially malignant and evil?
B. Y.-We do.
* I am quite sure that President Young used here the word "person" as
1 have it; but I am not aware that Christians of any denomination do regard the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, as one person.
210 
TWO IIOURS WITHI BRIGIItAl YOUNG.
H. G.-Do you hold the doctrine of eternal )punisiment?
B. Y. —We do; though perhaps not exactly as other
churches do. We believe it as the bible teaches it.
I. G.-I understand that you regard baptism by immersion as essential?
B. Y.i-Ve do.
H. G.-Do you practice infant baptism?
B. Y.-No.
11. G.-Do you make removal to these valleys obligatory on your converts?
B. Y.-They would consider themselves greatly aggrieved if they were not iniivited hither. We hold to
such a gathering together of God's people, as the bible
foretells, and that this is the place, and now is the time
appointed for its consummation.
If. G.-The predictions to which you refer, have
usnally, I think, been understood to indicate Jerusalem
(or Judea) as the place of such gathering.
B. Y.-Yes, for the Jews-not for otheis.
II. G.-What is the position of your church with respect to slavery?
B. Y.-We consider it of divine institution, and not
to be abolished until the curse pronounced on Ham
shall have been removed from his descendants.
Il. G.-Are any slaves now held in this territory?
B. }T.-Thlere are.
If. G.-Do your territorial laws uphold slavery?
B. Y..-Those laws are printed-you can read for
yourself. It' slaves are brought here by those who
211 
TWO IOURS WITIH BRIGHAM YOUNG.
owned them in the states, we do not favor their escape
from the service of those owners.
-H. S.-Ani I to infer that Utah, if admitted as a
member of the Federal Union, will be a slave state?
H. G.-No; she will be a free state.  Slavery here
would prove useless and unprofitable. I regard it generally as a curse to the masters. I myself hire many
laborers, and pay them fair wages; I could not afford
to own them. I can do better than subject myself to
an obligation to feed and clothe their families, to provide and care for them in sickness and health. Utah is
not adapted to slave-labor.
I[. G.-Let me now be enlightened with regard more
especially to your church polity: I understand that you
require each member to pay over one-tenth of all he
produces or earns to the church.
B. Y.-That is a requirement of our faith.  There is
no compulsion as to the payment. Each member acts
in the premises according to his pleasure, under the dictates of his own conscience.
H. G.-What is done with the proceeds of this tith
ing?
B. Y. — Part of it is devoted to building temples, and
other places of worship; part to helping the poor and
needy converts on their way to this country; and the
largest portion to the support of the poor among the
saints.
11. G.-Is none of it paid to bishops, and other dignitaries of the church?
B. Y.-Not one penny.  No bishop, no elder, no
deacon, nor other church officer, receives any comnpen
212 
TWO HOURS WITII BRIGIIAM YOUNG.
sation for his official services. A bishop is often required to put his hand into his own pocket, and provide
tlherefirom for the poor of his charge; but he never receives anything for his services.
f. G.-How, then, do your ministers live?
B. Y.-By the labor of their own hands, like the
first apostles. Every bishop, every elder, may be daily
seen at work in the field or the shop, like his neighbors;
every minister of the church has his proper calling, by
which he earns the bread of his tfamuily; he who cannot,
or will not do the church's work for nothing is not
wanted in her service; even our lawyers (pointing to
General Ferguson and another present, who are the
regular lawyers of the church), are paid nothing for their
services; I am the only person in the church who has
not a regular calling apart from the church's service,
and I never received one farthing from her treasury; if
I obtain anything, from the tithing-house, I am charged
witlh, and pay for it, just as any one else would; the
clerks in the tithing-store are paid like other clerks;
but no one is ever paid for any service pertaining to the
ministry. We think a man who cannot make his living
aside from the ministry of Christ unsuited to that office.
I am called rich, and consider myself worth two hundred
and fifty thousand dollars; but no dollar of it was ever
paid mie by the church, nor for any service as a minister
of the everlasting Gospel. I lost nearly all I had when
we were broken up in Missouri, and driven from that
state. I was nearly stripped again, when Joseph Smith
was murdered, and we were driven from Illinois; but
nothling was ever made up to me by the church, nor by
213 
TWO HOURS WITII BRIGIIAMI YOUNG.
any one. I believe I know how to acquire property,
and how to take care of it.
It. G.-Can you give me any rational explanation of
the aversion and hatred with which your people are generally regarded by those among whomr they have lived and
with wahom they have been brought directly in contact?
B. Y.-No other explanation than is afforded by the
crucifixion of Christ and the kindred treatment of God's
ministers, prophets and saints, in all ages.
IL. C(.-I lnow that a new sect is always decried and
traduced-that it is hardly ever deemed respectable to
belong to one-that the Baptists, Quakers, MAlethodists,
Universalists, etc., have each in their turn been regarded in the infancy of their sect as the offscouring of the
earth; yet I cannot remember that either of them were
ever generally represented and regarded by the older
sects of their early days as thieves, robbers, murderers.
B. Y.-If you will consult the cotemporary Jewish
account of the life and acts of Jesus Christ, you will
lind that he and his disciples were accused of every
abominable deed and purpose-robbery and murder included.  Such a work is still extant, and may be found
by those who seek it.
If. G.-W  hat do you say of the so-called Danites, or
Destroying Angels, belonging to your church?
B. Y.-What do you say?  I know of no such band,
no such persons or organization. I hear of them only
in the slanders of our enemies.
II. G.-With regard, then, to the grave.question on
which your doctrines and practices are avowedly at war
with those of the Christian world-that of a plurality
214 
TWO HOURS WITH BRIGHIIAM YOUNG.
of wives-is the system of your church acceptable to
the majority of its women?
B. Y.-Thley could not be more averse to it than I
was when it wnvas first revealed to us as the Divine will.  I
think they generally accept it, as I do, as the will of God.
-T. G.-How general is polygamy amiong you?
B. Y.-I could not say.   Some  of those present
(heads of the church) have each but one wife; others
have more: each determines what is his individual duty.
I]. G.-What is the largest number of wives belonging to any one man?
B. Y.-I have fifteen; I know no one who has more;
but some of those sealed to me are old ladies whom I
regarid rather as mothers than wives, but whom  I have
taken home to cherish and support.
II. G.-Does not the Apostle Paul say that a bishop
should be " the husband of one wife?"
B. Y.-So we hold. We do not regard any but a married man as fitted for the office of bishop.  But the
apostle does not forbid a bishop hlaving more wives
than one.
I. 11. G.-Does not Christ say that he who puts away
his wvife, or marries one whom another has put away,
commits adultery!
B. Y.-Yes; and I hold that no man should ever put
away his wife except for adultery-not always even for
that.  Such is ay individual view of the matter.  I do
not say that wives have never been put away in our
church, but that I do not approve of the practice.
11. G.-lowv do you regard what is commonly termed the Christian Sabbath?
215 
TWO IIOUP,S WVITII BRIGITAM YOUNG.
B. Y.-As a divinely appointed day of rest. We
enjoin all to rest from secular labor on that day. We
would have no man enslaved to the Sabbath, but we
enjoin all to respect and enjoy it.
Such is, as nearly as I can recollect, the substance of
nearly two hours' conversation, wherein much was said
incidentally that would not be worth reporting, even if
I could remember and reproduce it, and wherein others
bore a part; but as President Young is the first minister of the Mormon church, and bore the principal part
in the conversation, I have reported his answers alone
to my questions and observations. The others appeared
uniformly to defer to his views, and to acquiesce fully
in his responses and explanations. Hle spoke readily,
not always with grammatical accuracy, but with no appearance of hesitation or reserve, and with no apparent
desire to conceal anything, nor did he repel any of my
questions as impertinent. Hie was very plainly dressed
in thin summer clothing, and with no air of sanctimony
or fanaticism. In appearance, he is a portly, frank,
good-natured, rather thick-set man of fifty-five, seeming
to enjoy life, and to be in no particular hurry to get to
heaven. His associates are plain men. evidently born
and reared to a life of labor, and looking as little like
crafty hypocrites or swindlers as any body of men I ever
met. The absence of cant or snuffle from their iianner
was marked and general; yet, I think I may fairly say
that their Mlormonism has not impoverished themthat they were generally poor men when they embraced
it, and are now in very comfortable circumstances-as
216 
TWO HOURS Wem  BRIGHAM YOUNG.
men averaging three or four wives apiece certainly need
to be. 
If I hazard any criticisms on Mormonism generally,
I reserve them for a separate letter, being determined
to make this a fair and full expos6 of the doctrine and
polity, in the very words of its prophet, so far as I can
recall them.  I do not believe President Young himself
could present them in terms calculated to render them
less obnoxious to the Gentile world than the above.
But I have a right to add here, because I said it to the
assembled chiefs at the close of the above colloquy, that
the degradation (or, if you please, the restriction) of
woman to the single office of child-bearing and its accessories, is an inevitable consequence of the system
here paramount. I have not observed a sign in the
streets, an advertisement in the journals, of this Mormnon metropolis, whereby a woman proposes to do anything whatever. No Mormon has ever cited to me his
wife's or any woman's opinion on any subject; no Mormon woman has been introduced or has spoken to me;
and, though I have been asked to visit Mormons in
their houses, no one has spoken of his wife (or wives)
desiring to see me, or his desiring me to make her (or
their) acquaintance, or voluntarily indicated the existence of such a being or beings. I will not attempt to
report our talk on this subject; because, unlike what I
have above given, it assumed somewhat the character
of a disputation, and I could hardly give it impartially;
but one remark made by President Young I think I can
give accurately, and it may serve as a sample of all
that was offered on that side. It was in these words, I
10
217 
TWO HOURS WITH BRIGHAM YOUNG.
think exactly: " If I did not consider myself competent
to transact a certain business without taking my wife's
or any woman's counsel with regard to it, I think I
ought to let that business alone."* The spirit with re1-gard to woman, of the entire Mormon, as of all other
polygamic systems, is fairly displayed in this avowal.
Let any such system become established and prevalent,
and woman will soon be confined to the harem, and her
appearance in the street with unveiled face will be ac  counted immodest. I joyfully trust that the genius of
the nineteenth century tends to a solution of the prob  lem of woman's sphere and destiny radically different
from this.
* Another feature of President Young's remarks on this topic strikes
me on revision.  He assumed as undeniable that outside of the Mormon
church, married men usually keep mistresses-that incontinence is the
general rule, and continence the rare exception. This assumption was
habitual with the Mormons who, at various times, discussed with me the
subject of polygamy.
218 
XXII.
THE M       ORM O NS AND MORMONISM.
SALT LAKE CITY, JuZy 181 1859.
SiNCE my interview with Brigham Young, I have
enjoyed opportunities for studying the Mormons in their
social or festive and in their devotional assemblies. Of
private social intercourse-that is, intercourse between
family and family —I judge that there is comparatively
little here; between Mormons and Gentiles or strangers,
of course still less. Their religious services (in the tabernacle) are much like those that may be shared or witnessed in the churches of most of our popular sects; the
music rather better than you will hear in an average
worshiping assemblage in the states; the prayers pertinent and full of unction; the sermons adapted to tastes
or needs different from mine. They seemed to me
rambling, dogmatic, and ill-digested; in fact, Elder Orson Pratt, who preached last Sunday morning, prefaced
his harangue by a statement that he had been hard at
work on his farm throughout the week, and labored
under consequent physical exhaustion. Elder John
Taylor (I believe he is one of the Twelve; at all events
he is a high dignitary in the church, and a man of decided natural ability) spoke likewise in the afternoon
with little or no premeditation. Now, I believe that
every preacher should be also a worker; I like to see
one mowing or pitching hay in his shirt-sleeves; and I
0
I 
THlE MORMONS AND MORMONISM.
hear with edification an unlettered but devout and earnest evangelist who, having worked a part of the week
for the subsistence of his family, devotes the rest of it to
preaching the gospel to small school-house or wayside
gatherings of hearers, simply for the good of their souls.
Let him only be sure to talk good sense, and I will
excuse some bad grammar.  But when a preacher is to
address a congregation of one to three thousand persons,
like that which assembles twice each sabbath in the
Salt Lake City Tabernacle, I insist that a due reg,ard for
the economy of time requires that he should prepare
himself, by study and reflection, if not by writing, to
speak directly to the point. This mortal life is too short
and precious to be wasted in listening to rambling,
loose-jointed harangues, or even to those which severally
consume an hour in the utterance, when they mig,ht be
boiled down and clarified until they were bron,ught within
the compass of half an hour each.  A  thousand halfhours, Reverend Sir! have you ever pondered their
value?  Suppose your time to be worth ten times that
of an average hearer; still, to take an extra half-hour
from a thousand hearers in order to save yours,,lf ten or
fifteen hours' labor in the due and careful preparation
of a sermon, is a scandalous waste, which I see not how
to justify.  Be entreated to repent and amend!
The two discourses to which I listened were each in
tensely and exclusively Mormon.  That is, they assumed
that the Mormons were God's peculiar, chosen, beloved
people, and that all the rest of mankind are out of the
ark of safety and floundering in heathen darkness. I
am not edified by this sort of preaching.  It reminds
220 
TIIE MORMONS AND MORMIONISlM.
me torcibly of the Pharisee's prayer: "Lord, I thank
thee that I amn not as other men are-unjust, extortioners," etc.  I do not think good men delight in this
assumption of an exclusive patent for the grace of God;
and I am quite sure it is not well adapted to the transformation of bad men into good. It is too well calculated
to puff up its disciples with self-conceit and spiritual
pride. That Jesus Christ is about to re-appear on the
earth in all the pomp and splendor of a mighty conqueror-that he will then proceed to take vengeance on his
enemies (mankind in general, whether heathen or nominally Christians) and to glorify his elect (the Latter-Day
Saints or Morinons) were treated by the Tabernacle
preachers as propositions too self-evident to need demonstration. Having thus chastised his enemies and " gathered his elect from the four winds of heaven," the
Saviour is to reign over them here on earth for a thousand years; at the end of whilch period, they are together
to be transferred to heaven. Of course, I had heard the
like of this before; but it always seems to me a very
gross and wooden perversion of the magnificent imagery whereby the Bible foreshadows a great spiritual
transformation.  The spirit of the Mormon religion ap:r
pears to me Judaic rather than Christian; and I am
well assured that Heber C. Kimball, one of the great
lights of the church, once said in conversation with a
Gentile-" I do pray for my enemies: I pray that they
may all go to hlell." Neither from the pulpit nor elsewhere have I heard from a Mormon one spontaneous,
hearty recognition of the essential brotherhood of the
human race-one generous prayer for the enlightenment
221 
THE MORMONS AND MORMONISM.
and salvation of all mankind. On the other hand, I
have been distinctly given to understand that my inter locutors expect to sit on thrones and to bear rule over
multitudes in the approaching kingdom of God. In
fact, one sincere, devout man has to-day assigned that
to me as a reason for polygamy; he wants to qualify
himself, by ruling a large and diversified family here,
for bearing rule over his principality in the " new earth,"
that he knows to be at hand. I think he might far better devote a few years to pondering Christ's saying to
this effect, "He who would be least in the kingdom of
heaven, the same shall be greatest."
I was undeceived with regard to the Book of Mormon.  I had understood that it is now virtually discarded, or at least neglected, by the church in its services and ministrations. But Elder Pratt gave us a
synopsis of its contents, and treated it throughout as of
equal authority and importance with the Old and New
Testaments.  He did not read from it, however, but
from Malaechi, and quoted text after text from the prophets, which he cited as predictions of the writing and
discovery of this book.
The congregation consisted, at either service of some
fifteen hundred to two thousand persons-more in the
morning than the afternoon. A large majority of them
(not including the elders and chief men, of whom a
dozen or so were present) were evidently of European
birth; I think a majority of the males were past the
meridian of life. All gave earnest heed to the exercises
throughout; in fact, I have seldom seen a more devout
and intent assemblage. I had been told that the M[or
222 
THE MORMONS AN) MORMONISM.
mons were remarkably ignorant, superstitious, and
brutalized; but the aspect of these congregations did
not sustain that assertion. Very few rural congregations would exhibit more heads evincing decided ability;.
and I doubt whether any assemblage, so largely European in its composition, would make a better appearance.  Not  that  Europeans  are  less intellectual or
comely than Americans; but our emigrants are mainly
of the poorer classes; and poverty, privation, and rugged toil, plow hard, forbidding lines in the ]hu'nan countenilance elsewhere than in Utah. Brigham Young was
not present at either service.
Do I regard the great body of these Mormons as
knaves and hypocrites? Assuredly not. I do not believe there was ever a religion whereof the great mass
of the adherents were not honest and sincere. Hypocrites and knaves there are in all sects; it is quite possible that some of the magnates of the Mormon Church
regard this so-called religion (with all others) as a contrivance for the enslavement and fleecing of the many,
and the aggrandizement of the few; but I cannot believe
that a sect, so considerable and so vigorous as the Mormlon, was ever founded in conscious imposture, or built
up on any other basis than that of earnest conviction.
If the projector, and two or three of his chief confeder ates are knaves, the great body of their followers were
dupes.
Nor do I accept the current Gentile presumption, that
the Mormons are an organized banditti-a horde of rob bers and assassins. Thieves and murderers mainly
haunt the purlieus of great cities, or hide in caverns
223 
THE MORMONS AND MORMONISM.
and forests adjacent to the great routes of travel. But
when the Mormon leaders decided to set up their Zion
in these parched mountain vales and canons, the said
valleys were utterly secluded and remote from all Gen tile approach-away fromn any mail-route or channel of
emigration.  Thiat the Mormons wished to escape Gen tile control, scrutiny, jurisprudence, is evident; that
they meant to abuse their inaccessibility, to the detri ment and plunder of wayfarers, is not credible.
Do I, then, discredit the tales of Mormon  outrages
and crime-of the murder of the Parrishes, the Moun tain Meadow massacre, etc. etc.-wherewith the general
ear has recently been shocked?  No, I do not.  Some
of these may have been fabricated by Gentile malice
others are doubtless exaggerated-btbut there is some
basis of truth fbr the current Gentile conviction that
the Mormons have robbed, maiined, and even killed
persons in this territory, uinder circumstances which
should subject the perpetrators to condign punishment,
but that Mormon witnesses, grand jurors, petit jurors,
and magistrates determinedly screen the guilty. I
deeply regret the necessity of believing this; but the
facts are incontestable. That a large party of emigrants
-not less than eighty-from Arkansas to California,
were foully massacred at Mountain Meadows in Septeimber, 1857, more immediately by Indians, but uinder the
direct inspiration and direction of the Mormon settlers
in that vicinity-to whom, and not to the savages, the
emigrants had surrendered, after a siege, on the strength
of assurances that their lives at least should be sparedis established by evidence that cannot (I think) be in
224 
T1'IHE MORMONS AND MORMONISM.
validated-the evidence of conscienlce-smitten partakers
ill the crime, both Indian and ex-Mlormon, and of children of the slaughtered emnigrants, who were spared as
too young to be dangerous even as witnesses, and of
whom the great majority have been sent down to the
states as unable to give testimony; but two boys are
retained here as witnesses, who  distinctly remember
that their parents surrendered to white men, and that
these white men at best did not attempt to prevent their
perfidious massacre.  These children, moreover, were
all found in the possession of Mormons-not one of
them in the hands of Indians; and, though the Mormons say they ransomed them from the hands of Indians,
the children deny it, saying that they never lived with,
nor were in the keeping of savages; and the Indians
bear concurrent testimony. So in the Parrish case: the
fanlily hlad been Mormons, but had apostatized-and
undertook to return to the states; they were warned
that they would be killed if they persisted in that resolution; they did persist, and were killed. Of course,
nobody will ever be convicted of their murder; but
those who warned them of the fate on which they were
rushing know why they were killed, and could discover,
if they would, who killed them.
The vital fact in the case is just this: The great mass
of these people, as a body, mean to be honest, just, and
humane; but they are, before and above all things else,
Latter-Day Saints, or Mormons.  They devoutly believe
that they are God's peculiar and especial people, doing
His work, up-building His kingdom, and basking in the
sunshine of His peculiar favor.  Whoever obstructs or
10*
225 
THE MORMONS AND MORMONISM.
impedes them in this work, then, is God's enemny, who
must be made to get out of the way of the establishment
of Chirist's kingdom on earth-made to do so by lawful
and peaceful means if possible, but by any means that
may ultimately be found necessary. The Parrishes
were apostates; had they been allowed to pursue their
journey to the states, they would have met many Saints
coming up the road, whose minds they would have
troubled if not poisoned; and they would have told
stories after reaching their destination which would have
deepened the general prejudice against the Saints; so
the up-building and well-being of Christ's kingdom required that they should die. The Arkansas emigrants
slaughtered at Mountain-Meadows, had  in some way
abused the Saints, or interposed obstacles to the progress
of God's work, and they were consequently given over
to destruction. Far be it from me to hint that one-fifth,
one-tenth, one-twentieth, of the Mormons ever bore any
part in these bloody deeds, or even know to this day
that they were perpetrated.   The great body of the
Saints undoubtingly believe all the current imputations
of Mormon homicide and outrage to be abominable
caluinnies.   Many  of the highest dignitaries of the
church may be included in this number. But there are
men in the church who knowv that they are not calumnies-who know that Gentiles and apostates have been
killed for the church's and for Christ's sake, and who
firmly believe that they ought to have been. I grieve
to say it, but I hold these more consistent and logical
Mormons than their innocent and unsuspicious brethren.
For if I were a Latter-Day Saint, undoubtingly believ
22 
THE MORMONS AND MORMONISM.
ing all opposers of the Mormon Church to be God's
enemies, obnoxious to Hlis wrath and curse, and powerfully obstructing the rescue of souls from eternal perdition and torture, I should be strongly impelled to help
put those opposers of God's purposes out of the way of
sending any more immortal souls to everlasting fire.  I
should feel it my duty so to act, as a lover of God and
man. And I confidently predict that not one Mormon
who has killed a Gentile or apostate under a like view
of his duty will ever be fairly convicted in this territory.
No jury can be drawn here, unless in flagrant defiance
of territorial laws, which is not mainly composed of
Mormons; and no such jury will convict a Mormon of
crime for any act done in behalf of God's kingdomthat is, of the Mormon church.
I ask, then, the advocates of" popular sovereignty"
in the territories to say what they propose to do in the
premises. How do they intend to adapt their principle
to the existing state of facts? They have superseded
Brigham Young, with a full knowledge that at least
nine-tenths of the people of Utah earnestly desired his
retention as governor. They have sent hither a batch
of judges, who would like to earn their salaries; but
the Mormon legislature devotes its sessions principally
to the work of crippling and fettering these judges, so
that they shall remain here as mere dummies or be
driven into resignation.  Their juries are all drawn for
them by Mormon officials, under regulations which virtually exclude all but Mormons from each panel; it is
a violation of all the laws of Utah to cite in argument
before ally judge or jury here the decisions of any
227 
THE MORMONS AND MORMONISM.
court-even the supreme court of the United States but the courts of Utah; so that even the Dred Scott
decision could not lawfully be cited here in a fugitive
slave case; in short, the federal judiciary, the federal
executive, and the federal army, as now existing in
Utah, are three transparent shams-three egregious
farces; they are costing the treasury very large sums to
no purpose; and the sooner the governor, marshal,
judges, etc., resign, and the army is withdrawn, the bet ter for all but a handful of contractors.  "Popular
sovereignty" has such full swing here that Brigham
Young carries the territory in his breeches' pocket with out a shadow of opposition; he governs without respon sibility to either law or public opinion; for there is no
real power here but that of "the church," and he is
practically the church. The church is rich, and is hour ly increasing in wealth; the church settles all civil
controversies which elsewhere cause lawsuits; the
church spends little or nothing, yet rules everything;
while the federal government, though spending two or
three millions per annum here, and keeping up a fussy
parade of authority, is powerless and despised. If,
then, we are to have "popular sovereignty " in the territories, let us have it pure and without shams. Let
Brigham be reappointed governor; withdraw the present federal office-holders and army; open shorter and
better roads to Califo.mnia through the country north of
'Bridger; and notify the emigrants that, if they choose
to pass through Utah, they will do so at their own risk.
Let the Mormnons have the territory to themselves-it
is worth very little to others, but reduce its area by
228 
TIIE MORMONS AND MORMONISM.
cutting off Carson Valley on the one side, and making
a Rocky Mountain territory on the other, and then let
them go on their way rejoicing. I believe this is not
only by far the cheapest but the safest and best mode
of dealing with the difficulties already developed and
daily developing here, unless the notion of "popular
sovereignty " in the territories is to be utterly exploded
and given np.  " Popular Sovereignty" in a territory
is a contradiction in terms; but "popular sovereignty"
in a territory backed by a thousand sharp federal bayonets and a battery of flying artillery, is too monstrous a
futility, too transparent a swindle, to be much longer
upheld or tolerated.
229 
XXIII.
SALT LAKE, AND ITS ENVIRONS.
SALT LAKE CITY, J'uy, 18, 1859.
A  PARTY of us visited the lake on Saturday.  It is
not visible from this city, though it must be from the
mountains which rise directly north of it, and more re motely on all sides, but Antelope, Stansbury, and per haps other islands in the lake, being mainly covered by
high, rugged hills or mountains, are in plain sight from
every part of the valley. The best of these islands is
possessed by "the church," (Mormon) as a herd-ground,
or ranche, for its numerous cattle, and is probably the
best tract for that purpose in the whole territory. That
portion of the lake between it and the valley is so shallow, that cattle may, at most seasons, be safely driven
over to the island; while it is so deep (between three
and four feet) that none will stray back again, and it
would be difficult and dangerous to steal cattle thence
in the night, when that business is mainly carried on.
So the church has a large and capital pasture, and her
cattle multiply and wax fat at the least possible expense. The best canon for wood near this city is likewise owned by "the church"-how owned, I can't pretend to say-but whoever draws wood from it must
deposit every third load in the church's * capacious
* On further inquiry, I learn that Brigham Young personally is the
owner of this splendid placer; but, as he is practically the church, the correction was hardly worth making. 
SALT LAKE AND ITS ENVIRONS.
yard. These are but specimens of the management
whereby, though the saints are generally poor, often
quite poor, so that a saint who has three wives can
sometimes hardly afford to keep two beds-" the
church" has a comfortable allowance of treasures laid
up on earth. And her leading apostles and dignitaries
also, by a curious coincidence, seem to be in thriving
circumstances. It looks to me as though neither they
nor the church could afford to have the world burnt
up for a while yet.
Crossing, just west of the city, the Jordan (which
drains the fresh waters of Lake Utah into Salt Lake,
and is a large, sluggish creek), we are at once out of the
reach of irrigation from the northern hills-the river
intercepting all streams from that quarter-and are
once more on a parched clay-plain, covered mainly with
our old acquaintances, sage-bush and grease-wood;
though there are wet, springy tracts, especially toward
the southern mountains and near the lake, which produce rank, coarse grass. Yet this seeming desert has
naturally a better soil than the hard, pebbly gravel on
which the city stands, and which irrigation has converted into bounteous gardens and orchards. I rejoice
to perceive that a dam over the Jordan is in progress,
whereby a considerable section of the valley of that
river (which valley is forty miles long, by an average
of twenty broad) is to be irrigated. There are serious
obstacles to the full success of this enterprise in the
scarcity of timber and the inequality of the plain, which
is gouged and cut up by numerous (now dry) water courses; but, if this project is well engineered, it will
231 
SALT LAKE AND  ITS ENVIRONS.
double the productive capacity of this valley, and I
earnestly trust it may be. In the absence of judicious
and systematic irrigation, there are far too many cattle
and sheep on this great common, as the gaunt look of
most of the cattle abundantly testifies. Water also is
scarce and bad here; we tried several of the springs
which are found at the bases of the.southern mountains,
and found them all brackish, while not a single stream
flows from those mountains in the five or six miles that
we skirted them, and I am told that they afford but
one or two scanty rivulets througlh the whole extent of
this valley. In the absence of irrigation, nothing is
grown or attempted but wild grass; of the half-dozen
cabins we have passed between the Jordan and the
lake, not one had even the semblance of a garden, or of
any cultivation whatever. A shrewd woman, who had
lived seven years near the lake, assured me that it
would do no good' to attempt cultivation there; "too
much alkali" was her reason.  I learn that, on the
city side of the Jordan, when irrigation was first introduced, and cultivation attempted, the soil, whenever
allowed to become dry, was covered, for the first year
or two, with some whitish alkaline substance or compound; but this was soon1 washed out and washed off
by the water, so that no alkali now exhibits itself,
and this tract produces handsomely. Let the Jordan
be so dammined, and its waters conducted into lateral
canals that its whole valley may be amply irrigated, and
there are few tracts of like area that will produce more
generously, albeit, a majority of its acres now seem almost
as sterile and hopeless as the great American desert.
232 
SALT LALKE      S ENVI0RONS.
That this lake should be salt, is no anomaly. All
large bodies of water into which streams discharge them
selves, while they have severally no outlet, are or shoul,
be salt. If one sucll is friesh, that is an anomaly indeed.
Lake Utah probably receives as much saline matter as
Salt Lake; but she discharges it through the Jordan
and remains herself fresh; while Salt Lake, hlaving no
issue save by evaporation, is probably the saltest body
of water on earth. The ocean is comparatively firesh;
even the Mediterranean is not half so salt. I am told
that three barrels of this water yield a barrel of salt;
that seems rather strong, yet its intense saltness, no one
who has not had it in his eyes, his mouth, his nostrils,
can realize. You can no more sink in it than in a claybank, but a very little of it in your lungs would suffice
to strangle you. You make your way in from a hot,
rocky beach over a chaos of volcanic basalt that is trying to the feet; but, at a depth of a yard or more, you
have a fine sanid bottom, and here the bathing is delightful.
The water is of a light green color for ten or twenty
rods; then "deeply, darkly, beautifully blue."  No fish
can live in it; no frog abides it; few birds are ever
seen dipping into it.  The rugged mountains in and
about it-just such scarped and seamed and gullied precipices as I have been describing ever since I reached
Denver-have a little fir and cotton-wood or quakingasp in their deeper ravines or behind their taller cliffs,
but look bare and desolate to the casual observer; and
these cut the lake into sections and hide most of it from
view. Probably, less than a third of it is visible from
any single point. But this suffices.
233 
SALT LAKE AND ITS ENVIRONS.
ought to manufacture almost everything she consumes,
or foreign debt will overwhelm her.  Yet, up to this
hour, her manufacturing energies have been most unhappily directed. Soime two hundred thousand dollars
was expended in preparations for iron making at a place
called Cedar City; but the ore, though rich, would not
flux, and the enterprise had to be totally abandoned,
leaving the capital a dead loss. Wood and flax can be
grown here cheaply and abundantly; yet, owing to the
troubles last year, no spinning and weaving machinery
has yet been put in operation; I believe some is now
coming up finom St. Louis.  An attempt to grow cotton
is likely to prove a failure, as might have been predicted. The winters are long and cold here for the latitude, and the Saints must make cloth or shiver.  I trust
they will soon be able to clothe themselves.
Sugar is another necessary of life which they have
had bad luck with. They can grow the beet very well,
but it is said to yield little or no sugar-because, it is
supposed, of an excess of alkali in the soil. The sorghum has not yet been turned to much account, but it is
to be. Common brown sugar sells here at sixty cents
per pound; coffee about the same; in the newer settlements, they are of course still higher. All sorts of imported goods cost twice to six or eighttimes their prices
in the states; even quack medicines (so called) and
yellow-covered novels are sold at double the prices
borne on their labels or covers. Consider that the peo- _J
ple came hither over a thousand miles mainly of desert,
after reaching the Missouri, which was many hundreds
if not thousands of miles from their former homes
235 
SALT LAKE AND ITS ENVIRONS.
that they generally reached these valleys ini the fall,
vwhich afforded them excellent chances of starvation be fore they could raise a crop-that they have been con stantly infested and begged or stolen from by the Indians
whose game they killed or scared away, and who feel
that they have a right to live here so long- as there are
cattle or crops to live on-thlat these valleys are lofty,
narrow, and parched by intense drouth from May to
November-that implements and seeds are scarcely to
be obtained short of a three months' journey, and then
at an enormous cost-that they have had one year of
virtual and costly hostilities with the federal govern ment, ill whic(h very little could be done, and improve inent was out of the question-and I amn amazed that so
much has been well done here in the way of building,
rtilling, fencing, planting trees, etc.  Doubtless this city
is far ahead of any rival, being the spiritual metropolis
and the earliest settled; but I am assured that the valley
of Utahl  Lake is better cultivated than this, though
Provo, its county seat, is far behind this city, which,
with its broad, regular streets, refreshed by rivulets of
brigit, sparkling, dancing water, and shaded by rows
of young but thrifty trees, mainly locust and bitter cot ton-wood, is already more attractive to the eye than an
average city of like size in the states. The houses (of
adobe or merely sun-dried brick) are uniformly low and
generally too small; but there is seldom more than one
famlily to a dwelling, and rarely but one dwelling on a
lot of an acre and a quarter. The gardens are well
filled with peach, apple, and other fruit trees, whereof
the peach already bears profusely, and the others begin
236 
SALT LAKE AD  ITS ENVIPONS.
to follow the example. Apricots and grapes are grown,
though not yet abundant; so of strawberries.  Plums
are in profusion, and the mountain currants are large,
abundant and very good. Many of the lots are fenced
with cobble-stones laid in clay mortar, which seems to
stand very well.  The wall of Brigham Young's garden
and grounds is nine or ten feet high, three feet thick at
the base, and cost some sixty dollars per rod.  Undoubtedly, this people are steadily ilncreasing in wealth and
conmfort.
Still the average life in Utah is a hard one. Many
more days' faithful labor are required to support a fainily here than in Kansas, or in any of the states. The
climnate is severe and capricious-now intensely hot and
dry; in winter cold and stormy; and, thoughl cattle are
usually allowed to shirk for themselves in the valleys,
they are apt to resent the insult by dying. Crickets
and grasshoppers swarm in myriads, and often devour
all before them. Wood is scarce and poor. Irrigation
is laborious and expensive; as yet, it has not been found
practicable to irrigate one-fourth of the arable land at
all. Ultimately, the valleys will be generally irrigated,
so far as water for the purpose can be obtained; but
this will require very costly dams and canals. Frost is
very destructive here; Indian corn rarely escapes it
wholly, and wheat often suffers from it. Wheat, oats,
corn, barley, rye, are grown at about equal cost per
bushel-two dollars may be taken as their average price;
the wheat crop is usually heavy, though this year it
threatens to be relatively light.  I estimate that one
hundred and fifty days' faithful labor in Kansas will
237 
SALT LAKE AND ITS FNVIRONS.
produce as large an aggregate of the necessaries of life
-food, clothing, fuel-as three hundred just such days'
work in Utah. IHence, the adults here generally wear
a toil-worn, anxious look, and many of them are older
in frame than in years. I ardently hope it may not
always be thus.
POLYGAMY.
I do not believe the plural-wife system can long endure; yet almost every man with whom I converse on
the subject, seems intensely, fanatically devoted to it,
deeming this the choicest of his earthly blessings.
With the women, I am confident it is otherwise; and I
watched their faces as Elder Taylor, at a social gathering on Saturday night, was expatiating humorously on
this feature of the Mormon system, to the great delight
of the men; but not one responsive smile did I see on
the face of a woman. On the contrary, I thought they
seemed generally to wish the subject passed over in
silence. Fanaticism, and a belief that we are God's
especial, exclusive favorites, will carry most of us a
great way; but the natural instinct in every woman's
breast must teach her that to be some man's third or
fourth wife is to be no wife at all. I asked my next
neighbor the name of a fair, young girl who sat some
distance from us with a babe on her knee. "That is
one of Judge Smith's ladies," was his quiet, matter-ofcourse answer. I need hardly say that no woman spoke
publicly on that occasion-I believe none ever speaks
in a Mormon assemblage-and I shall not ask any one
her private opinion of polygamy; but 1 think I can
read an unfavorable one on many faces.
238 
SALT LAKE AND  ITS ENVIRONS.
Yet polygamy is one main pillar of the Mormon
church. He who has two or more wives rarely apostatizes, as he could hardly remain here in safety and comfort as an apostate, and dare not take his wives elsewhere. I have heard of but a single instance in which
a man with three wives renounced Mormonism and left
for California, where he  experienced  no difficulty;
" for" said my informant (a woman, no longer a Mormon,) "he introduced his two younger wives (girls of
nineteen and fourteen) as his daughters, and married
them both off in the course of six weeks."
I am assured by Gentiles that there is a large business done here in  nrmarrying as well as in marrying;
some of them assure me that the church exacts a fee of
ten dollars on the marriage of each wife after the first,
but charges a still heavier fee for divorcing.  I do not
know that this is true, and I suspect my informants
were no wiser in the premises than I am. But it certainly looks to me as though a rich dignitary in the
church has a freer and fuller range for the selection of
his sixth or eighth wife than a poor young On of ordinary standing has for choosing his first.  And I infer
that the more sharp-sighted young men will not always
be content with this.
Since the foregoing was written, I have enjoyed opportunities for visiting Mormons, and studying Mormonism, in the home of its votaries, and of discussing
with them in the freedom of social intercourse, what
the outside world regards as the distinguishing feature
of their faith and polity. In one instance, a veteran
239 
SALT LAKE AND ITS ENVIRONS.
apostle of the faith, having first introduced to me, a
worthy matron of fifty-five or sixty-the wife of his
youth, and the mother of his grown-up sons-as Mrs. T.,
soon after introduced a young and winning lady of perhaps twenty-five summers, in these words: "Here is
another Mrs. T."  This lady is a recent emigrant froln
our state, of more than average powers of mind and
graces of person, who camne here with her father, as a
convert, a little over a year ago, and has been the sixth
wife of Mr. T. since a few weeks tfter her arrival.  (The
intermediate four wives of Elder T. live on a farm or
farIns some miles distant).  The manner of the hnsband
was perfectly unconstrained and off-hand throughout;
but I could not well be mistaken in my conviction that
both ladies failed to conceal dissatisfaction with their
position in the eyes of their visitor, and of the world.
They seemed to feel that it needed vindication.  Their
manner toward each other was most cordial and sisterly
-sincerely so, I doubt not-but this is by no means
the rule.  A Gentile friend, whose duties require him
to travel widely over the territory, informs me that he
has repeatedly stopped with a bishop, some hundred
miles south of this, whose two wives he has never known
to address each other, nor evince the slightest cordiality,
during the hours hle has spent in their society. The
bishop's house consists of two rooms; and whetn my
informant staid there with a Gentile friend, the bisllo0
being absent, one wife slept in the same apartment with
them rather than in that occupied by her double.  I
presume that an extreme case, but the spirit which imnpels it is not unusual. I met this evening a large party
240 
SALT LAKE AND ITS EINVIRONS.
of young people, consisting in nearly equal numbers of
husbands and wives; but no husband was attended by
more than one wife, and no gentleman admitted or implied, in our repeated and animated  discussions of
polygamy, that he had more than one wife. And I was
again struck by the circumstance that here, as heretofore, no woman indicated, by word or look, her approval
of any arguments in favor of polygamy. That many
women acquiesce in it as an ordinance of God, and have
been drilled into a mechanical assent of the logic by
which it is upheld, I believe; but that there is not a
woman in Utah who does not in her heart wish that
God had not ordained it, I am confident.  And quite a
number of the young men treat it in conversation as a
temporary or experimental arrangement, which is to be
sustained or put aside as experience shall demonstrate
its utility or mischief. One old Mormon farmer, with
whom I discussed the matter privately, admitted that
it was impossible for a poor working-man to have a
well-ordered, well-governed household, where his children had two or more living mnothers occupying the
same ordinary dwelling. On the whole, I conclude thatj
polygamy, as it was a graft on the original stock of
Mormonism, will be outlived by the root-that there
will be a new revelation, ere many years, whereby the
saints will be admonished to love and cherish the wives
they already have, but not to marry any more beyond
the natural assignment of one wife to each husband.
I regret that I have found time and opportunity to
visit but one of the nineteen common schools of this city.
This was thinly attended, by children nearly all quite
11
241 
SALT LAKE AND ITS ENVIRONS.
young, and of the most rudimentary attainments. Their
phlrenological developments were, in the average, bad;
I say this with freedom, since I have stated that those
of the adults, as I noted them in the tabernacle, were
good. But I anm told that idiotic or malformed children
are very rare, if not unknown here. The mnale saints
emphasize the fact that a majority of the children born
here are girls, holding it a proof that Providence smiles
on their "peculiar institution;" I, on the contrary,
maintain that such is the case in all polygamous countries, and proves simply a preponderance of vigor on
the part of the mothers over that of the fathers whereever this result is noted. I presume that a majority
anywhere of the children of old husbands by young
wives are girls.
But again the wheels revolve, and my face must once
more be turned westward.  With the most hearty and
grateful acknowledgments of the exceeding kindness and
hospitality with which I have been treated here alike
by Mformlon and Gentile, and with barely a word of
praise for the magnificent gardens I have been invited
to visit-of which Brigham Young's is probably the
most costly and eye-pleasing, but I like Hieber Kirnball's
the best-I bid adieu to Salt Lake City, the great mass
of whose people, I am sure, have an unfeigned "zeal
for God," though I must deem it "not according to
knowlege."  Long may they live to unlearn their errors,
and enjoy the rich fruits of their industry, frugality,
and sincere, though misguided piety!
NOTE.-An inaccurate report of some casual remarks made by me at
the social gathering, hereinbefore alluded to, having appeared in The Valley
242 
SALT LAKE AND ITS,sNVTIf.()NS.
Tan, and been widely copied, I am impelled here to print these remarks
more correctly; though, had nothing been already said on the subject, 1
should not have deemed them worthl preservation.
The occasion was a meeting on Saturday evening, July 19th, in a public
hall, under the i)csh'et 1\ews office, of the Deseret Typographical Association, at which I lhad expected to meet ten or twelve printers, Mormon and(l
Gentile; but wherein I found myself face to face with some two hundred
peoplle, nearly half ladies. In response to a sentiment, in which the Art
ol' Printing was honored, I spoke of the vast transformations which  the
world has witnessed since the auspicious invention of the art-the  discovery of Amierica-steam, and steamships-the steam printing pressthie electric telegraph., etc., etc.,-with the corresponding moral and intellectual growth of Christendom, the triumphs of religious liberty, the progress made toward a general recognition of the rights of man, and the
true theory of government, etc., etc.  Speeches were also made by Elder
Joihni Taylor, Elder Orson 1Ilyde, and others, all devoted in good part to
eulogiums on Mormonism, glances at the past history of their churches,
denunciations of their enemies, etc., etc.  I think fully two hours were
devoted to these addresses. A pause ensuing, I rose, and said:
'The remarks of the friends who have addressed us, especially those
whichl set forth the oppressions and outrages to which they have at sundry
times and in dilTereit localities been subjected,  remind Hie that I have
not heard to-nighlt, and I think I never heard, from the lips or the journals of any ot' your people, one word in reprehension of that gigantic
national crime and scandal, American chattel slavery. You speak forcibly
of the wion(,,s to whlichl your teeble brethren have from time to time been
subjected; hut what are they all to the perpetual, the gigantic outrage
involved in holding in abject bondage four millions of human  beings?
This obstinate silence, this seeming indifference on your part, reflects no
credit on your faith and morals, and I trust they will not be persisted in."
The reponse to this appeal was made by Elder Taylor, in very nearly
these words:
"The subject of slavery is one on which Mr. Greeley is known to be enth-usiastic, as we  are on the subject of our religion.   We cannot help
speaking of our religion at every opportunity, as he cannot help speaking
of slavery.  Those wvho do niiot relish this or that topic, must excuse its
introduction." [I give the import, not the exact words of the Elder's remarks.]
At a later hour-as late as 11 o'clock, when many were impatient for
adjournment to supper-one whose name I did not learn, rose and ex
2 4'0) 
SALT LAKE AND ITS ENVIPONS.
pressed a desire that I should make a speech, setting forth my views of
Woman's Rightsl A murmur of "Too late," "Not time," etc., being
heard, I said:
"Mr. President, I can make the speech our friend requires in just one
minute. I hold it the right of every woman to do any and every thing
that she can do well, provided it ought to be done. If it ought not to be
done at all, or if she cannot do it, then she has no right to do it; but if it
ought to be done, and she can do it, then her right to do it is, to my mind,
indisputable. And that is all that I have to say, now or ever, on the subject of Woman's Rights."
244 
xxIV.
THE ARMY IN UTAH.
CAMP FLOYD, Utah, July 21, 1859.
CAMP FLOYD, forty miles south of Salt Lake City, is
located on the west side of a dry valley, perhaps ten
miles wide by thirty miles long, separated by high hills
from Lake Utah, some fifteen to twenty miles distant on
the north-east. This valley would be fertile were it not
doomed to sterility by drouth. A small stream takes its
rise in copious springs at the foot of the western hills
just north of the camp, but is soon drank up by the
thirsty plain. Water in this stream, and wood (low
cedar) on the adjacent hills, probably dictated the selection of this site for a camp; though I believe a desire,
if not a secret compact, to locate the troops as far as
possible from the Mormon settlements, had an influence
in the premises.  No  Mormons live in this valley nowithin sight of it; though all the roads leading front
Salt Lake City, as well as from Provo and the othe.
settlements around Lake Utah, are within a day's march
and may be said to be commanded by the camp. The(
soil is easily pulverized when dry, and keeps the entire
area enveloped, during summer, in a dense cloud of
dust, visible for miles in every direction. I saw it wheel
eight mniles away, as I camne down from Salt Lake Cityyesterday.  We  passed few houses on the way; but 
distillery and a brewery were among them.  We crossed 
THE ARMY IN UTAH.
the Jordan by fording, at a point seven or eight miles
fromi the lake, and twenty-five to thirty friom Salt Lake
City. The stream is here swift and strong, but hardly
thirty inches deep, and not more than thirty yards
wvide.  We passed within sight of Provo, but several
miles from it.  We passed one spring on the route, and
two or three brooks running from the high-steep moun     tains on the east. Thle drouLth was intense, and seemed
habitual in sumnmer; there was no cultivation nor indus     try of any sort on our road, save within twenty miles of
Salt Lake City.
The camp is formed of low and neat adobe houses,
1( J  generally small.  I presume there are three or four hun dred of them-enough, at all events, to make six or
eight Kansas  cities.   "Frogtown" is a satellite, or
suburb, whence grog and other luxuries (including exe    crable whisky at about ten dollars per gallon) are dis    pensed to thirsty soldiers who have not already drank
up more than their pay amounts to.  The valley is
covered with sage-bush and grease-wood, as usual; but
the camp has been freed from these, and is mainly level
as a house-floor. The adobes ware made on the spot by
Mexicans; the boards for roofs, finishing off, etc., sup    plied by Brigham Young and his son-in-law, from the
only canion opening into Salt Lake Valley which abounds
in timber (yellow-pine, I believe,) fit for sawing. The
territorial legislature-(which is another name for "the
church ") granted this canion to Brigham, who runs three
saw-mills therein, at a clear profit of one hundred dollars
or so per day.  His profit on the lumber suppllied to the
camp was probably over fifty thousand dollars.   The
246 
THE ARMY IN UTAH. 
price was seventy dollars per thousand feet, delivered.
President Young assured me, with evident self-comnplacency, that he did not need and would not accept a dollar of salary from "the church "-he considered himself
able to make all the money he needed by business, as
he had made the two hundred and fifty thousand dollars
worth of property he already possesses.  With a legislature ever ready to grant hijii such perquisites as this
lumber canon, I should think he might.  The total cost
of this post to the government was about two hundred
thousand dollars.
The army in Utahl has numbered three thousand five
hundred men-I believe its present strength is but about
three thousand.  It is mainly concentrated in this camp,
though soilme small detachments are engaged ill surveying or opening roads, guarding herds, etc., in different
parts of the territory.  I prestume this is still the largest
regular force ever concentrated upon the soil of our
country in time of peace. It consists of the 5th, 7th
and 10th regiments of infantry, a battalion of light
artillery, and two or three companies of dragoons.  I.
met, between Bridger and iHani's Fork, a considerable
force of dragoons going down.
Let us briefly consider the history and position of this
little army:
In the earlier half of 1857, it was concentrated in
Kansas; late in that year, the several regiments composing it were severally put in march toward the Rocky
Mountains. The Mormons soon full learned that this
band was to be launched against them, and at once prepared to give it a warmn reception; the army had no
247 
THiE AIRMY IN UTAH.
information on the subject, save general report.  De taimed in Kansas to give effect to Governor Walker's
electioneering quackeries, it was at length sent on its
way at a season too late to allow it to reach Salt Lake
before winter. No commander was sent with it; Gen eral Ilarniey was announced as its chief, but has not
even yet joined it.  It was thus dispatched on a long
and difficult expedition, in detachments, without a chief,
without orders, without any clear idea of its object or
destination.  Entering Utah thus as no army, but as a
number of separate, straggling detachments, neither of
which was ordered to protect the supply-train, which
followed one or two marches behind them, the soldiers
had the mortification to learn, about the first of October, that those supply-trains, without even an armed
corporal's guard in their vicinity, had been surprised
and burnt by a Mormon band, who thus in effect made
war on the United States. Indignantly, but still without a leader and without definite orders, the army struggled on to Bridger, one hundred and thirteen miles from
Salt Lake, which the Mormons abandoned on its approach. Bridger is many thousand feet above the sea
level, and the ground was here so buried in snow that
its gaunt animals died by hundreds, and the residue
were unable to drag the baggage over the rivers and
steep mountains which still separated it from Salt Lake.
So the regiments halted, built huts to shelter themselves
from the winter's inclemency, and lived through the
snowy season as they might on a half allowance of
beef from their lean, gristly animals, without salt.
Spring at length came; the order to march, long
248 
THIE ARMY IN UTAH.
hoped and impatiently waited for, was given; they had
beenii promised a warm reception in the narrow defiles
of Echo Canon by Lieutenant-General Wells and his
Mormnon host, and they eagerly courted that reception.
If General Wells were able, as lhe boasted, to send them
to the right about, they would have nothing to do but
to go. They had grown rusty from inaction, and stood
ready to be polished, even by so rough an implement as
General Wells.  But news came that the whole affair
had been somehow arranged-that Colonel Kane, Brigham Young, and Governor Culming had fixed matters
so that there would be no fighting-not even further
train-burning,. Yet the Mormons fled from Salt Lake
City in anticipation of their entering it; they were
somehow, required to encamp as far from the Mormon
settlements as possible; and they have ever since been
treated by the federal executive as though they had
volunteered to come here in defiance of, rather than in
obedience to, that executive's own orders.
Whether truly or falsely, this army, probably without
an individual exception, undoubtingly believes the Mormons as a body to be traitors to the Union and its
government, inflexibly intent on establishing here a
power which shall be at first independent of, and ultimately dominant over, that of the United States.  They
believe that the ostentatious, defiant refusal of Brigham
Young, in 1857, to surrender the territorial governorship, and his declaration that he would hold that post
until God Almighty should tell him to give it up, were
but the natural development of a polity which looks to
the subjugation of all earthly kingdoms, states, empires,
11*
249 
THE ARMY IN UTAH.
sovereignties, to a rule nominally theocratic, but practically autocratic, with Brigham Young or his designated
successor as despot.  They hold that the instinct of selfpreservation, the spirit of that requirement of the Federal Constitution which enjoins that each state shall be
guaranteed a republican form  of government, cry out
against such a despotism, and demand its overthrow.
The almy undoubtingly and universally believes that
M{ormonism is, at least on the part of the niaster spirits
of "' the church," an organized, secret, treasonable conspiracy to extend the power, increase the wealth, and
gratify the lecherous appetites of those leaders, who are
using the forms and terms of religion to mask and shield
systematic adultery, perjury, counterfeiting, robbery,
treason, and even murder.  It points to the wholesale
massacre at Mountain-meadows, the murder of the Parrishes, and a hundred more such, as instances of Mormon assassination for the good of the church, the chastisernent of its enemies, or the aggrandizement of its
leading memrnbers-to the impossibility of bringing the
perpetrators of these crimes to justice, to the territorial
laws of Utah which empower Mormon functionaries to
select the grand and petit jurors even for the United
States courts, and impose qualifications which in effect
secure the exclusion of all but Mormons firom the jurybox, and to the uniform refusal of those jurors to indict
or convict those who have committed crimes in the interest of Mormonism,* as proof positive that all at
* Judge Cradlebaugh asserts that on the list of jurors recently imposed
on him for the investigation at, Provo of the Parrish and other murders,
he knows there were not less than nine leading participants in those
murders.
250 
THE ARMY IN UTAH.
tempts to punish Mormon criminals by Mormon jurors
toid officers must ever prove abortive, and demands of
the federal government that it sh1tll devise and put iil
execution some remedy for this unbearable impunity to
crime.  It is unitformly believed in camp  that not less
than seventy-flve distinct instances of murder by Mormons because of apostacy, or some other form  of hostility to "the church," or mainly for the sake of plunder, are known to the authorities here, and that there
is no shadow of hope that one of the perpetrators will
ever be brought to justice under the sway of Mormonii
popular sovereignty" as now established in this territory.  The army, therefore, turns  an anxious eye to
Washington, and strains its ear to hear what remedy is
to be applied.
Manifestly, the recent responses fromn that quarter
are not calculated to allay this anxiety. The official
rebuke reeently and publicly given to the federal judges
here, for employing detachments of troops to arrest and
hold securely Mormons accused of capital crime, elicits
low mutterings of dissatisfaction from some, with a
grave silence on the part of many whom discipline
restrains from speaking. As the recent orders from
Washington are understood here, no employment  of
federal troops to arrest or secure persons charged with
or even convicted of crime is allowed, except where the
civil power (intensely Mormon) shall have certified that
the execution of process is resisted bv a force which it
cannot overcome by means of a civil posse. How opposite this is to the orders given  and obeyed  in the
fugitive slave cases at Boston, etc., need hardly be indicated.
251 
THE ARMY  IN UTAII.
Very general, then, is the inquiry in the army, Why
were we sent here? and why are we kept here?  What
good can our remaining do? What mischief can it
prevent?  A  fettered, suspected, watched, distrusted
army-an army which must do nothing-must not even
be asked to do anything in any probable contingencywhat purpose does it subserve beyond enriching contractors and Mormon magnates at its own cost and that
of the federal treasury? Every article eaten, drank,
worn, or in any manner bought by the soldiers, costs
three to ten times its value ill the states; part of this
extra cost falls on the treasury, the residue on the troops
individually.  Their position here is an irksome one;
their conmforts few; home, family, friends are far away.
If the policy now pursued is to prevail, they cannot be
needed ill this territory. Why, then, are they kept
here?  Brigham Young will contract, and make money
by contracting, to put down all resistance to this policy
at one-tenth the cost of keeping the army here: why,
then, not withdraw it?
I have not so bad an opinion of the Mormons as that
entertained by the army. While I consider the Mormon religion, so called, a delusion and a blight, I believe
many of its devoted adherents, including most of those
I have met, to be pure-minded, well-meaning people;
and I do not believe that Mormons generally delight in
plunder or murder, though the testimony in the Mountain-mleadows, Parrish, and one or two other cases, is
certainly staggering. But I concur entirely in the conviction of the army, that there is no use in its retention
here under existing orders and circumstances, and that
252 
T4E ARMY IN UTAH.
three or four companies of dragoons would answer every
purpose of this large and costly concentration of troops.
The airimy would cost less almost anywhere else, and
could not anywhere be less useful.
A suspicion that it is kept here to answer private
pecuniary ends is widely entertained. It is known that
vast sums have been made out of its transportation by
favored contractors. Take a single instance already
quite notorious: twenty-two cents per pound is paid
for the transportation of all provisions, munitions, etc.,
from Leavenworth to this point. The great contractors
were allowed this for transporting this year's supply
of flour. By a little dexterous management at Washington, they were next allowed to furnish the flour here
-Utah flour-being paid their twenty-two cents per
pound for transportation, in addition to the prime cost
on the Missouri. As Utah has a better soil for growing
wheat than almost anything else, they had no difficulty
in sub-letting this contract at seven cents per pound
net, nmaking a clear profit of one hundred and seventy
thousand dollars on the contract, without risking
a dollar, or lifting a finger. Of course, I expect contractors to bargain for themselves, not for the government, but somebody is well paid for taking care of the
public's interest in such matters. Hias he done his
duty?
Again, pursuant to a recent order from Washington,
the Assistant Quartermaster-General here is now selling
by auction some two thousand mules-about two-thirds
of all the government owns in this territory. These
mules cost one hundred and seventy-five dollars each,
253 
THiE ARMY IN UTAII.
and are worth today one hundred and twenty-tive to
one hundred and fifty dollars. I attended the sale for
an hour or so this forenoon; the range of prices was
firom sixty to one hundred and fifteen dollars; the averag,e of the seven hundred already sold about seventyfive dollars. IHad these mules been taken to California,
and there properly advertised and sold, they would have
brought nearly cost; even at Leavenworth, they must
have sold for at least one hundred thousand dollars more
than here, where there is practically no demand and no
comlpetition for such an immense herd; and; after every
Mormnon, who can raise a hundred dollars or over, shall
have supplied himself with a span of mules for half
their value, one or two speculators will make as much as
they please, while the dead loss to the people will be at
least one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Nobody
here has recoymenl ded the sale of these mules; they
were being herded, under the care of detachments of the
army, at no cost but for herdsmen, and they could have
been kept through next winter, inii secluded mountain
valleys, at a cost of about ten dollars per head; whereas
the army can never move without purchasing an equal
mnumber; and they can neither be bought here nor
brought here for two hundred thousand dollars more
than these animals are now fetching.  Somebody's interest is subserved by this sale; but it is certainly not
that of the army nor of the people.  The order is to sell
seven hundred wag,on's as well; but these would not
bring thirty dollars each, while they cost at least one
hundred and thirty, and could not be replaced when
wanted even for that, while the army cannot move
254 
THIE ARMY IN UTAH. 
without them, and keeping them  costs absolutely nothing. Who issues such orders as this, and for whose
benefit?
Look at another feature of this transaction. There is
at this moment a large amount due to officers and soldiers of this army as pay, in sums of forty to five hurm
dred dollars each. Many of those to whom this money
is due would very much like to take mules in part-paymnent, either to use while here, to sell again, or to bear
them and thleir baggage to California, or back to the
Missouri, on the approaching expiration of their terms
of enlistment.  In many instances, two soldiers would
doubtless club to buy a mule on whieh to pack their
blankets, etc., whenever their time is out.  Hundreds
of mules would thus have been bought, and the proceeds of the sale considerably augmented, if the government, by its functionaries, had consented to receive its
own.honest debts in payment. But no! on some ridiculous pretense of ill-blood between the pay and the
subsistence bureaux of the War department, this is
refused-it would be too much trouble to take certificates of soldiers' pay actually due in payment for these
mules; so the officers and soldiers must purchase of
speculators at double price, or go without, and the
mules be sold for far less than they would have brought,
if those who must have them had been enabled to bid
directly for them.  Two  or three speculators reap  a
harvest here at the sore cost of the soldiers and the
treasury.
But it will be said that forage is dear in Utah.  It
would suffice to answer that idle mules obtain, save in
255 
THE ARMY IN Ul'AH.
winter, only grass growing on the public lands, which
may as well be eaten in part by government mules as
all by those of the Mormon squatters. But let us see
how it costs so much. There have recently been received here thirty thousand bushels of corn from the
states at a net cost, including transportation, of three
hundred and forty thousand dollars, or over eleven dollars per bushel. No requisition was ever made for this
corn, which could have been boughlt here, delivered,
for two dollars per bushel, or sixty thousand dollars in
all. The dead loss to the treasury on this corn is two
hundred and eighty thousand dollars, even supposing
that the service required it at all. Somebody makes a
good thing of wagoning this corn from the Missouri at
over ten dollars a bushel.  Who believes that said somebody has not influential and thrifty connections inside
of the War department?
I will not pursue this exposition; Congress may.
Let me now give a sample of retrenchment in the
public service in this quarter:
The mail from Missouri to Salt Lake has hitherto
been carried weekly in good six-mule wagons; the contract time being twenty-two days. The importance of
frequent and regular communication with head-quarters,
at least so long as a large army is retained here at a
heavy extra cost, and because of some presumed public
necessity is evident. Yet the new Postmaster-General
has cut down the mail-service on this important central
route from weekly to semi-monthly. But the contractors, who are obliged to run their stages weekly because
of their passenger business, and because they have to
256 
THE ARMY IN UTA.     I
keep their stock and pay their men, whether they work
or play, find that they cannot carry the mail every
other week so cheaply as they can every week. Foi
instance, a mail from the states now often consists of
twelve to sixteen heavy sacks (most of them filled with
franked documents), weighing as many hundred pounds.
Double this, and no six-mule team would draw it at the
requisite pace, and no mail-wagon stand the jerks and
jolts of an unmade road.  So they say, "please let us
carry the mail weekly, though you only pay us for carrying it semi-monthly." But no! this is strictly forbidden! The post-master at Salt Lake has express written orders to refuse it, and of course he at St. Joseph
also. And thus all this central region, embracing, at
least a dozen important military posts, and countless
Indian agencies, is reduced to a semi-monthly mail-service, though the contractor would gladly make it weekly
at the same price!
25't 
xxv.
ROM SALT LAKE TO CARSON VALLEY.
PLACERVILLE, Cal., July 31, 1859.
There are two emigrant trails from Salt Lake City to
Carson Valley and the pass thence into Californiathe older and more favored, starts north-west from  the
Morinon Zion, passes north and west of Salt Lake,
crossing Weber and Bear Rivers near their miouths, with
several small creeks, and gradually veering west and
south-west so as to strike the head springs of the Hlumboldt, which stream it follows more than three hundred
miles to its " sink," withinii a hundred miles of the eastern Base of the Sierra Nevada.  The other route leaves
the Mormon capital in a south-westerly direction, touches
Lake Utah on the north, passes west of that Lake
through Provo, and thence southerly through Fillmore,
the nominal capital of the territory, and so down by
Soyier River and Lake nearly to the southern boundary
of Utah, whence it stretches west, nearly upon the
southern rim of the Great Basin, on which are the
"Mountain-Meadows," where a large emigrant party
from Arkansas was so atrociously massacred in 1857.
Then.ce this trail turns north-west to hit the sink of Carson River.  (I can get no tolerable map of Utah, and
the above may not be entirely correct, bIlt is nearly so.)
It will be seen that each of these routes must necessarily
be very circuitous, and that almost, if not quite half 
FROM SALT LAKE TO CARSON VALLEY.
the territory lies between them.  So, last year, Major
Chorpening,, the contractor for carrying the Salt Lake
and California Mail, resolved to seek a shorter route
midway between them, which he partially succeeded in
establishing.  This route passes Camp Floyd, forty-thlree
miles south of Salt Lake City, and thence strikes west
south-west through "the Desert," so called, which it
penetrates for one hundred and fifty miles or more;
thence turning north-west to reach and follow the original emigrant and mnail-route down the Humboldt.  Even
thus, it is somewhat shorter than any other traveled route
firom Salt Lake to Carson Valley, but still very tortuous,
and at least one hundred and fifty miles longer than it
should be.  Capt. Siimpsoni, of the UT. S. Topographical
Corps, has recently made his way quite through the desert,
on a route which makes the distance only five hundred
and sixty-one miles from Camp Floyd to Carson Valley;
whereas it is six hundred and seventy by the present
mail-route, and tfurthler by any other.  Capt. Simpson is
now engaged iii further surveys, whereby he lhopes* to
shorten the distance from Salt Lake City to Genoa, near
the head of Carson Valley, to about five hundred and fifty iniles; and two of Major Chorpeninig's superintendents
are now examining the new portion of this route, intending, to recommintend a transfer of the mail to it should
they deem it practicable for wagons, and not hopelessly
destitute of grass and water. I trust they will find it
* These hopes have since been fully realized. The new direct central
route is not only one hundred miles shorter, but is said to be better supI)lied with grass and water, than that I traveled.
259 
260      FROM SALT LAKE TO CARSON VALLEY.
passable; meantime, let me give some account of so
much of it as I have traveled, as I am not aware that
any is yet extant.
I left Camp Floyd in the mail-wagon from Salt Lake
City, on the morning of Thursday, July 21st, pursuing
a south-west course over a low mountain pass. Twenty miles on, we found a small brook making, from the
mountains south of us across a thirsty plain, which, I
presume, soon drank it up. The vegetation was the
same eternal sage-bush and grease-wood, which I am
tired of mentioning, but which, together or separately,
cover two-thirds of all the vast region between the
Rocky Mountains aud the Sierra Nevada. In places,
the sage-bush, for miles in extent, is dead and withering,
seemingly parched up by the all-pervading drouth; the
grease-wood is either hardier, or chooses its ground
more judiciously; for it is rarely found dead by acres.
There is some bunch-grass on the sides of two or three
mountains, but very little of aught that can be relied
on'to sustain human or animal life. The mountains and
plains seem to divide the ground very fairly between
them-the soil of both being mainly a white clay;
while the former have that creased, gullied, washedaway appearance, which I have repeatedly noticed.
Sometimes they are nearly perpendicular on one or
more sides, like the Buttes further east; but usually
they can be ascended on any side, and seem to rise
but one to three thousand feet above the plains at
their bases. These plains appear from a distance to be
level as so many tables; but, on attempting to cross
them in a wagon, you find them creased and scored by 
FROM SALT LAKE TO CARSON VALLEY.
innumerable water-courses, now dry, but showing that,
in the wet season, water is most abundant here.  In
most instances, a gradual slope of a mile or two intervenes between the foot of a mountain and the adjacent
plain or valley; this slope is apt to be intensely dry,
sterile, and covered with dead or dying sage-bush. I
judge these slopes to be composed of the rocky, gravelly material of the mountains, from which the lighter
clay has been washed out and carried off. They often
seemn to be composed almost wholly of small bits of
rock.  The valleys or plains are from five to fifteen
miles across, though they seem, in the clear, dry atmosphere of Utah, not half so much.  These plains have
an imperceptible slope to some point near their respective centers, where a wider water-course runs toward
some adjacent valley; in some cases, a marsh or naked
space near the center indicates that the surplus water
from the surrounding mountains forms here in winter
and spring a petty, shallow lake, which the hot suns
soon evaporate or the thirsty soil absorbs. The mountains are thinly belted or dotted with low, scrubby cedar, seldom ten feet high, and often nearly as far across
the green top formed by three or four stalks.or stems
starting from a common root. The mountains seemn to
have no particular, or rather no general direction; some
of the valleys being nearly or quite surrounded by
th.emn. Even in the wettest seasons, I cannot perceive
that this region sends off any surplus water to Salt Lake
or any other general reservoir. Such is the face of the
country for some two hundred miles directly south-west
of Camp Floyd.
261 
262      FROM SALT LAKE TO CARSON' VALLEY.
We found a station, a chlange of horses, and sometlling
that was called dinner, on the little streami I liave already mentionedcl, and halted here, tweity miles or more
from Camp Floyd.  In the afternoon, we came on, over
a higher, rockier mountain-pass and a far rou,gher road,
to the next station - Simpson's Spring, nearly fifty
miles fromin Camp Floyd-where we halted for the night.
I fear the hot suns of August will diy lup this spring;
while there is no other fit to drink for a weary distance
soutli and west of this point.
The station-keeper here gave me an incident which
illustrates the character of the country.  Some few days
previously to our arrival, hlie ascertained that his oxen,
eiglit in number, had gone off, two or three nilghts befire, taking a southerly course; so hlie mounted a horse
and followed their trail. I-e rode upon it one hundred
miles without reaching water or overtaking, the cattle,
which had lain down but- once since they started, and
were still a dclay's journey ahead of him. If lie continued
the pursuit his horse must die of thirst, and then he too
must perish; so he turned about and left his oxen to die
in the desert or be found and eaten by savages. There was
not a s hadow of hope that he would ever see them again.
We had to drive the same team (mules of course) all
next day, making fifty miles; but we stopped to rest
and feed them at a sub-station, only twenty miles from
our starting-point. It was about the forlornest spot I
ever saw. Though at the foot of a low mountain, there
was no water near it; that which was given our mules
had been carted in a barrel fiom  Simpson's Spiing,
aforesaid, and so must be for most of each year. An 
FROM SALT LAKE TO CARSON VALLEY.
attempt to sink a well at this point had thlis far proved
a failure.  The station-keeper here lives entirely alone
-that is, when the Indians will let him-seeing a friendly face but twice a week, when the mnail-stage passes
one way or the other.  He deeply regretted his lack of
books and newspapers; we could only give him one of
the latter. Why do not men who contract to run mails
through such desolate regions comprehend  that  their
own interest, if no nobler consideration, should imnpel
them to supply their stations with good reading matter!
I amn quite sure that one hundred dollars spent by Major
Chorpening in supplying two or three good journals to
each station on his route, and in providing for their
interchange from station to station, would save him
more than one thousand dollars in keeping good men in
his service, and in imbuing them with contentment and
gratitude.  So with other mail-rouites through regions
like this.
We  drove on that day thirty miles further, to Fish
Springs station, just before reaching which we passed
one of the salt wells whlich are characteristic of this
country, though not absolutely peculiar to it.  This one
is about six or eight feet in diameter, and perhaps an
equal distance from the surface of the surrounding
earth to that of the water, which has a whitish green
aspect, is intensely salt, and said to be unfathomable,
with a downward suction which a man could hardly or
not at all resist. I had no desire to try, badly as I
needed ablution.
Fish Sprilins form quite a large pool at the north end
of a low mountain range, and send off a copious stream
263 
264      FROM SALT LAIKE TO CARSON VALLEY.
to be drank up in the course of three or four miles by
the thirsty clay of the plain. The water is brackish,
and I think sulphurous, as that of a spring in the adjacent marsh near the station clearly is.  There are many
fish in the pool and stream, and they are said to be
good. I should have liked to verify the assertion; and
if they bite a hundredth part so freely as the musketoes
do hereabout, it were an easy matter to afford the stage
passengers here a change from their usual rations of
pork, bread and coffee; which, when the flour, or the
pork, or the coffee, happens to be out, as it sometimes
is, renders the diet unsatisfactory, even to those who
would seem to have been seasoned to the like by a passage across the plains and the Rocky Mountains. Fish
Springs are just fifty miles from living water on either
side, and the stages have to run at least ten miles out
of their course to strike them. There is some coarse
grass here.
Jutly 23d.-We traveled this forenoon over a plain
nearly surrounded by mountains. Said plain is very
level to the eye, but the rapid traveler's sense of feeling
contradicts this, for he finds it full of dry-water-courses,
which give him most uncomfortable jolts. Before noon,
we came to the spot, where the stage-mules are turned
out to feed and rest, by the side of a sink or depression
in the plain, which is covered with coarse grass and reeds
or bulrushes.  By  digging in the side of this sink,
water has been easily obtained, but so sulphurous, and
generally bad, as to be barely drinkable. Even the
mules, I noticed, practice great moderation in the use
of it.  At one, we harnessed up, and were soon rising 
FROM SALT LAKE TO CARSON VALLEY.
over a long mountain-pass, hardly less than ten miles
fromn the level plain to its summit, where a light thunder-shower-that is, a light raini with heavy thunderovertook us. We drove rapidly down its western declivity, and, a little after 5, P. M., reached our next station in " Pleasant Valley," a broad ravine, which descends to the south-west.  Here we found water-bright,
sweet, pure, sparkling, leaping water-the first water
fit to drink that we had reached in a hundred miles; if
Simpson's Spring ever dries up, the distance will then
be at least a hundred and twenty. We were now across
what is here technically known as "the desert "-that
is to say, we had crossed the north-east corner of it. I
believe it extends at least two hundred miles south from
this point, and is at least as far from east to west across
its center. If Uncle Sam should ever sell that tract for
one cent per acre, he will swindle the purchaser outrageously.
Let nme endeavor, on quitting it, to give a clear idea
of this desert, and thus of about half the land inclosed
between the Rocky Mountains and the Sierra Nevadathe other half being mainly covered by mountains and
the narrow ravines or canons which separate them.
The plains or valleys of Utah, then, have generally
a soil of white clay, sometimes rocky, at others streaked
by sand or gravel; but usually pure clay, save as it is
imnpregnated with some alkaline substance-usually
salaeratus; but in places niter, in others, salt or sulphur.
Sometimes, but rarely, considerable areas of this alkali
in a nearly pure state are exposed on the surface; in
many places, it covers the beds of shallow, dried-up
12
26 -5 
266      FROM SALT LAKE   TO CARSON VALLEY.
lakes, and even streams, with a whitish incrustation;
~xt it is more %eet  dtff used through the soil, atnd
thus impregnates the springs and streams. Irrigating
a'piece of ground, strong,ly imbued with alkali, will
often bring an incrustation of it to the surface, after
which no trouble fi'om it is experienced in that place.
I think the greater proportion of these plains ar valleys
-which could easily be cleared of their grease-wood
and sage-bush and plowed-would produce large crops
of wheat, and of almost anything else, if they could be
irrigated. But that can never be, unless by Artesian
wells. But little rain falls in summer, and that little is
speedily evaporated from the hot earth, leaving the clay
as thirsty as ever. I fear it is mainly doomed to perpetual barrenness.
The mountains which divide these plains exude very
little water.  Wherever a range is single-that is, with
a broad valley each side of it-it is apt to be not more
than one to three thousand feet high, and so to be early
denuded of snow; its springs are few and generally
feeble, and their waters are often dried up before trick ling half way down the sides of the mountain which
gave them birth. If a spring is so copious, or so many
are speedily combined, as to form a considerable stream,
they may reach the plain; but only to be speedily
drank utip by its scorched surface. Cultivation, there fore, save in a very few narrow spots, seems here im possible. 
But wherever a chaos or jumble of mountains is pre sented-still more, where mountains rise behind moun tains, range behind range, rank above rank, till the 
FROM SALT LAKE TO CARSON VALLET.
summits of the furthest that may be seen are flecked
with snow-there the case is altered. Springs are there
more abundant and more copious; the gradual melting
of the snows swells the rivulets formed by the speedy
meeting of their waters; and thus considerable brooks
are formed and poured down uponI the subjacent plains,
as we observe in and around Salt Lake City, and north
and west of Lake Utah. Thus are formed Bear and
Weber Rivers; such, I believe, is the origin of the
Humboldt. But such instances are far too rare in Utah.
From the Jordan to the Humboldt is about three hun dred and fifty miles by the route I traveled, and in all
that distance the brooks and rills I crossed or saw, could
they be collected into one channel, would barely form a
decent mill-stream. I thence traveled down the south
side of the Humboldt for two hundred and twenty-five
miles, and in all that distance not more than two tributaries come in on that side, and their united currents
would barely suffice to turn a grindstone. This desolation seems therefore irredeemable.
The mountains of central Utah are less hopeless than
the Plains.   Contrary to my former impression, they
are fairly wooded; by which I mean that wood is procurable on them at almost any point.  This wood is for
the most part cedar, six to ten feet high, and from a foot
downward in diameter near the ground. White pines
of like size, and of equally scrubby character, are quite
common in tile western part of the mountains I tr.aversed, and there is some balsam-fir in the deeper canons,
which attains a diameter of fifteen to twenty inches,
and a height of forty to sixty feet. Of this fir, several
267 
268      FROM SALT LAKE TO CARSON VALLEY.
of the mail-station cabins are constructed; in Ruby
Valley, they have one of red or Indian-pine; but they
are quite commonly built of stones and mud.  One on
the HIumboldt is built of dwarf-willow canes or wattles
-not one any where of cedar nor of the dwarfed whitepine of this region. Neither could be made to answer.
But I must hurry on. At Pleasant Valley, we turned
north-west up a broad ravine, and thenceforth held that
general course to reach the Hllumboldt, instead of still
making west south-west directly toward Carson Valley,
as it is proposed hereafter to do if that be found practicable. For the next one hundred and forty miles or
thereabouts, our trail led us mainly up one side of a
mountain range and down tihe other, thence across a
valley of some ten miles in width to the foot of another
chain, and so on. As the train naturally runs up the
deepest canons and over the lowest passes, the ascent
and descent are rarely abrupt for any considerable distance, and we seldom lacked water; but our route was
the most devious imaginable-veering from north-east
on qne hand to south on the other. Sometimes, two or
three hundred square miles were visible at a glancethe mnountain-sides half covered with cedar and pine,
with some dwarf-willows and rose-bushes often fringing
their slender rivulets; but not a tree other than evergreen in sight.  There is a large, pine-leaved shrub or
small tree which a driver termed a mnountain-mahogany
and a passenger called a red haw, growing sparingly
among the evergreens on some mountain slopes, which
seems about half way between a thorn-bush and an untrimmed apple-tree, but nothing else deciduous above 
FROM SALT LAKE TO CARBON VALLEY.
the size of the dwarf-willow. Even the sage-bush and
grease-wood appear to be evergreens.  Grass is here not
abundant but unfailing, as it must be where water is
perennial and wood in fair supply. The plains or valleys remain as further east, save that they are smaller,
and, because of the less scanty supply of water, more
susceptible of improvement. At Shell Creek, forty-five
miles from Pleasant Valley, where we spent our next
night, there is a little garden-the first I had seen since
Camp Floyd-nd at Ruby Valley, fifty miles or so further on, the government has a farm in crop, intended
for the benefit, and partly cultivated by the labor of the
neighboring Indians. The mail-station also has its garden, and is cutting an abundance of hay. From this
station, it is expected that the new cut-off, saving one
hundred miles or more in distance to Carson Valley,
will be made, so soon as those now scrutinizing it shall
have pronounced it practicable.
At Ruby, the stage usually stops for the night; but
we had been six days making rather less than three
hundred miles, and began to grow impatient. The
driver had his own reasons for pushing on, and did so,
over a road partly mountainous, rough and sideling;
but, starting at eight P. M., we had reached the next
(Pine Valley) station, forty miles distant, before sunrise. Hiere we were detained three or four hours for
mules-those we should have taken being astray-but
at nine we started with a new driver, and were soon entangled in a pole-bridge over a deep, miry stream-a
drove of a thousand head of cattle (the first ever driven
over this road) having recently passed, and torn the frail 
.0     FROM SALT LAKE TO CARSON VALLEY.
bridge to pieces. Our lead-rnmules went down in a pile,
but were got up and out and the wagon ran over, after
a delay of an hour. We soon rose from Pine Valley
by a long, irregular, generally moderate ascent, to a
mountain divide, from which our trail took abruptly
down the wildest and worst canion I ever saw traversed
by a carriage.  It is in places barely wide enough at
bottom for a wagon, and if two should meet here it is
scarcely possible that they should pass. The length of
this caion is a mile and a half; the descent hardly less
than two thousand feet; the side of the road next to the
water-course often far lower than the other; the roadbed is often made of sharp-edged fragments of broken
rock, hard enough to stand on, harder still to hold back
on. The heat in this canion on a summer afternoon is
intense, the sun being able to enter it while the wind is
not. Two or three glo,ious springs afford partial consolation to the weary, thirsty traveler. I am confident no
passenger ever rode down this rocky ladder; I trust
that none will until a better road is made here; though
a good road in such a gulch is scarcely possible. Fifteen
miles further, across a plain and a lower range of hills,
brought our mail-wagon at last, about seven P. m. of its
seventh day from Salt Lake City, to
THE HUMBOLDT.
I am not going to describe the route down this river,
as it is the old emigrant-trail, repeatedly written about
already.  I only wish to record my  opinion, that the
Humboldt, all things considered, is the meanest river
of its length on earth.  Rising in the Humboldt Moun 
FROM SALT LAKE TO CARSON VALLEY.
tains, hardly one hundred and fifty miles west of Salt
Lake, it is at first a pure stream-or rather streams, for
there are two main branches-but is soon corrupted by
its alkaline surroundings, and its water, for at least the
lower half of its course, is about the most detestable I
ever tasted. I mainly chose to suffer thirst rather than
drink it. Though three hundred and fifty miles in
length, it is never more than a decent mill-stream; I
presume it is the only river of equal length that never
had even a canoe launched upon its bosom. Its narrow
bottom, or intervale, produces grass; but so coarse in
structure, and so alkaline by impregnation, that no sensible man would let his stock eat it, if there were any
alternative. Here, however, there is none. Cattle must
eat tlhis, or die-many of them eat it, and die. One of
the most intelligent emigrants I conversed with on its
banks informed me that he had all the grass for his
stock mowed, as he had found by experience that his
cattle, if grazed upon it, pulled up much of their grass
by the roots, and these roots were far more alkaline
than the stalks.  I believe no tree of any size grows on
this forlorn river from its forks to its mouth-I am sure
I saw none while traversing the lower half of its course.
Half a aozen specimens of a large, worthless shrub,
known as buffalo-bush or bull-berry, with a prevalent
fringe of willows about the proper size for a schoolma'am's use, comprise the entire timber of this delectable stream, whose gad-flies, musketoes, gnats, etc., are
so countless and so blood-thirsty as to allow cattle so
unhappy as to be stationed on, or driven along this
river, no chance to eat or sleep.  Many have died this
271 
272     FROM SALT LAKE TO CARSON VALLEY.
season of the bad water, that would have survived the
water, but for these execrable insects, by which the
atmosphere, at times, is darkened. It certainly is not
a pleasure to ride, night and day, along such a stream,
with the heat intense, the dust a constant cloud, and
the roads all gullied, and ground into chuck-holes; but
then, who would stay in such a region one moment
longer than he must?
I thought I had seen barrenness before-on the upper
course of the Republican-on the North Platte, Green
River, etc.-but I was green, if the regions washed by
by those streams were not.  Here, on the Humboldt,
famine sits enthroned, and waves his scepter over a
dominion expressly made for him. On the abovenamed rivers, I regarded cotton-wood with contempt;
here, a belt, even the narrowest fringe, of cotton-wood
would make a comparative Eden. The sage-bush and
grease-wood, which cover the high, parched plain on
either side of the river's bottom, seems thinly set, with
broad spaces of naked, shining, glaring, blinding clay
between them; the hills beyond, which bound the prospect, seem even more naked. Not a tree, and hardly
a shrub, anywhere relieves their sterility; not a brook,
save one small one, runs down between them to swell
the scanty waters of the river. As the only considerable stream in the Great Basin that pursues a general
east and west direction, the Humboldt may continue
for years to be traveled; but I am sure no one ever left
it without a sense of relief and thankfulness. There
can never be any considerable settlement here.
After a course, at first west by south, then north by 
FROM SALT LAKE TO CARSON VALLEY.
west, afterward south-west, and for the last fifty miles
due south, the river falls into Lake Humboldt, a fine
sheet of clear water, perhaps fifteen miles in length and
forty in circumference. I tried to obtain an approximation to its depth, but could not; those who have
staid beside it longest assuring me that no boat had
ever floated upon its waters-a statement which the
destitution of wood in all this region renders credible.
I amn satisfied, however, that this lake is being slowly
filled up from the gradual washing down, and washing
in, of the hills which approach it on the east and south,
and that time will make great changes in its configuration and the volume of its waters.
A stream, not so copious as the river, runs from the
lake on the south, and flows with a gentle, sluggish
current into a large tule or reed-marsh, which has no
outlet, and is said to be but moderately salt. The lake
water is accounted sweeter than that of the river.
Here the Humboldt is said to sink, like the Carson,
Truckee and Walker, which issue from the Sierra Nevada, and run eastwardly into the adjacent desert; but I
suspect they are all drank up by evaporation and by
the thirsty sands which surround them.  The Mississippi, if it ran across the Great Basin and kept clear of
mountains, would be threatened by a similar fate.
We reached the Sink at 6J P. m. on Thursday, the
29th-scarcely two days from Gravelly Ford, where
we struck the river, having in those two days traversed
some two hundred and twenty miles of very bad and
intensely hot, dusty road. At eight, we were ready to
pass "the Desert "-that is, the desolate plain which
12*
273 
274     FROM SALT LAKE TO CARSON VALLEY.
separates the Sink of the Humboldt from that of the
Carson. But one of our fresh mules was sick and could
not be replaced, which made our first drive a tedious
one, and we contrived, by dexterous mismanagement,
to get stuck in a bayou or back-set of the Humboldt
Sink, where we for a while seemed likely to spend the
night. Our lead-mules, having been mired and thrown
down, would not pull; the sick wheeler could not. At
length, by putting one of the leaders in his place, we
made a start, and come through, finding the bottom
firm and the water not deep, a yard either way from
the place of our misadventure. By a little past midnight, we were at the half-way station, where a well of
decent brackish water has been dug, and which a drove
of four or five hundred mules reached about the time
we did. They stopped here to rest, however, while we
pushed on with a fresh team-for ten miles of the way,
over as heavy a drag of sand as I ever endured, whereas most of this desert is a hard, alkaline clay. By five
A. m., after riding four days and the intervening nights
without rest, we drew up at the station near the sink of
the Carson. 
xxVI.
CARSON VALLEY-THE SIERRA NEVADA.
PLACERVILLE, Cal., Aug. 1, 1859.
TiaouGa the Carson sinks in or is absorbed by the
same desert with the Hum'boldt, a glance at its worst
estate suffices to convince the traveler, that the former
waters by far the more hopeful region. Large cottonwoods dot its banks very near its sink; and its valley,
wherever moist, is easily rendered productive. You feel
that you are once more in a land where the arm of industry need not be paralyzed by sterility, obstruction,
and despair.
Still, the prevalence of drouth is here a fearful fact.
No rain in sumnmer-that is, none that can be calculated
on, none that amounts to anything-might well appall
the cultivator accustomed to warm, refreshing showers
throughout the growing season. We crossed, on our
rapid ride up the Carson, a single high plain twenty-six
miles long and from six to twelve wide, which drouth
alone dooms to sage-bush, sterility, and worthlessness.
Two or three other plains or high intervales further up
are nearly as scorched and barren. All these may be
rendered most productive by irrigation, and here is the
water at hand. If the new gold mines in this valley
shall ultimately justify their present promise, a very
large demand for vegetable food will speedily spring up
here, which can only be satisfied by domestic produe 
276     CARSON VALLEY-  -t SIERRA NEVADA.
tion.  The vast deserts eastward cannot meet it; the
arable region about Salt Lake is at once too restricted
and too distant; inland California is a dear country,
and the transportation of bulky staples over the Sierra a
costly operation.  The time will ultimately come-it
may or may not be in our day-when two or three great
dams over the Carson will render the irrigation of these
broad, arid plains on its banks perfectly feasible; and
then this will be one of the most productive regions on
earth. The vegetable food of one million people can
easily be grown here, while their cattle may be reared
and fed in the mountain-vales north and south of this
valley. And when the best works shall have been con structed, and all the lights of science and experience
brought to bear on the subject, it will be found that
nearly everything that contributes to human or brute
sustenance can be grown actually cheaper by the aid
of irrigation than without it. As yet, we know little
or nothing of the application of water to land and crops,
and our ignorance causes deplorable waste and blundering.  Every year henceforth will make us wiser on this
head.
Twenty miles or so below Genoa, we passed "Johntown" a Chinese settlement, whose people find employment in the recently discovered gold mines. These
mines are some eight miles northward of "Gold Canion,"
and are reported immensely rich. Silver and copper
are blended with gold in the same vein-stone. A few
are making money very fast here; but these few control
all the available water, and it seems impossible to introduce more. If a supply can be obtained at all, it must 
OARSON VALLEY-THE SIERRA NEVADA.
be at enormous cost.  I have vaguely heard of a patent
ed process or processes for separating gold from other
minerals or earths without the use of water; if there
be any such process which is not a humbug, I urge the
owner of the patent to haste to Carson Valley and
there make his fortune. I assure him of an enthusiastic
welcome.
"Carson City," just above Johntown, though it has
few houses as yet, aspires to be the emporium of the
new gold region, and perhaps of the embryo State of
Nevada; but Genoa, tenl or fifteen miles further up, is
the present emporium, though a village of but forty or
fifty houses. Hlere a convention had been in session for
a fortnight, and had completed a constitution for the
aforesaid embryo state of Nevada only the night before
our arrival.   We  met some of the delegates bound
homeward. Said state is to comprise the western half
(very nearly) of Utah, with (I believe) a small strip of
eastern California. California may object to this; but
I trust Congress will organize at least the Territory of
Nevada at an early day. It is an established fact that
a division of power between Mormons and Gentiles
seldom works harmoniously; but in Utah there is no
division-the Mormons have all. The people of Carson
Valley, and of western Utah generally, are not Mor
mons; the legislation of Utah is unsuited and unacceptable to them; they desire to be set off, and I trust they
soon may be. Though few in numbers as yet, they are
rapidly increasing, and will soon possess all the elements
of a state.
I had previously seen some beautiful valleys, but I
277 
2T8     CARSON VALLEY-THE SIERRA NEVADA.
place none of these ahead of Carson. I judge that portion of it already in good part under cultivation, about
thirty miles long by ten to fifteen wide —an area destined to be largely increased, as I have already indicated. This valley, originally a grand meadow, the
home of the deer and the antelope, is nearly inclosed
by high mountains, down which, especially from the
north and west, come innumerable rivulets, leaping and
dancing on their way to form or join the Carson. Easily
arrested and controlled, because of the extreme shallowness of their beds, these streams have been made to irrigate a large portion of the upper valley, producing an
abundance of the sweetest grass, and insuring bounteous
harvests also of vegetables, barley, oats, etc. Wheat
seems to do fairly here; corn not so well; in fact, the
nights are too cold for it, if the water were not. For
this spring-water, leaping suddenly down from its mountain-sources, is too cold, too pure, to be well adapted to
irrigation; could it be held back even a week, and
exposed in shallow ponds or basins to the hot sunshine,
it would be vastly more useful. When the whole river
shall have been made available, twenty to forty miles
below, it will prove far more nutritious and fertilizing.
Genoa stands on the narrow bench or slope of hard
granitic gravel, which intervenes betwixt the mountains
and the valley, with half a dozen rivulets running
through it, to fructify the fields and gardens below.  Just
behind it is the steep ascent of the mountain, its very soil
formed of white, pulverized granite, gloriously covered
with fragrant and graceful pines. As these steep acclivities are absolutely worthless for any other end than 
CARSON VALLEY-THIE SIERRA NEVADA.
tree-growing, I entreat the people of Genoa to take care
of these woods, and not let their place be shorn of half
its beauty, merely to save a mile or so in the hauling
of fuel. I may never see this lovely valley again-it is
hardly probable that I ever shall-but its beauty, its
seclusion, its quiet, the brightness of its abundant rivulets, the grandeur of its inclosing mountains, the grace
and emerald verdure of their vesture of pines, have
graven themselves on my memory with a vividness
and force which only he who has passed weary weeks on
some great, shadeless, verdureless desert can fully realize.
We stopped but to dine in Genoa, then economized
the residue of the daylight by pressing on fifteen miles
to the point at which the California road enters the
mountains by the side of the largest of the brooks which
unite to form the Carson. Hiere we halted at a fair
two-story house, the first one I had entered with the
hope of resting in it since I left Salt Lake City. We
had beds here-actual beds, and good ones-our first
since Camp Floyd. Though our night was not a long
one, for we were to start again by 4, A. M., I reckon
good use was made of it by the four through passengers
who had not lain down before since they left Shell
Creek, five days ago, and nearly five hundred miles
away. My own slumber was partial and broken, as it
generally is; but the bath which preceded and prepared for it was a genuine refreshment, and the sleep
seemed quite sufficient. In fact, I felt that I could
have gone without for another week, and experienced
less discomfort than I did the first night that we rode,
and the day after.
279 
280     CARSON VALLEY —TIE SIERRA NEVADA.
We were in motion again at the earliest dawn, for
we had still about seventy-five miles of rugged mountain road to traverse before reaching this place. The
Carson side of the road is not yet half made while the
half next to this place is in the main good. But in
fact, the expense of a good highway up the eastern
slope of the Sierra must be a heavy one. For that
slope is here composed of granite-simple, naked rock
-with scarcely a fraction of its surface thinly covered
by soil.  Of course, no trees but evergreens can livea very few small quaking-asps in the bottoms of the
ravines scarcely form an exception-while almost every
rood is covered by giant, glorious pines. I saw sugar
and yellow-pines at least eight feet in diameter and tall
in proportion; I am assured that one was recently cut
near this road which measured eight feet across at a
height of eighty feet from the ground, and from which
two hundred and forty thousand shingles were made.
Beside these universal pines, there are giant cedars,
balsam-firs, and some red-wood; after we cross the summit, we found also oaks, which gradually increased in
size and number as we descended. I think I saw oaks
(the prevalent California species is much like our whiteoak) at least four feet through-in short, I never saw
anything like so much nor so good timber in the course
of any seventy-five miles' travel as I saw in crossing
the Sierra Nevada. How greatly blest California is in
this abundance, I need not say.
The road over this pass-here claimed to be the lowest and most practicable of any over the Sierra Nevada
-rises steadily for twelve or thirteen miles from Omr 
OARSON VALLEY-THE SIERRK NEVADA.
morning's starting-point, then descends for two or three
miles as abruptly to the valley of a brook which runs
north into lake Bi,gler, which in turn finds an outlet into
Truckee River, whereby its waters are borne eastward
into the desert and there dissipated. There is fine grass
on Lake Bigler, and several hundred cows are kept there
in summer, making butter for the California market.
When snow falls, these cattle are driven down to the
valley of the Sacramento, where the rains are now commencing, and they here live without hay till June, when
they are taken back to the mountains again, where only
is butter made from them. The business is very lucrative, the land costing nothing and being unfenced. Taking into account gold, timber, and grass, the Sierra
Nevada is probably the richest and most productive
mountain-chlain on earth.
Fromn the valley aforesaid, we rose again for two
miles, along a narrow road cut into the side of a mountain, with a precipitous declivity on the right. Then
we began to descend once more, beside a rivulet which
leaped and laughed on its way to the Pacific.   The
ascent frnom the Carson side is far shorter than the
descent this way, Carson Valley being much higher
than that of the Sacramento. But the road, even on
this side, is, for most of the way, eaten into the side of
a steep mountain, with a precipice of from five to fifteen
hundred feet on one side and as steep an eminence on
the other. Yet along this mere shelf, with hardly a
place to each mile where two meeting wagons can pass,
the mail-stage was driven at the rate of ten miles an
hour (in one instance eleven), or just as fast as four wild
281 
282      CARSON VALLEY-nTHE SIERRA NEVADA.
California horses, whom two men could scarcely harness,
could draw it. Our driver was of course skillful; but
had hlie met a wagon suddenly oni rounding one of the
sharp points or projections we were constantly passing,
a fearful crash was unavoidable. Hiad his horses seen
fit to run away (as they did run once, on the unhooking
of a trace, but at a place where he had room to rein
them out of the road on the upper side, and thus stop
them) I know that he could not have held them, and we
might have been pitched headlong down a precipice of
a thousand feet, where all of the concern that could
have been picked up afterward would not have been
worth two bits per bushel. Yet at this break-neck rate
we were driven for not less than four hours or forty
miles, changing horses every ten or fifteen, and raising
a cloud of dust through which it was difficult at times
to see anything.   We  crossed the south fork of the
American River, eighteen miles above this point, rising
two or three miles immediately after to the summnit of
the ridge south, and thenceforward the road, nearly to
this city, descends steadily a beautifully inclined ridge,
and, but for the dust, would be one of the finest drives
on earth. And right glad was I to find myself once
more among friends, surrounded by the comforts of civilization, and with a prospect of occasional rest.  I cannot
conscientiously recommend the route I have traveled
to summer tourists in quest of pleasure, but it is a balm
for many bruises to know that I am at last in CALIFORNIA. 
xxVII.
CALIFORNIA MINES AND MINIXG.
SACRAMENTO, Aug. 7, 1859.
I HAVE spent the last week mainly among the mines
and miners of E1 Dorado, Placer, and Nevada counties,
in the heart of the gold-producing region. There may
be richer' diggings" north or south; but I believe no
other three counties lying together have yielded in the
aggregate, or are now producing, so much gold as those
I have named. Of course, I have not been withllin sight
of Iliore than a fraction of the mines orplacers of these
counties, while I have not carefully studied even one
of them; and yet the little information I have been able
to glean, in the intervals of traveling, friendly greeting,
and occasional speech-making, may have some value
for those whose ignorance on the subject is yet more
dense than mine.
The three counties I have named lie near the center
of the state, at the base of the Sierra Nevada, between
those mountains on the east and the valley of the Sacramento on the west. They are rugged in formation,
being composed of innumerable hills (mainly spurs of
the great chain), separated by narrow valleys, usually
descending to the west, and gradually opening out into
the broad, rich valley of the Sacramento. The three
branches or " forks" of the American and those of the
Yuba River come hrawling down from the Sierra Ne 
CALIFORNIA MINES AND MINING.
vada through very deep, narrow valleys or cations, and
unite respectively to run a very short course less rapidly
ere they are lost in the Sacramento-the Yuba having
previously formed a junction with the Feather. "Bear
River," "Wolf Creek," "Deer Creek," etc., are the
names of still smaller streams, taking their rise among
the foot-hills, and running a short course into some fork
of the American or Yuba, their scanty waters, with a
good portion of those of the rivers aforesaid, being
mainly drawn off into canals or " ditches," as they are
inaccurately termed, by which the needful fluid is supplied to the miners.
THE CANALS.
These canals are a striking characteristic of the entire mining region. As you traverse a wild and broken
district, perhaps miles from any human habitation or
sign of present husbandry, they intersect your dusty,
indifferent road, or are carried in flumes supported by
a firamue-work of timber twenty to sixty feet over your
head.  Some of these flumes or open aqueducts are
carried across valleys each a mile or more in width; I
have seen two of them thus crossing side by side. The
canals range from ten to sixty or eighty miles in length,
and are filled by damming the streams wherefrom they
are severally fed, and taking out their water in a wide
trench, which runs along the side of one bank, gradually gaining comparative altitude as the stream by its
side falls lower and lower in its caflon, until it is at
length on the crest of the headland or mountain promontory which projects into the plain, and may be con
284 
CALIFORNIA MIES AND MIUNG.
ducted down either side of it in any direction deemed
desirable. Several of these canals have cost nearly or
quite half a million dollars each, having been enlarged
and improved from year to year, as circumstances dictated and means could be obtained.   One of them,
originally constructed in/defiance of sanguine prophecies of failure, returned to its owners the entire cost of
its construction within three months from the date of
its completion. Then it was found necessary to enlarge
and every way improve it, and every dollar of its net
earnings for the next four years was devoted to its perfection. In some instances, the projectors exhausted
their own means and then resorted to borrowing on
mortgage at California rates of interest; I learn without
surprise that nearly or quite every such experiment resulted in absolute bankruptcy and a change of owners.
Of late, the solvent and prosperous companies have
turned their attention to damming the outlets of the
little lakes which fill the hollows of the Sierra, in order
to hold back the superabundant waters of the spring
months for use in summer and autumn. This course is
doubly beneficent, in that it diminishes the danger from
floods to which this city is specially subject, but which
is also serious in all the valleys or canons of the mining
region wherein there is anything that water can injure.
I judge that the cost and present cash value of these
mining canals throughout California must be many millions of dollars, paying in the average a fair income,
while their supply of water is at this season, and from
July to November, utterly inadequate. Water is sold
by them by the cubic inch-a stream four inches deep
285 
CALIFORNIA MINES AND MINING.
and six wide, for instance, being twenty-four inches, for
which, at fifty cents per inch, twelve dollars per day
must be paid by the taker.  A head of six inches-that
is, six inches' depth of water in the flume above the top
of the aperture through which the water escapes into
the miners' private ditch or flumne-is usually allowed.
The price per day ranges from twenty cents to a dollar
per inch, though I think it now seldom reaches the
higher figure, which was once common. Were the supply twice as copious as it is, I presume it would all be
required; if the price were somewhat lowered by the
increase, I amrn sure it would be. Many works are now
standing idle solely for want of water.
THIE MINES.
Go where you will, in the mining region, you are
seldom a mile distant from past or present "diggings."
Speaking generally, every ravine, gully, or water-course
has been prospected; each has, at some point, been dug
open to the "bed-rock," and the overlaying earth or
gravel run through a "rocker," "torn," or "sluice," in
the hope of making it yield the shining dust.  Many
of these water-courses have been deeply and widely
dug up for miles in extent. If any are left entirely undisturbed, the presumption is strong that the subjacent
rock is so near the surface, that gold has had no chance
to deposit itself thereon. In some instances, basins or
depressions in the rock have been gradually filled up
with earth-probably auriferous —th,ronghl thousands of
years, and the gold which mi,ght otherwise have been
strown down the valley for miles is here collected, so
286 
CALIFORNIA MINES AND MINING.
that it would be sheer waste to mine throughout those
mniles. But the more general opinion seems to be, that
gold is diffused throughout the soil of the entire mining
region, especially upon, and just above the surface of;
the bed-rock, though only in certain localities is it sufficienltly abundant to justify efforts to extract it. I find
no one seenming to cherish any apprehensions that California will cease to produce gold abundantly, at least
within the next quarter of a century.  On the contrary,
the current belief seems to be, that the influx of population will in time so reduce the wages of labor, or the
progress of invention and discovery so increase its efficiency, that extensive districts will ultimately be mined
with profit, which are now necessarily avoided. If the
amount of available water were doubled, with a considerable reduction of price, the gold product of California
would thereupon be increased several millions per anlnum.  At present, milling enterprises of considerable
promnise and indefinite magnitude remain in abeyance,
simply because the price of labor, the rate of interest,
and other elements of the cost of mining, are deemed
too high to justify their prosecution.
MODES OF MINING.
In the course of a week's travel through a portion of
the mining district, I did not see a single miner engaged
with pick and pan in prospecting. Higher up in the
mountains, or further to the north, I might have found
such. Nor do I remember having seen white men,
save, perhaps, in a single instance, engaged in digging
and washing the gravel or earth in the bed of any
287
-7 
CALIFORNIA MINES  AND MINING.
water-course, whether river, creek, or dry gulch. But
Chinese bands, of six to twelve, were often hard at work
in these water-courses-Bear River, the south fork of
the Yuba, etc.-digging, and washing with rocker,
sluice, and a sort of wheel-and-flume arrangement,
which I did not get the hang of.
The Chinese are hardly used here. In the first place,
they are taxed four dollars each per month for the naked
privilege of mining at all.  Next, they are not allowed
to mine anywhere but in diggings which white men
have worked out and abandoned, or which no white
man considers worth working. Thirdly, if these rejected diggings, happen, in Chinese hands, to prove better
than their reputation, and to begin yielding liberally,
a mob of white sovereigns soon drive the Chinese out
of them, neck and heels. "John" does not seem to be
a very bad fellow, but he is treated worse than though
he were. He is not malignant nor sanguinary, and seldom harms any but his own tribe. But he is thoroutghly sensual, and intent on the fullest gratification
of his carnal appetites, and on nothing else. IHe eats
and drinks the best he can get, and as much as he can
hold; but he is never so devoid of self-respect as to be
seen drunk in a public place; even for an opium debauch, he secludes himself where none but a friendly
eye can reach him. His "particular wanity" in the
eating line is rice, whereof he will have the best only,
if the best is to be had; he likes a fat chicken also, and
will pay his last dollar for one, rather than go without.
Lacking the dollar, it is charged that he will rob henroosts; at all events, hen-roosts are sometimes robbed,
288 
CALIFORNIA MINES AND MINING.
and "John" has to bear the blame.  He is popularly
held to spend nothing, but carry all his gains out of the
country and home to his native land-a charge disproved by the fact that he is an inveterate gambler, an
opium-smoker, a habitual rum-drinker, and a devotee
of every sensual vice. But he is weak in body, and not
allowed to vote, so it is safe to trample on him; he does
not write English, and so cannot tell the story of his
wrongs; he has no family here (the few Chinese women
brought to this country being utterly shameless and
abanLdoned), so that he forms no domestic ties, and enjoys no social standing. Even the wretched Indians
of California repel with scorn the suggestion that there
is any kinship between their race and the Chinese.
"John" has traits which I can neither praise nor justify; yet I suspect that, if other men's faults were punished as severely as his, a good many Californians would
be less comfortable than they are. 
As to quartz-mining-or the reduction to powder of
the vein-stone wherein gold is contained, and the extraction of the gold from the powder, by means of water,
quick-silver, etc.-I judge that the time has not even
yet arrived for its profitable prosecution. There are
conspicuous instances of its success, that of the concern
known  as "Allison's Ranche," in Grass Valley,  for
example-but I am confident that fully three out of
every four quartz-mining enterprises have proved failures, or have at best achieved no positive success. The
current estimates of the yield of gold by quartz rock,
are grossly exaggerated. I judge that the average yield
of gold by quartz vein-stone is less than twenty dollars
13
289 
CALIFORNIA MINES AND MINING.
per ton-barely one cent per pound-and that this yield
will not pay the average cost of sinking shafts, running
drifts or adits, pumping out water, raising ore (and an
immense aggregate of dead rock with it), crushing it,
and extracting the gold, in a country where common
labor costs two and a half to three dollars per day. At
forty dollars per ton of veini-stone, quartz-mining might
pay; but where one vein yields forty dollars per ton,
there are many which yield less than twenty dollars.
There are some instances of profitable quartz-mining by
men on the spot who thoroughly understand the busi ness; but I have not heard of an instance in which
money has been invested in quartz-mining, by persons
out of California, who have not lost every farthing
of it.
r I think the most popular form of mining at present is
that of sinking or drifting into hills which have a stra tum of gravel at or near their base, directly overlying
the bed-rock. Many of these hills would seem to have
been piled, in some far-off, antediluvian period, upon a
bed or basin of solid granite, which often hollows or
dips toward its center like a saucer. If, then, a tunnel
can be run in through the "rim rock" or side of this
saucer so happily as to strike the level of the bottom,
thereby draining off the water, and affording the utmost
facility for extracting the gold-bearing gravel, the for  tune of the operator may be made by one lucky, or
better than lucky, operation. In a few instances, these
subterranean gravel-basins would seemn to have formed
parts of the beds of ancient rivers, and so to be extra  ordinarily rich in the precious dust. In some cases, the
290 
CALIFORNIA MINES AND MINING.
"pay dirt" is hauled by steam up aii inclined plane, or
even raised perpendicularly by windlass; but it is easier
to extract it by a horizontal drift or tunnel, wherever
possible. Many mines of this order are worked night
and day on the "three-shift" plan, and are paying very
handsomely.
But the newest, most efficient, most uniformly profitable
mode of operation is that termed tydraulic mining-that
is, the washing down and washing away of large deposits
of auriferous earth by means of a current of water so
directed as to fall on the right spot, or (better still) pro jected through a hose and pipe with the force generated
by a heavy fall. The former of these methods is exhib ited in perfection at Nevada, the latter at North San
Juan, as, doubtless, at many other places. At North
San Juan, near the middle fork of the Yuba, streams at
least three inches in diameter, and probably containing
twenty measfired inches of water, are directed against
the remaining half of a high hill, which they strike
with such force that bowlders of the size of cannon-balls
are started from their beds and hurled five to ten feet
into the air. By this process, one man will wash away
a bank of earth sooner than a hundred men could do it
by old-fashioned sluicing. I believe earth yielding a
bare cent's worth of gold to the pan may be profitably
washed by this process, paying a reasonable price for
the water. As much as one hundred dollars per day is
profitably paid for the water thrown through one pipe.
The stream thus thrown will knock a man as lifeless as
though it were a grape-shot. As the bank, over a hundred feet high, is undermined by this battery, it fre
291 
CALIFORNIA MINES AND MING.
quently caves from the top downward, reaching and
burying the careless operator. Three men have been
thus killed at San Juan within the last month, until at
length greater caution is exercised, and the operator
stands twice as far away as he formerly did. Very long
sluices-as long as may be-conduct the discharged
water away; and I am told that it is no matter how
thick with earth the water may run, provided the sluice
be long enough. It is of course so arranged as to pre sent riffles, crevices, etc., to arrest the gold at first
borne along by the turbid flood. I believe there are
companies operating by this method whose gross re ceipts from a single sluice/have reached a thousand dol lars per day.,..
One of the novelties (to me) of this region is the
presence of soft granite-putty-granite, if I may coin a
name for it. Unlike most soft rocks, this seems not to
harden by exposure to the atmosphere. It is found at
various depths, and I know no way of accounting for
it. It seems to me that one-fourth of the granite I saw
at the base of recent excavations appeared soft as cheese.
Is not this peculiar to California?
r   Mining is a necessary art, but it does not tend to
beautify the face of nature. On the contrary, earth
distorted into all manner of ungainly heaps and ridges,
hills half torn or washed away, and the residue left in
as repulsive shape as can well be conceived, roads inter  sected and often turned to mire by ditches, water-courses
torn up and gouged out, and rivers, once pure as crystal,
now dense and opaque with pulverized rock-such  is
the spectacle presented throughout the mining region.
292 
CALIFORNIA MINES AND MINING.
Not a stream of any size is allowed to escape the pollution-even the bountiful and naturally pure Sacramento
is yellow with it, and flows turbid and uninviting to the
Pacific. (The people of this city have to drink it,
nevertheless.)  Despite the intense heat and  drouth
always prevalent at this season, the country is full of
springs, which are bright and clear as need be; but
wherever three or four of these have joined to form a
little rill, some gold-seeker is sharp on their track, converting them into liquid mud. California, in giving up
her hoarded wealth, surrenders much of her beauty
also.
Worse, still, is the general devastation of timber.
The whole mining region appears to have been excellently timbered-so much of it as I have traversed was
eminently so. Yellow, pitch, and sugar (white) pine (and
what is here called pitch pine is a large, tall, and graceful tree), white, black, and live-oak, with stately cedars,
once overspread the whole country; not densely, as in
eastern forests, but with reasonable spaces between the
noble trunks-the oaks often presenting the general appearance of a thrifty apple-orchard, undergrown with
grass and bushes. But timber is wanted for flumes,
for sluices, for drifts or tunnels, for dwellings, for running steam-engines, etc., and, as most of the land has
no owner, everybody cuts and slashes as if he cared for
nobody but himself, and no time but to-day. Patriarchal oaks are cut down merely to convert their limbs
into fuel, leaving the trunks to rot; noble pines are
pitched this way and that, merely to take a log or two
from the butt for sawing or splitting, leaving the resi
293 
CALIFORNIA MINES AND  MINING.
due a cumberer of the ground; trees fit for the noblest
uses are made to subserve the paltriest, merely because
they are handy, and it is nobody's business to preserve
them. There was timber enough here ten years ago to
satisfy every legitimate need for a century; yet ten
years more will not elapse before the millers will be
sending far up into the mountains at a heavy cost for
log,s that might still have been abundant at their doors,
had the timber of this region been husbanded as it
ought. Remonstrance were idle, but I must be permitted to deplore.
294 
XXVIII.
CALIFORNIA-TTHE YOSEMITE.
BEAR VALLEY, Cal., Aug. 14, 1859.
I LEFT Sacramento on Monday morning last, traveling
by stage to Stockton, forty-eight miles nearly due south,
crossing the Mokelumne, and keeping first the Sacramento and then the San Joaquin a few miles on our
right, and Mount Diablo conspicuous still further west.
We traversed a level, fertile plain, sparsely wooded near
the rivers-a plain which should be, but is not yet,
densely peopled, and very productive. There are some
fine orchard gardens near the cities, and might well be
many; but a good part of the intermediate country is
uninclosed, and the residue mainly devoted to large
raicAes (or loose and slovenly cattle husbandry), and in
less degree to the growing of small grain-wheat and
barley. The stubble indicates good crops, but there is
not a sufficient area devoted to them. Uncertainty of
land-titles-that paramount curse of California-is assigned as the cause of this inadequacy of cultivation,
which I trust is not to continue.
Stockton is situated on a bayou of the San Joaquin,
at the head of regular steamboat navigation on that
river, which makes it the third or fourth city of California, with fifteen thousand inhabitants, and an extensive carrying trade. The better dwellings are in good 
CALIFORNIA-TVE YOSEMITE.
part sulrrounded by fine gardens, well filled with deli cious fruit.  In some of them, the primitive, wide-spread ing oaks have been preserved, giving them an aspect
of beauty and coolness most grateful to the traveler re cently arrived from the plains. Stockton has the State
Insane Asylum, and a very interesting commencement
of a cabinet of natural history; better still, she has an
Artesian well one thousand feet deep, bored at a cost of
ten thousand dollars, and pouring forth a copious and
unfailing stream, some feet above the surface of the
earth. Deep as it is, it penetrates only successive strata
of what appears to be alluvial deposit, never touching
bed-rock. Artesian wells are becoming common in
California, and I trust are yet to play an important part
in the development and extension not only of her agricultural but also of her mining industry, now crippled
(especially in the south) by the general dearth of water.
I have a suspicion that all the water hitherto obtained
by canals or ditches, so expensively constructed, could
have been procured far cheaper by digging Artesian
wells, which, however multiplied, could hardly fail, at
the foot of the Sierra Nevada, to strike copious fountains at no unreasonable depth.
I left Stockton next morning in a carriage with a
friend who proposed to go through to Bear Valley (seventy-five miles) before sleeping-a feat which I doubted
the ability of any span of livery horses to accomplish.
Mly doubt was misplaced.  Good horses, an early start,
careful, considerate driving, frequent watering, and the
dry, bracing air of California, carried us through by a
little after ten P. M., and our team would readily have
296 
CALIFORNIA-THE YOSEMITE.
gone ten miles further had we required it. I judge that
sixty miles of just such roads would have been as hard
a drive in any state east of the Rocky Mountains.
Our general course this day was east by south, passing mainly over moderately undulating prairie of very
unequal but generally indifferent fertility, and crossing
successively, at intervals of about twenty  miles, the
small rivers Stanislaus, Tuolumne, and Merced, all flowing from the mountains westward into the San Joaquin,
and all rendered turbid, by the mining operations in
progress on their banks or in their beds.  The Stanislaus
runs through a belt of rather light and thin oak, some
two or three miles wide; the others have a few scattering oaks and that is all.  There is considerable  husbandry-mainly of the ranching order, near Stockton
and along the rivers aforesaid, but very little industry of
any kind on the naked prairies between them, and not
a drop of running water, except, perhaps, a spring or
two under some of the low hills which have a tolerably
steep side respectively. There are a very few deep holes
in some of the winter water-courses at which cattle still
find drink, though of a bad quality.  One settler from
Massachusetts, who lives mainly by cattle-growing, in f()rmed us that he came around Cape lHorn eight or ten
years since, has now about ninety head of cattle, which
are fast increasing, and intends to erect a wind-mill this
winter, by whose aid he will be able to have a good
garden at once, and a fine fruit-orchard within a few
years. (Wind-mills located over wells or other reser ~oirs of water, which they raise for use in irrigation,
are very common in Stockton, and are rapidly going up
13*
297 
CALIFORNIA-THE YOSEMITE.
throughout middle California). Hle has to go seven
miles for his fuel, fencing-stuff, etc., on the Stanislaus.
His nearest neighbors, on the road we traveled, are some
five to ten miles distant, but I believe he  has nearer.
He is doubtless richer here than in Massachusetts, but I
cannot realize that his family are happier or more fa vorably situated for mental and moral improvement,
there being no school within reach, and the children
depending for instruction on their New-England mother
alone. But their children will not have New-England
mothers-and what then?  I fear this cattle ranching,
with long intervals between the ranches, is destined to
half barbarize many thousands of the next generation,
whom  schools can scarcely reach, and to whom "the
sound of the church-going bell" will be a stranger. Most
of the agriculturists of this region, however, came here
from Missouri, Arkansas, or Texas-many of them firom
Missouri or Arkansas by way of Texas-and do not seem
to regard common schools as essential to civilized life.
We crossed the Merced sixty miles from Stockton
(all these rivers are crossed by toll-bridges, or ferriescharges, one dollar each per wagon) just before sunset;
and now our road became rugged and bad, as we rose
the first of the foot-hills of the Sierra.  Thus far we
had seen few traces of mining, save the muddy-colored
waters of the rivers; but seven miles further brought
us to Quartzburg, in the center of a nearly washed-out
valley of gold-bearing gravel; and thence our way led
seven miles further, over a far higher foot-hill, into
Bear Valley, where we found fiiends and grateful rest.
The next day I devoted to an examination of Colonel
298 
CALIFORNIA-THE YOSEMITE.
Fremont's mines and works, of which I may speak hereafter, but must now hurry on to the Yosemite.
I left Bear Valley, two hours later than was fit, at
6, A. M., on Thursday, resolved to push through to my
immediate destination that night. My friend had preceded me betimes to Mlariposas, twelve miles on our
way, to complete preparations for the trip; but we
were unluckily delayed here again by mnisapprehensions
and the preengagement of animals for attendance on a
camp-meeting, so that it was high noon  when  we
reached the end of the wagon-road, twelve miles below
Mariposa, where the saddle is the only resource, while
it is still nearly forty miles (many of them steep ones)
to the Yosemite fall. Every one assured us that to get
through that day was impossible; yet I had no more
time to give to the journey, and must try. My friend
is a good rider, while I can barely ride at all, not hav ing spent five hours on horseback, save in my visit to
the Kansas gold mines, within the last thirty years.
But the two gentlemen from Mariposas who accom panied and guided us, knew all about the journey that
we didn't-which is saying a great deal-so we pressed
buoyantly, confidently on.
Hlussey's steam saw-mill, where we mounted (or rather
I did, for the rest had done so before), marks pretty
fairly the division between the oaks of the lower, and
the firs of the higher elevations, though the two of
course melt into each other.  As we rose gradually but
steadily, the white soon faded out, then the black, and
last the live-oak, though the genuineness of this last is
disputed, while the yellow, pitch, and sugar-pines,
299 
CALIFORNIA-THE YOSEMITE.
cedars, and balsam-firs became  more numerous  and
stately, till they at length had the ground almost wholly
to themselves, save that the manzanito and other shrubs
(mostly evergreens also) clustered on nearly every open ing among the trees. There is little or no precipice or
bare rock for miles, and we rose along the southern face
of the ridge overlooking the Cholchilla Valley, until we
seemed to have half California spread out before us
like a map. Our range of vision extended south to the
tuli lake, or immense morass, in which the San Joaquin
has its source, and west to the Coast Range, which alone
barred the Pacific Ocean from our view. Still rising,
we wound gradually around the peak of our first miountain through a slight depression or pass, and soon
looked off upon the valley of the South Fork of the
Merced, which opened for miles north and east of us.
On this side, the descent is far steeper, and we traversed
for miles a mere trace along the side of the mountain,
where a misstep must have landed us at least a thousand feet below. In time, this too was left behind, and
we descended fitfully and toituously the east end of the
mountain to the South Fork, whereon, sixteen miles
from Hiussey's and but five from the Big Trees of Mariposas, we halted for rest and food. Before six, we were
again in the saddle, crossing the fork and winding up
over another mountain northward, with a precipitous
descent of at least two thousand feet beside us for a
mile or so. A steep ascent of half a mile carried us
over the divide, whence we descended very rapidly to
Alder Creek, at the northern base. Following up this
creek over a succession of steep pitches, interleaved
300 
CALIFORNIA-THE YOSEMITE.
with more level patches, we bade adieu to daylight at
"Grizzly Flat," a spot noted for encounters with the
monarch of our Aimerican forests, and thence crossed a
ridge to "' Summit Meadows," a succession of mainly
narrow grassy levels, which wind in and out among the
promontories of more or less shattered granite which
make down from the mountain peaks on either side,
but pursue a generally eastward direction to pour their
tiny tribute into the Great Chasm. Our route led us
six or eight times across these meadows-which were
often so boggy as to require a very nice choice of footing-and, intermlediately, across the generally wooded
promontories which deflected the probably continuous
meadow into what seemed to us many, until we stood
at length, about ten P. M., on the brink of the awful
abyss, and halted a moment to tighten girths and take
breath for the descent.
And here let me renew my tribute to the marvelous
bounty and beauty of the forests of this whole mountain
region.  The Sierra Nevadas lack the glorious glaciers,
the frequent rains, the rich verdure, the abundant cataracts of the Alps; but they far surpass them-they surpass any other mountains I ever saw-in the wealth
and grace of their trees. Look down from almost any
of their peaks, and your range of vision is filled, bounded, satisfied, by what might be termed a tempest-tossed
sea of evergreens, filling every upland valley, covering
every hillside, crowning every peak but the highest,
with their unfading luxuriance. That I saw during
this day's travel many hundreds of pines eight feet in
diameter, with cedars at least six feet, I am confident;
301 
CALIFORNIA-THE YOSEM.ITE
and there were miles after iniles of such and smaller
trees of like genus standing as thick as they could grow.
Steep mountain-sides, allowing  them  to grow,  rank
above rank, without obstructing each other's sunshine,
seemn peculiarly favorable to the production of these
serviceable giants. But the Suinmit Meadows are pe  culiar in their heavy fringe of balsam-fir of all sizes,
from those barely one foot high to those hardly less
than two hundred, their branches surrounding them in
collars, their extremities gracefully bent down by the
weight of winter snows, making them here, I am  con  fident, the most beautiful trees on earth. The dry prom  ontories which separate these meadows are also covered
with a species of spruce, which is only less graceful than
the fir aforesaid.  I never before enjoyed such a tree__feast as on this wearing, difficult ride.
Descent into the Yosemite is only practicable at three
points-one near the head of the valley, where a small
stream makes in fiomn the direction of the main ridge
of the Sierra, down which there is a trail firom the vicin  ity of Water River, Utah-a trail practicable, I believe,
for men on foot only. The other two lead in near the
outlet, from Mlariposas and Coulterville respectively, on
opposite banks of the Merced, and are practicable for
sure-footed mules or horses. We, of course, made our
descent by the Mariposas trail, on the south side of the
little river which here escapes from the famous valley
by a caion which water alone can safely, if at all, tra  verse, being shut in by lofty precipices, and broken by
successive falls.
My friends insisted that I should look over the brink
302 
CALIFORNIA-THE YOSEMITE.
into the profound abyss before clambering down its
side; but I, apprehending giddiness, and feeling the
need of steady nerves, firmly declined. So we formed
line again, and moved on.
The night was clear and bright, as all summer nights
in this region are; the atmosphere cool, but not really
cold; the moon had risen before 7 o'clock, and was
shedding so much light as to bother us in our forestpath, where the shadow of a standing pine looked exceedingly like the substance of a fallen one, and many
semblances were unreal and misleading.  It was often
hard to realize that the dark, narrow current-like passage to the left was our trail, and not the winding,
broader, moonlighted-opening on the right.  The safest
course was to give your horse a free rein, and trust to
his sagacity, or selflove for keeping the trail.  As we
descended by zigzags the north face of the all but perpendicular mountain our moonlight soon left us, or was
present only by reflection from the opposite cliff. Soon,
the trail became at once so steep, so rough, and so tortuous, that we all dismounted; but my attempt at
walking proved a miserable failure.  I had been riding
with a bad Mexican stirrup, which barely admitted the
toes of my left foot; and continual pressure on these
had sprained and swelled them, so that walking was
positive torture. I persevered in the attempt, till my
companions insisted on my remounting, and thus floun
dering slowly to the bottom. By steady effort, we descended the three miles (four thousand feet perpendicular) in two hours, and stood at night by the rushing,
roaring waters of the Merced.
303 
CALIFORNIA-THE YOSEMITE.
That first full, deliberate gaze up the opposite height!
can I ever forget it?  The valley is here scarcely half a
mile wide, while its northern wall of mnainly naked, perpendicular granite is at least four thousand feet highprobably more. But the modicnumn of moonlight that
fell into this awful gorge gave to that precipice a vaogueness of outline, an indefinite vastness, a ghostly and
weird spirituality. I-Iad the mountain spoken to me in
audible voice, or began to lean over with the purpose
of burying me beneath its crushing mass, I should
hardly have been surprised. Its whiteness, thrown into
bold relief by the patches of trees or shrubs which
fringed or flecked it wherever a few handfuls of its
moss, slowly decomposed to earth, could contrive to hold
on, continually suggested the presence of snow, which
suggestion, with difficulty refuted, was at once renewed.
And, looking up the valley, we saw just such mountain
precipices, barely separated by intervening water-courses
(mainly dry at this season) of-inconsiderable depth, and
only receding sufficiently to make room for a very narrow meadow inclosing the river, to the furthest limit of
ilslon.
We discussed the propriety of camping directly at
the foot of the pass, but decided against it, because of
the inadequacy of the grass at this point for our tired,
hungry beasts, and resolved to push on to the nearest
of the two houses in the valley, which was said to be
four miles distant. To my dying day, 1 shall remember
that weary, interminable ride up the valley. We had
been on foot since daylight; it was now past midnight;
all were nearly used up, and I in torture froni over
304 
CALIFORNIA-THE YOSEMITE.
twelve hours' steady riding on the hardest trotting
horse in America. Yet we pressed on, and on, through
clumps of trees, and bits of forest, and patches of meadow, and over hillocks of mountain debris, mainly
granite bowlders of every size, often nearly as round as
cannon balls, forming all but perpendicular banks to the
capricious torrent that brought them hither-those stupendous precipices on either side glaring down upon us
all the while. Jiow many times our heavy eyes - I
mean those of my San Francisco friend and my ownwere lighted up by visions of that intensely desired
cabin-visions which seemed distinct and unmistakable,
but, which, alas! a nearer view proved to be made up
of moonlight and shadow, rock and trees, into which
they faded one after another. It seemed at length that
we should never reach the cabin; and my wavering
mind recalled elfish German stories of the Wild Huntsman, and of men who, having accepted invitations to a
midnight chase, found on their return that said chase
had been prolonged till all their relatives and friends
were dead, and no one could be induced to recognize or
recollect them. Gladly could I have thrown myself
recklessly from the saddle, and lain where I fell till
morning, but this would never answer, and we kept
steadily on.
"Time and the hour wear out the longest day."
At length the real cabin-one made of posts and
beams and whip-sawed boards, instead of rock, and
shadow, and moonshine-was reached, and we all eagerly \
dismounted, turning out our weary steeds into abundant
305 
CALIFORNIA-lTHE YOSEMITE.
grass, and stirring up the astonished landlord, who had
never before received guests at that unseemningly hour.
(It was after one A. M.) Ile made us welcome, however,
to his best accommodations, which would have found us
lenient critics even had they been worse; and I crept
into my rude but clean bed so soon as possible, while
the rest awaited the preparation of some refreshment
for the inner man.  There was never a dainty that could
have tempted me to eat at that hour. I am told that
none ever before traveled from Bear Valley to the Yose  mite in one day-I am confident no green-horns ever
did. The distance can hardly exceed thirty miles by
an air line; but only a bird could traverse that line,
while, by way of Mariposas and the South Fork, it must
be fully sixty miles, with a rise and fall of not less than
twenty thousand feet.
The fall of the Yosemite, so called, is a humbug.  It
is not the Merced River that makes this fall, but a mere
tributary trout-brook, which pitches in from the north
by a barely once-broken descent of two thousand six
hundred feet, while the Merced enters the valley at its
eastern extremity, over falls of six hundred and two
hundred and fifty feet. But a river thrice as large as
the Merced, at this season, would be utterly dwarfed by
all the other accessories of this prodigious chasm. Only
a Mississippi or a Niagara could be adequate to their
exactions. I readily concede that a hunidred times the
present amount of water may roll down the Yosemite fall
in the months of May and June, when the snows are meltling from the central ranges of the Sierra Nevada, which
bound this abyss on the east; but this would not add
306 
CALIFORNIA-THE YOSEMITE.
a fraction to the wonder of this vivid exemplication of
the divine power and majesty.  At present, the little
stream that leaps down the Yosemite, and is all but
shattered to mist by the amazing descent, looks like a
tape-line let down firom the cloud-capped height to
measure the depth of the abyss. The Yosemite Valley
(or Gorge) is the most unique and majestic of nature's
marvels, but the Yosemite Fall is of little account.
Were it absent, the valley would not be perceptibly less
worthy of a fatiguing visit.
We traversed the valley from end to end next day,
but an accumulation of details on such a subject only
serve to confuse and blunt the observer's powers of
perception and appreciation. Perhaps the visitor who
should be content with a long look into the abyss from
the most convenient height, without braving the toil of
a descent would be wiser than all of us; and yet that
first glance upward from the foot will long haunt me as
more impressive than any look downward from the
summit could be.
I shall not multiply details, nor waste paper in noting
all the foolish names which foolish people have given
to different peaks or turrets.  Just think of two giant
stone-towers, or pillars, which rise a thousand feet above
the towering cliff which form their base, being styled
"The Two Sisters!" Could anything be more maladroit and lackadaisical?  "The Dome" is a high, rould,
naked peak, which rises between the Merced and its
little tributary fron the inmost recesses of the Sierra
Nevada already instanced, and which towers to an altitude of over five thousand feet above the waters at its
307 
CALIFORNIA-THE YOSEMITE.
base. Picture to yourself a perpendicular wall of bare
granite nearly or quite one mile high! Yet there are
some dozen or score of peaks in all, ranging from three
thousand to five thousand feet above the valley; and a
biscuit tossed from any of them would strike very near
its base, and its fragments go bounding and falling still
further. I certainly miss here the glaciers of Chamonix; but I know no single wonder of nature on earth
which can claim a superiority over the Yosemite. Just
dream yourself for one hour in a chasm nearly ten miles
long, with egress save for birds and water, but at three
points, up the face of precipices from three thousand to
four thousand feet high, the chasm scarcely more than
a mile wide at any point, and tapering to a mere gorge,
or canon, at either end, with walls of mainly naked and
perpendicular white granite, from three thousand to
five thousand feet high, so that looking uLp to the sky
from it, is like looking out of an unfathomable profound
-and you will have some conception of the Yosemite.
We dined at two o'clock, and then rode leisurely
down the valley, gazing by daylight at the wonders we
had previously passed in the night. The spectacle was
immense; but I still think the moonlight view the more
impressive.
Our faithful beasts climbed the steep acclivity at a
little more than the rate of a mile per hour, so that we
had still an hour or two of sunshine before us as we
stood at last on the summit. I took a last long look
into and up the valley, with the sun still lighting up
the greater portion of the opposite cliffs, and then turn
308 
CALIFORNIA-THE YOSEMITE.
ed my horse's head westward. We reached, at 101
P. M., the ranche on the South Fork, kept by a solitary
man, who has no neighbor nearer than sixteen miles,
and there halted for the night.
309 
XXIX.
CALIFORNIA-T1THE BIG TREES.
STEAMBOAT CORNELIA, ON THE 
SAN JOAQUIN, Aug. 15,'59. f
ON reaching Clark's ranche, we were so happy as to
meet the Reverend 0. C. Wheeler, secretary of the
state agricultural society, and his associates on the visiting committee of that society, now on a tour of official
observation through various districts of the state. We
had agreed at Sacramento to make the trip to the Yosemite together; but some mishap had detained themni
fourteen miles back of Bear Valley during the night of
Wednesday last; and when at length they reached
Mariposas, my party had been some hours on our way,
while not a horse nor mule could be hired that day, to
replace their jaded nags, whose immediate proceeding
on so rough a trip was out of the question. So they
halted, perforce, till next morning, and were only going
up to the Yosemite when we were coming down, as
aforesaid.
But they had just returned to Clark's from the Big
Trees of Mariposas, having visited those of Calaveras
two or three days before. The general impression seems
to be that the Calaveras trees are the larger and finer;
but Mr. Wheeler, having just visited each, was very
decided in his preference for those of Mariposas, and I
understood all his associates to concur in that verdict. 
CALIFORNIA-THE BIG TREES.
They found the Calaveras trees in far better condition,
in the charge of a keeper, and approached by a road
over which a light carriage may readily be driven up to
the very trees themselves. These are no light advantages; but they assured us that, on the other hand, the
Mariposas trees are considerably more numerous (some
six hundred against two hundred and fifty), and are
really larger and finer specimens of their kind. Mr.
Wheeler found by careful measurement of the diameter
of one of these trees one hundred feet above the ground
to be twenty feet, while its first limb, which put off at
that height, had a diameter of six feet. Just think of a
twig six feet through at that elevation!  He obtained
these results by measuring the tree's shadow, which I
need hardly remark was probably narrower than the
tree itself. He had several tape-line measurements of
Mariposas trees over one hundred feet in circumference;
but one of the Calaveras trees is claimed to be, I think,
nearly one-fourth larger than this.  No matter-those
of either county are big enough.
We went up to the Mariposas trees early next morning. The trail crosses a meadow of most luxuriant wild
grass, then strikes eastward up the hills, and rises almost steadily, but in the main not steeply, for five miles,
when it enters and ends in a slight depression or valley,
nearly on the top of this particular nmountain, where the
Big Trees have been quietly nestled for I dare not say
how many thousand years. That they were of very
substantial size when David danced before the ark, when
Solomon laid the foundations of the Temple, when
Theseus ruled in Athens, when _eneas fled from the
311 
CALIFORNIA-THE BIG TREES.
burning wreck of vanquished Troy, when Sesostris led
his victorious Egyptians into the heart of Asia, I have
no manner of doubt.
The Big Trees, of course, do not stand alone. I apprehend that they could not stand at present, in view of
the very moderate depth at which they are anchored to
the earth. Had they stood on an unsheltered mountaintop, or even an exposed hill-side, they would doubtless
have been prostrated, as I presume thousands like them
were prostrated, by the hurricanes of centuries before Christ's advent. But the locality of these, though
probably two thousand five hundred feet above the
South Merced, and some four thousand five hundred
above the sea, is sheltered and tranquil, though several
of these trees have manifestly fallen within the present
century. Unquestionably, they are past their prime,
though to none more than to them is applicable the
complimentary characterization of "a green old age."
Let me try to give as clear an idea of these forest
mastodons as I can, though I know that will be but a
poor one.
In measuring trees, it is so easy to exaggerate by running your line around the roots rather than the real
body, that I placet little dependence on the reported and
recorded measurements of parties under no obligations
to preserve a judicial impartiality. But I believe a
fair measurement of the largest trees standing in this
grove would make them not less than ninety feet in circumference, and over thirty in diameter, at a height of
six feet from their respective bases, and that several of
them have an altitude of more than three hundred feet.
312 
CALIF'ORNIA-THE BIG TREES.
I believe the one that was last uprooted measures a little over three hundred.
But these relics of a more bounteous and magnificent
world seem destined to speedy extinction.  I deem them
generally enfeebled by age and the racking and wrenching, of their roots by the blasts that sweep through their
tops. These malign influences they might withstand
for ages, however, were it not for the damage they have
already sustained, and are in danger of hereafter sustaiming, through the devastating agency of fire.  For
these glorious evergreen forests, though the ground beneath them is but thinly covered with inflammable
matter, are yet subject to be overrun every second or
third year by forest conflagrations. For the earth, to
a depth of several feet, even, is dry as an ash-heap,
from July to October, and the hills are so steep that
fire ascends them with wonderful facility. And thus
the big trees are scarred, and gouged, and hollowed out
at the root and upward, as the effects of successive fires,
one of which, originating far southward, ran through
this locality so late as last aiutumn, burning one of the
forest kings so that it has since fallen, half destroying
another already prostrate, through the hollow of which
two horsemen (nriot G. P. R. Jamnes's, I trust,) were accustomed to ride abreast for a distance of fully one hun
dred feet, and doing serious damage to very many
others. If the village of Mariposas, the county, or the
state of California, does not immediately provide for
the safety of these trees, I shall deeply deplore the infatuation, and believe that these giants might have been
more happily located.
14
313 
CALIFORNIA-THE BIG TREES.
The big trees are usually accounted red-wvood, but
bear a strong resemblance to the cedar family, so that
my intelligent guide plausibly insisted that they are
identical in species with their probable cotemporarics,
the famous cedars of Lelbanlon. The larger cedars in
their vicinity bear a decided resemblance to the smallest of themn; and yet there are quite obvious differences
between themn. The cedar's limbs are by far the more
numerous, and come far down the trunk; they are also
relatively smaller. The cedar's bark is the more deeply creased up and down the trunk, while the foliage of
the big trees is nearer allied to that of certain pines
than to the cedar's. The bark of the big trees is very
thick-in some instances, over two feet-and is of a
dry, light quality, resembling cork: hence the fatal
facility of damage by running, fires.  The wood of the
big trees is of a light red color, seeming devoid alike
of sap and resin, and to burn about as freely while the
tree lives as a year or more after its death. Unless in
the cedars of Lebanon, I suspect these mammoths of
the vegetable world have no counterparts out of California.
They are of course not all of extraordinary size, yet
I cannot remember one that would girth so little as
twenty feet at a height of two yards from the earth's
surface, which is the proper point for horizontal measurement. Hardly one is entirely free from the marks
of fire at its root, while several have been burned at
least half through, and are so hollowed by fire that a
tree eight feet in diameter would probably find ample
room in the cavity. And, while many are still hale
314 
CALIFORNIA-THE BIG TREES.
and thrifty, I did not perceive a single young one coming forward to take the place of the decaying patriarchs.
I believe these trees now bear* no seed-cone or nut,
whatever they may have done in Scipio's or in Alexander's time, and there is no known means of propagating
their kind; and I deeply regret that there is not, though
starting a tree that would come to its maturity in not
less than four thousand years would seem rather slow
business to the fast age in which it is our fortune to live.
Possibly, the big trees are a relic of some bygone
world-some past geologic period-cotemporaries of the
gigantic, luxuriant ferns whereof our mineral coal is
the residuum. I am sure they will be more prized and
treasured a thousand years hence than now, should they,
by extreme care and caution, be preserved so long, and
that thousands will then visit them, over smooth and
spacious roads, for every one who now toils over the
rugged bridle-path by which I reached them.  Meantime, it is a comfort to know that the Vandals who bored
down with pumnp-augers, the largest of the Calaveras
trees, in order to make their fortunes by exhibiting a
section of its bark at the east, have been heavy losers
by their villainous speculation.
We left the big trees a little after ten A. M., returned
to Clark's and fed, and then struck for Mariposas, where
* I am assured that this was a mistake, and that young trees of this
species, propagated from seed-cones, are now growing in several nurseries.
I am sure I saw no cones on any of the giants, though they were in season; and I still suspect that the seeds from which young trees have been
started, grew on the younger and smaller trees of the species, not on tho
mammoths
315 
CALIFORNIA-THE BIG TREES.
we arrived a little before six P. M.-I alone so covered
with boils, caused immediately by horseback exercise,
as to make riding in any way a torture.  My friend who
had taken me up to Hiussey's in his carriage was promptly on hand on my return, though he had been a hundred times assured that I could not possibly be back at
the time appointed. We had a gathering and a talk at
Mariposas in the evening, and I then rode over to Bear
Valley, which we reached a little before midnight.
Next evening, we ran down so far as the Tuolunne on
our return, and to-day came on to Stockton, where we
took the steamboat for San Francisco, which we hope
to reach a little after midnight.
COL. FREMONTIS MINES.
I have already stated that I spent most of Wednesday in an examination, under Col. Fremont's guidance,
of the mines he is working in Bear Valley, and of the
mills in which he reduces the rock and separates the
gold. I usually observe carefully the rule which enjoins reserve, when addressing the public, respecting
matters of purely personal and private concern; but
there are circumstances in the case of Col. F. which
seem to justify a departure from the general usage.
Chosen three or four years since the standard-bearer of
a new political organization in an exciting contest, and
exposed, because of that choice, to a torrent of personal defaimation which not merely impeached his integrity
as a man and his fidelity as a public servant, but sought
to divest him at once of his name, his religious faith,
and even of his native land, I believe there are many
316 
CALIFORNIA-THE BIG TREES.
thousands who cherish fbr Col. Fremont a personal regard and affection which render them profoundly solicitous with respect to his good or evil fortune. It is for
this class only that I write the following:
The public are generally aware that Colonel Fremont
purchased from a Mexican at an early day a large tract
or grant of wild mountain land lying among the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, called by the Mexicans, Los
Mariposas (the Butterfly), after a wild flower known to
abound here. It is known also that this tract was, some
years after, discovered or presumed to be rich in goldthe first piece of rich vein-stone having been taken out
by the proprietor's own hand. It is further known that
all mantier of difficulties and obstructions were interposed to defeat the confirmation of the grant under
which Colonel Fremont holds his title, and that a protracted and most expensive litigation was thus forced
upon him.  Meantime, the property was wholly unproductive-that is to its owner-and the most inviting
portions of it were clutched by squatters, who claimed,
as they still claim, a right to dig its soil into utterly
worthless chasms and heaps in quest of gold, to cut
down its timber and feed off its grass at their own discretion, leaving to the fortunate owner only the privileg,e of paying the taxes, which, under the management
of public affairs by officers politically and personally
hostile to him, have been swelled to no less than sixteen
thousand dollars per annum —his taxes, remember, on
an estate which every body used or wasted as they saw
fit, and which was yielding him no income whatever.
For the feeble efforts at quartz-mining made in his be
317 
CALIFORNIA-THE BIG TREES.
half in his years of absence-in the absence, too, of all
successful experience in such mining-only served to
involve him still more deeply in debt, which was further
swelled by unfortunate agencies and business connections, until the aggregate of his liabilities on account
of this property can hardly have fallen short of half a
million dollars.
Such were the circumstances, under which hlie determined, in 1857, to return to his California estate, and
here, surrounded by his family, devote all his time and
energies to its improvement and renovation.  In the
spirit of that determination he has since lived and
labored, rising with the lark, and striving to obtain a
complete knowledge and master of the entire business,
taking more and more labor and responsibility on his
own shoulders as he felt himself able to bear them, until
he is now manager, chief engineer, cashier, accountant,
and at the head of every other department but that of
law, for which he finds it necessary still to rely on professional aid. And his mines are at length becoming
productive and profitable. His first (steamn) mill, near
his dwelling, runs eight stamps night and day; his
second (water) mill, three miles distant, on the Miered,
at the north end of his estate, runs twelve stamps, also
constantly; and the two are producing gold at the rate
of at least two hundred and fifty thousand dollars per
annum, at an absolute cost, I am confident, of not more
than one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.  Of course
he needs all the profits, if not more, to extend and perfect his works, having already a much larger water-mnill
nearly ready to go into operation beside that on the
318 
CALIFORNIA -THE BIG TRE',ES.
Mierced, in whichl he expects, I believe, to run fifty-six
stamIps, and hlie hopes to have one hundred in all running
before the close of 1860.  With that number, I presume,
he would be able, by giving his constant personal attentionto the business, aided by faithful and capable assistants, to realize a net profit of at least ten thousand
dollars per week, which would vely soon clear him of
debt and leave him unincumbered in the ownership of
perhaps the finest mining property in tlhe world.
Still, the Spanish proverb, "It takes a mine to work
a mine" is exemplified in his case, as in others. A
large additional investment is needed to render his
property as productive as it might be. For instance:
he has just contracted for the transportation of thirty
thousand tons of vein-stone from his great mine to his
mill on the Merced (barely a mile and a half down hill)
for sixty thousand dollars. One half of this sum would
construct a railroad from the heart of the mine down to
the floor of the mill, and take down this anmount of
rock, leaving the railroad and thirty thousand cleatr
gain. But he must have the rock at once, while the
railroad would require time, and a heavy outlay of
ready cash. A Rothschild would build the road forthwith, and save forty thousand dollars; but Colonel F.,
not being yet a Rothschild, whatever he may in time
become, must bide his time.
His great vein, though not the richest, is probably
the most capacious of any in California.  Its thickness
varies from eight to thirty-eight feet-I believe it is in
one place sixty feet wide. It is, in fact, a cliff or pyraulid of gold-bearing quartz inclosed in a mountain of
319 
CALIFORNIA-THE BIG TREES.
slate-a mountain deeply gashed and seamed in various
directions by the water-courses which run down it to the
Merced. These ravines, this river, aided by proper engineering, obviate all the usually heavy, often ruinous,
expense of pumping; the mille, properly opened, will
not only clear itself of water, but the vein-stone may be
easily run out on inclined tram-roads, instead of being
hoisted to the surface through shafts by an enormnous
outlay of power.  Then the width of the vein obviates
all necessity for dead-work, save in sinking shafts and
running up adits; the principal work is rather quarrying than mining; and there can be no apprehension that
the vein will give out or grow poor, because it has already been tested at its various outcrops to a depth of
fifteen hundred feet, and is richer at the bottom than
near the top, where it has mainly been worked to this
time.  I have no doubt that there are ten millions of
dollars in this mine above water-level-that is, the level
of the Merced-and that, though the yield of gold thus
far has fallen rather below twenty dollars per ton, it
may, even at that rate, be mined at a net profit of at
least one-fourth of the gross product.  Colonel F. is con
fident that his present works do not separate half the
gold contained in the rock, and that, by the use of the
new amalgamators he is about to apply, he will double
his weekly product without any increase of cost. This
conviction is foundedl on chemical  experiments  and
tests, which seemn to leave no doubt of the fact that the
additional gold is in the rock; but whether the means
of extracting it have yet been discovered, remains to
be seen. At all events, I feel sure that the productive
320 
CALIFORNIA-THE BIG TREES.
ness of these works will increase much faster than their
expenses, so long as Clonel Fremont shall devote himself to their management so entirely as he is now doing.
In the hands of agents and attorneys, they would probably become again what they once were, and what all
qnartz-mining works, managed at second hand, have
been.
14*
321 
xxx.
CALIFORNIA IPRYSICALLY CONSIDERED.
SAN JosE, Cal., Aug. 27, 1859.
TiHE state of California may be roughly characterized
as two ranges of mountains-a large and a small onewith a great valley between them, and a narrow, irregular counterpart separating the smaller from the Pacific
ocean.  If we add to these a small strip of arid, but fertile coast, and a broad sandy desert behind it, lying
south-west of California proper, and likely one day to be
politically severed from it, we have a sufficiently accurate outline of the topography of the golden state.
Such a region, stretching from north latitude 32~ 30'
up to latitude 42~, and rising from the Pacific ocean up
to perpetually snow-covered peaks fifteen thousand feet
high, can hardly be said to have a climate. Aside from
the Alpine crests of the Sierra, and the sultry deserts
below the Mohave and Santa Barbara, California embodies almost every gradation of climate, from the semiarctic to the semi-tropical. There are green, fertile valveys in the Sierra which only begin to be well grassed
when the herbage of the great valley is drying up, and
from which the cattle are driven by snows as early as
the first of October-long before grass begins to start
afresh on the banks of the Sacramento.  There are other
valleys upon and near the sea-coast, wherein frost and 
CALIFORNIA PIIYSICALLY CONSIDERI:;D-.
snow are strangers, rarely seen, and vanishling, with tlhe
night that gave them being.  Generally, however, we
iiay say of the state, that it has a miild, dry, breezy,
healtlhy climate, better than that of Italy; in that the
sultry, scoi'chiug blasts firom African deserts have here
110no counterpart. Save in the hiiler mountains, or ill
the extreme north-east, snow iinever lies, the earth never
freezes, and winter is but a milder, greelner, longer
spirintg, througlout which cattle pick up their own living far more easily and safely than in summer.
The climate of the valleys may be said to be created,
as that of the mountains is modified, by the influence
of the Pacific ocean. Sea-breezes fromt the south-west
in winter, from the north-west in summer, maintain an
equilibrium of temperature amazing to New Englanders. San Francisco-situated on the great bay formed
by the passage of tie blended waters of the Sacramento
and the San Joaquin-the former draining the western
slope of the Sierra Nevada from the north, as the latter
does from the south-is thus, as it were, in the throat
of the bellows through which the damp gales from the
Pacific are constantly rushing to cool the parched
slopes, or warm the snow-clad heights of the interior.
I presume there was never a day without a breeze at
San Francisco-generally, a pretty stiff one. The seabreeze is always damnp, often chilly, and rolls up clouds
which hide the sun for a part, at least, of most days.
Though ice seldom forms, and snow never lies in her
streets, San Francisco mnust be regarded as a cold place
by most of her visitors and unaccliiiated summer denizens. I presume a hot day was never known there,
323 
CALIFORNIA PHYSICALLY CONSIDERED.
and no night in which a pair of good woollen blatnkets
were not cstcemed a shelter and a coinfort by all but
extremely  hot-blooded  people.   Thick  flannels  and
warm woollen onter-garments are worn throughout the
year by all who have, or can get them. In short, San
Francisco is in climate what London would be with her
summer rains transformed into stiff and almost constant
breezes.
The soil of California is almost uniformly good. The
valleys and ravines rejoice in a generous depth of dark,
vegetable mould, usually mingled with, or resting on
clay; while the less precipitous hill-sides are covered
by a light reddish clayey loam of good quality, asking
only adequate moisture to render it amply productive.
Bring a stream of water almost anywhere, save on the
naked granite, and you incite a luxuriant vegetation.
Yet the traveler who first looks down on the valleys
and lower hill-sides of California in mid-summer is
generally disappointed by the all but universal deadness. Some hardy weeds, a little sour, coarse grass
along the few still living water-courses, some small, far
between gardens and orchards rendered green and
thrifty by irrigation, form striking exceptions to the
general paralysis of all the less inspiring manifestations
of vegetable life.  High up in the mountains, he has
found green valleys whereon the snow doubtless lingered
till late in June, leaving the soil saturated like a wet
sponge for a month later; and there are swampy
meadows whereon the coarse grass grows thick to a
height of several feet; while beds of delicate floweringplants, sheltered by the tall forests, maintain their vital
324 
CALIFORNIA PHYSICALLY CONSIDERED.
ity on the mountain-slopes till late in August; but he
passes out of the region of evergreens into that of oaks
as he descends to a level of somne three thousand feet
above the ocean, and green valleys, luxuriant meadows,
and  mnountain-glades  of flowering-plaits still living,
salute him  no longer.   The oaks gradually become
sparse and scattered; their dark foliage contrasts strongly with the dun, dead, herbage beneath and between
them; as he descends to the plains, the oaks vanish or
become like angels' visits, while a broad expanse of
dried-up pasture-range vies with occasional strips of
wheat or barley stubble in evincing the protracted
fierceness of the summer  drouthl.  IJis vision sweeps
over miles after Iniles of stubble and range whereon no
sign of vegetable life-not even a green weed-is presented; he sees seven-eighths of the water-courses absolutely, intensely dry; while the residue are reduced
from rivers to scanty brooks, from brooks to tiny rivulets; and he murmurs to himself —' Is this the American Italy? It looks more like a Sahara or Gobi."
Yet this, like most hasty judgments, is a very unsound one. These slopes, these vales, now so dead and
cheerless, are but resting from their annual and ever
successful efforts to contribute bountifully to the suste nance and comfort of man. Summer is their season of
torpor, as winter is our's. Dead as these wheat-fields
now appear, the stubble is thick and stout, and its indi cations are more than justified by the harvest they have
this year yielded. Tlte California State lRegister gives
the following as the officially returned wheat-yield of the
state for the last three years:
325 
CALIFORNIA PHYSICALLY CONSIDERED.
Years.         Total Acres in Wheat.
1856................ 171,8C69
1857................164,642
1858................ 186,464
Giving as the aggregate of three years' growth of
wheat, 10,653,185 bushels from 522,975 acres, or more
than twenty bushels per acre.  I am confident that the
aggregate yield of the Atlantic states for those same
three years did not exceed ten bushels per seeded acre.
The average yield of barley throughout the state, according to these returns, is about twenty-five bushels,
and of oats somnething over thirty bushels, per seeded
acre. I know the majority will say "These are but
moderate crops;" and so they may be, if compared with
what might be grown, and in particular instances are
grown; but if compared with the actual average yield
of small grain throughout the Atlantic states, they are
large indeed.
California-though very little of her soil produces
good crops of* Indian corn, owing to the coolness of
her summer nights and the want of seasonable rainsnow grows her own bread, and may easily grow far
more. Estimtnating her population at half a million, her
last year's crop exceeded seven bushels per head, which
is an ample allowance; and this year's crop is still better, with a larger area sown.
But, while only 756,734 acres in all of the soil of this
state were cultivated last year (which still shows an in
* Yet the returns of 1858 give a yield of 620,323 bushels from 12,978
acres, or forty-eight bushels per acre where grown. But it can only be
grown to profit in limited localities.
326
Total Product.
3,879,032
3,205,484
3,568,669 
CALIFORNIA PHYSICALLY CONSIDERED.
crease on any former year), there were 1,159,813 acres
of inclosed lard-with of course a much larger area of
uninclosed-devoted to grazing.   Cattle-growing was
the chief employment of the Californians of other days;
and cattle-growing next after mining, is the chief business of the Californians of 1859. There are comparatively few farms y et established, while ranches abound
on every side. A cor-al, into which to drive his wild
herd when use or security is in question, and a field or
two in which to pasture his milch cows and working
cattle, are often all of the ranche that is inelosed; the
herd is simply branded with the owner's mark and
turned out to range where they will, being looked after
occasionally by a mounted ranchero, whose horse is
trained to dexterity in runniing among or around them.
Stables for horses I have seen; but such a thing as an
honest, straight-out barn has not blessed my eyes in
connection with any farm since I left civilized Kansasif even there. A Californian would as soon think of
cutting hay for the sustenance of his family as for that
of his herd. In fact, winter is, after spring, his cattle's
best season-that in whilch they can best take care of
themselves with regard to food.  From August to November is their hardest time. But the herbage which
rendered the hills and plains one vast flower-garden in
spring is, though dead and dry as tinder, still nutritious;
its myriad flowers have given place to seeds which have
the qualities of grain; and, if the range be broad
enoughl, cattle which have noughlt to do but forage, con trive to eke out a pretty fair livinog. But it were absurd
to suppose that a single crop of dead herbage can af
327 
CALIT'ORNIA PHYSICALLY CONSIDERED.
ford, acre for acre, equal nourishment with the constantly renewed grasses of an eastern  pasture;  and
many herds suffer firom want of consideration of this
fact. As ranches are multiplied and herds increased, a
change of system becomes inevitable.  The cattle-grower must fence off a portion of his range and sow it to
Indian corn, to sorghum, to turnips, beets, and carrots,
wherewith to supply the deficiency of his summer and
fall feed. Then he can keep a much larger herd than
is now profitable if possible, and may double his annual
product of cheese or butter.  At present, I judge this
product to be smaller per cow or per acre in California
than in almost any other s'Late, except what is made in
the high valleys of the Sierra Nevada.
Fruit, however, is destined to be the ultimate glory
of California. Nowhere else on earth is it produced so
readily or so bountifully. Such pears, peaches, apricots,
nectarines, etc., as load the trees of this valley, and of
nearly every valley in the state which has had any
chance to produce them, would stagger the faith of
nine-tenths of my readers. Peach-trees only six years
set, which have borne four large burdens of fruit while
growing luxuriantly each year, are quite common. Apple-trees, but three years set, yet showing at least a
bushel of large, fair fruit, are abundant.  I have seen
peach-trees four or five years from the states which have
all the fruit they can stagger under, yet have grown
three feet of new wood over this load during the current season.   Dwarf-pears, just stuck into the black
loam, and nowise fertilized or cultivated, but covered
with fruit the year after they were set, and thencefor
328 
CALIFORNIA PHYSICALLY CONSIDERED.
ward bearing larger and larger yields with each sueceeding suiimer, are seen in almost every tolerably
cared-for fruit-patch. I cannot discover an instance in
which any fruit-tree, having borne largely one year,
consults its dignity or its ease by standing still or grow,
ing wood only the next year, as is common our way.
I have seen green-gages and other plumn-trees so thickly
set with fruit that I am sure the plums would far outwei,gh the trees, leaves and all.  And  not one borer,
curculio, caterpillar, apple-worin, or other nuisance of
that large and undelightful family, appears to be known
in all this region. Under a hundred fruit-trees, you
will not see one bulb which has prematurely fallen-a
victim to this destructive brood.
Of grapes, it is hardly yet time to speak so sanguinely
as many do; for years will be required to render certain
their exemption from the diseases and the devastators
known to other lands of the vine. But it is certain that
some kinds of grapes have been grown around the old
Jesuit MIissions for generations, with little care and
much success; while it does not appear that the more
delicate varieties recently introduced are less thrifty or
more subject to attack than their Spanish predecessors,
and vine-yards are being nmulltiplied and expanded in
almost every farming neighborhood; single vines and
patches of choice varieties are shooting up in almost
every garden throughout the mining regions; and there
can be little doubt that California is already better sup plied with the grape than any other state of the Union.
That she is destined soon to become largely and profit ably engaged in the manufacture and exportation of
329 
CALIFORNIA PHYSICALLY CONSIDERED.
wine, is a current belief here, which I am at once unable
.and disinclined to controvert.
That California is richest of all the American states
in timber, as well as in minerals, I consider certain,
though the forests of Oregon are doubtless stately and
vast. Even the Coast Range between this valley and
Santa Cruz on the south-west, is covered by magnificent
red-wood-some of the trees sixteen feet through, and
fifty in circumference. In soil, I cannot consider her
equal to Illinois, Iowa, Kansas, or Minnesota; though
the ready markets afforded by her inines to her farnms
probably render this one of the most inviting states to
the enterprising, energetic husbandman. But it must
be considered that not half the soil of California can
ever be deemed arable; the larger area being covered
by miountains, ravines, deserts, etc. In fact, when onefourth of the entire state shall have been plowed and
reduced to tillage, I judge that the residue might better
be left to grow timber and grass.  Steep, rocky hill-sides
on which no rain falls from June to November, can never
be tilled to much profit.
This persistent summer drouth is not an unmixed
evil.  It is a guaranty against many insects, and against
rust, even in the heaviest grain. Grain and hay are got
in at far less cost and in much better average condition
here than they can be where the summers are not
cloudless and rainless. Weeds are far less persistent
and pestilent here than at the east; while the air is so
uniformly dry and bracing, and the days so generally
tempered by a fresh breeze, that the human frame maintains its elasticity in spite of severe and continued exer
330 
CALIFORNIA PHYSICALLY CONSIDERED.
tion.  I was never before in a region where so nmuch
could be accomplished to the hand in summer as just
here.
And yet-and yet-my early prejudices in favor of
a refireshing shower occasionally are not fully overcome.
I dislike to look for miles across so rich and beautiful a
valley as this of San Jose6, and see paralysis and death
the rule, greenness and life the exception. I dislike to
see cattle picking at the dry, brown herbage, and can't
help thinking they would like a field of sweet, green
clover, or thick blue grass, a good deal better. This
may be a mistake on my part; but, if so, it is one that
does credit to their discernment and taste. And I like
to see a garden planted in well-grounded reliance on the
rains of heaven-not dependent for its very existence
on the "sakli," or artificial brook, which I am always
glad to see flowing into a field, no matter on which side
of the Rocky Mountains.  I believe firmly in irrigation;
but I prefer land that there is some credit in irrigating,
to that which must be irrigated, or it might better have
lain unplowed  and unsown.
Of course it is understood that irrigation is exceptional, even here. All the grains are grown here without irrigation; but the small grains are hurried up
quite sharply by drouth, and in some instances blighted
by it, and, at best, are doubtless, much lighter than
they would be with a good, soaking rain early in June;
while Indian corn, and most roots and vegetables are
only, in favored localities, grown to perfection without
artificial watering. Hence, it is supposed that every
garden throughout the state, save a part of those near
331 
CALIFORNIA PHYSICALLY CONSIDERED.
the coast, and within the inmmnediate influence of the
damp sea-breeze, must have its stream of water, or it
comines to nothing, and various devices are employed to
procure the needful fluid. Of these, I like Artesian
wells far best; and they are already numerous, especially in this valley. But ordinary wells, surmounted
by windmills, which press every casual breeze into the
service, and are often pumping up a good stream of
water while the owner and all hands are asleep, are
much more common, and are found to answer very
well; while some keep their little gardens in fair condition by simply drawing water, bucket after bucket, in
the old, hard way. In the valleys, and perhaps oin the
bill-sides as well, it is generally held that the vine requires no irrigation, after being set two years; and the
better opinion seems to be, that fruit-trees, after two
years' watering, do better without.  I have not  yet
satisfied myself as to the feasibility of superseding irrigation by deep plowing, thlough my strong conviction
is, that every orcllard and garden should be thoroughly
dclug up and pulverized, to a depth of three. if not four
feet; and that those so treated, would thereafter need
little, if any, artificial watering. I hope to learn further
on this point.
Let me close this too long letter with a grateful acknowledgment to an einigrant-M. Sheals, I read his
name-who found my trunk by the Three Crossings of
Sweetwater (not in the stream, as I supposed it was) and
brought it along over three hundred miles to Salt Lake
City, where he delivered it to the California Stage Cornpany, which forwarded it to mne. Mr. Sheals writes
332 
CALIFORNIA PHYSICALLY CONSIDERED.
that he found it in, or beside the road broken open;
but, as I do not miss any papers of consequence, I presuirne notliing of nmuch value to me was takeni fromn it.
Ilow it camiie in the road-the hlialf-mnile between the
station, whience we started that morning, and the )lace
where I missed it, having been twice ridden over in
quest of it within half an hour after its loss-I have not
yet been able to conjecture, and I will thank whoever
can, to shied even a ray of light on the subject. If Mr.
Shleals will favor me with his address, he will add sensibly to the debt I already owe him.
333 
XXXI.
CALIFORNIA-HER RESOURCES.
MARYSVILLE, Cal., Sep. 2, 1859.
SINCE my last, I have traversed the rich valley of San
Jose6, looking througol some of its choicer gardens and
orchards, and stopping at Santa Clara, Warm Spring,
Old MIission, San Leandro (county seat of Alameda),
and Oakland, returning to San Francisco, and comii)g
thence by steamboat to Sacramento and by a much
smaller boat up to this city, which I reached last evening, in season to listen to the annual address, by Ifr.
Rhodes of Oroville, at the agricultural failr, and to break
my own voice tfor a time in attempting to follow him in
some off-hand remarks. The edifice erected by the
public spirit of Marysville for the fairs which are to be
held here annually, and at which all northern California
is invited to compete for very liberal premiums, is quite
spacious and admirably adapted to all its purposes except
that of public speaking; and herein is collected the
finest show of fruits and vegetables I ever saw at anything but a state fair.  Indian corn not less than twenty
feet high; squashes like brass kettles and water-melons
of the size of buckets, are but average samples of the
wonderful productiveness of the Sacramento and Yuba
valleys, while the peaches, plums, pears, grapes, apples,
etc., could hardly be surpassed anywhere.  The show of
animals is not extensive, but is very fine in the depart 
CALIFORNIA-HER RESOURCES.
ments of horses and horned cattle, though lamentably
meager in every other respect. The most interesting
feature of this show was its young stock-calves and
colts scarcely more than a year old, equal in weight and
size, while far superior in form and syimmetry, to avearg,e horses and bulls of ripe maturity. With generous
fare and usage, I am confident that steers and heifers
two years old in California will equal in size and development those a year older in our northern states, and
that California colts of thlree years will be fully equal to
eastern colts of like blood and breeding a good year
older-an immense advantage to the breeder on the
Pacific. I am reliably assured that steers a year old,
never fed but on wild grass, and never sheltered, have
here dressed six hundred pounds of fine beef. Undoubtedly, California is one of the cheapest and best
stock-growing countries in the world-and will be, after
these great, slovenly ranches shall have been broken up
into neat, modest farms, and when the cattle shall be fed
at least three months in each year on roots, hay and
sorghum, or other green fodder.
Marysville is the chief town of northern California,
and disputes the claim of Stockton to rank third among
the cities of the state. Unlike Stockton, it is quite
compactly built, mainly of brick. Its population is
probably a little over fifteen thousand; and it expects
to be soon connected by railroad with Sacramento and
San Francisco, which will give a new and strong im pulse to its already rapid growth. Located at the junc tion of the Yuba and Feather Rivers, just above their
union with the Sacramento, and at the head of steam
335 
CALIFORNIA-HER RESOUIJRCES.
boat navigation in the direction of the northern mines,
it needs but the railroad connections aforesaid to render
it a formidable rival to Sacramento herself.  The census
of 1870iO will probably find its population exceeding fifty
thousand.
The valleys of the rivers first named are exceedingly
'deep and fertile, and their productiveness in this viciniity almost surpasses belief, I visited in the suburbs
this morning, gardens, vineyards, orchards, of rarely
equaled fruitfulness. The orchard of Mr. Briggs, for
example, covers a hundred and sixty acres, all in young
fruit, probably one-half peaches. He has had a squad
of thirty or forty men picking and boxing peaches for
,the last month, yet his fruit by the cart-load ripens and
rots ungathered.  The wagons which convey it to the
mines have their regular stations and relays of horses
like mail-stages, and are thus pulled sixty miles up
rough mnountain-passes, per day, where twenty-five miles
would be a heavy day's work for any one team. But
he is not sending to the mines only, but by steamboat
to Sacramento and San Francisco as well. IHis sales
last year, I am told, amounted to $90,000; his net income was not less than $40,000. And this was realized
mainly from peaches, apricots and nectarines; his apples and pears have barely begun to bear; his cherries
will yield their first crop next year. There are of course
heavier fruit-growers in California than Mr. Briggs, but
he may be taken as a fair sample of the class. Their
sales will doubtless be made at lower and still lower
prices; they are now a little higher than those realized
for similar fruit grown in New-Jersey; they were once
336 
CALIFORNIA-HER  RESOURCES.
many times higher than now; but, though their prices
steadily decrease, their incomes do not, because their
harvests continued to be augmented by at least twentyfive per cent. per annum.
Let me give one other instance of successful fruitgrowing, in another district: Mr. Fallon, the Mayor of
San Jos6, has a fine garden, in which are some ten or
twelve old pear-trees-relies of the Spanish era and of
the Jesuit missions. The trees being thrifty but the
fruit indifferent, Mr. F. had them pretty thoroughly
grafted with the Bartlett variety, and the second year
thereafter gathered from one tree, one thousand pounds
of Bartlett pears, which he sold for two hundred dollars, or twenty cents per pound. The other trees similarly treated, bore him six to seven hundred pounds
each of that large, delicious fruit, which he sold at the
same price. And, every year since, these trees have
borne large yields of these capital pears. I dare not
hope for equal success in the east, but surely the expedient of grafting fine, large varieties on our now worthless pears, at the same time bounteously enriching the
soil beneath them, ought to be more generally adopted
than it has yet been.
Just a word now on grain. California is still a young
state, whose industry and enterprise are largely devoted
to mining; yet she grows the bread of her half a million well-fed inhabitants on less than a fortieth part of
her arable soil, and will this year have some to spare.
I am confident her wheat-crop of 1859 is over four millions of bushels, and I think it exceeds twenty-five
bushels for each acre sown. To-day, its price in San
337
16 
C ALIFORNIA-HER RESOURCES.
Francisco is below a dollar per bushel, and it is not
likely to rise very soon. Though grown, harvested and
threshed by the help of labor which costs her farmers
from thirty to forty dollars per month, beside board, it
is still mainly grown at a profit; and so of a very large
breadth of barley, grown here instead of oats as food
for working horses and cattle. Though wheat is probably the fullest, I judge that barley is the surest of any
grain-crop grown in the state. It has never failed to
any serious extent.
Indian corn 4s not extensively grown; only the Russian River and one or two other small valleys are generally supposed well adapted to it. And yet, I never
saw larger nor better corn growing than stands to-day
right here on the Yuba-not a few acres merely, but
hundreds of acres in a body. I judge that nearly all
the intervales throughout the state would produce good
corn, if well treated. On the hill-sides, irrigation may
be necessary, but not in the valleys.  None  has been
resorted to here; yet the yield of shelled grain will
range between seventy-five and a hundred bushels per
acre. And this is no solitary instance. Back of Oakland, across the bay from San Francisco, Mr. Ihobart, a
good farmer from Massachusetts, showed me acres of
heavy corn which he planted last May, after the rains
had ceased and the dry season fairly set in, since which
no hoe nor plow has been put into the field; yet the
soil remains light and porous, while there are very few
weeds. Not one drop of water has been applied to this
farm; yet here are not only corn, but potatoes, beets,
etc., with any number of young fruit-trees, all green
338 
CALIFORNIA-HER RESOURCES.
and thriving, by virtue of subsoiling and repeated plowings last spring.'The ground (sward) was broken up
early in the winter, and cross-plowed whenever weeds
showed their heads, until planting-time; and this discipline, aided by the drouth, has prevented their starting
during the summer. Such thorough preparation for a
crop costs something; but, this once made, the crop
needs here only to be planted and harvested. Such
farming pays.
The fig-tree grows in these valleys side by side with
the apple; ripe figs are now gathered daily from nearly
all the old Mexican gardens. The olive grows fin.ely
in Southelm California, and I believe the orange and
lemon as well. But the grape bids fair to become a
staple throughout the state. Almost every farmer, who
feels sure of his foot-hold on the land he eultivates,
either has his vineyard already planted, or is preparing
to plant one, while most of those who have planted
are extending from year to year. I have looked
through many of these vineyards, without finding one
that is not thrifty-one that, if two years planted, is
not now loaded with fruit. The profusion and weight
of the clusters is marvelous to the fresh beholder. I
will not attempt to give figures; but it is my deliberate
judgment that grapes may be grown here as cheaply
as wheat or corn, pound for pound, and that wine will
ultimately be made here at a cost per gallon not exceeding that of whisky in Illinois or Ohio. Wine will,
doubtless, constitute a heavy export of California within
a very few years. So, I think, will choice timber-'
should the wages of labor even fall here so as to approx
339
to 
CALFOltNIA-HER RESOLRCES.
imate our Eastern standards. At present, I estimate
the average cost of labor in California at just about
double the rates paid for such labor in the Middle states;
which, with wheat and beef at New York prices, or
lower, and clothing little higher in a climate which requires little fuel, ought to make the condition of the
effective worker here a very fair one. Such I consider
it to be; while I am assured by practical men that a
fall of even twenty-five per cent. in wages would incite
a large and prompt extension of mining, farming, etc.,
affording employment to additional thousands of laborers. Should fair, average day-labor ever fall here to
a dollar per day, I think the demand for it in mining
would very speedily be doubled, and soon quadrupled.
I do not imply that such reduction is either desirable or
probable; -but I can see why the owners of large estates
or of mining claims should strongly desire an ample
and incessant immigration. This is plain enough;
while it is not so obvious, though I deem it equally
true, that an immigration of one hundred thousand
effective workers per annum, would be readily absorbed
by California, and would add steadily and immensely
to her prosperity and wealth.
Yet I cannot conclude this survey without alluding
once more to the deplorable confusion and uncertainty
of land titles, which has been, and still is the masterscourge of this state. The vicious Spanish-Mexican system of granting lands by the mere will of some provincial governor or municipal chief without limitation as
to area, or precise delineation of boundaries, here develops and matures its most pernicious fruits.  Your
340 
CALIFORNIA-HIER RESOURCES.
title may be ever so good, and yet your farm be taken
from under you by a new survey, proving that said
title does not cover your tract, or covers it but partially. Hence, many refuse or neglect to improve the
lands they occupy, lest some title adverse to theirs be
established, and they legally ousted, or compelled to
pay heavily for their own improvements. And, in addition to the genuine Spanish or Mexican grants, which
the government and courts must confirm and uphold,
there are fictitious and fraudulent grants-some of them
only trumped up to be bought off, and often operating
to create anarchy, and protract litigation between settlers and the real owners. Then there are, doubtless,
squatters, who refuse to recognize and respect valid
titles, and waste in futile litigation the money that
might make the lands they occupy indisputably their
owni. I blame no party exclusively, while I entreat the
state and federal governments and courts to do their
utmost to settle the titles to lands in this state beyond
controversy, at the earliest possible day. Were the
titles to lands in California to-day as clear as in Ohio
or Iowa, nothing could check the impetus with which
California would bound forward in a career of unparalleled thrift and growth. It were far better for the state
and her people that those titles were wrongly settled,
than that they should remain as now. I met to-day an
intelligent farmer, who has had three different farms in
this state, and has lost them successively by adjudication adverse to his title. I would earnestly implore
grantees and squatters to avoid litigation wherever that
is possible, and arrest it as soon as possible, eschewing
t341 
CALIFORNIA-HER RESOURCES.
and pan have been masters of the state, and have ruled
it, like other aristocracies, with a sharp eye to their own
supposed interests. To dig up a mnan's fenced garden,
or dig down his house, in quest of gold, is the legal
privilege of any miner who does not even pretend to
have any rights in the premises but such as the presumed existence of gold thereon gives him. Of course,
the law contemplates payment for damages sustained;
but suppose the digger is pecuniarily irresponsible, and
digs down your house without finding any more gold
than he spends in the quest, what are you to do about
it?  Such laws, I trust, cannot stand.  I am sure they
should not.
343 
XXXII.
CALIFORNIAUMMING UP.
SAN FAcisco, Sept. 4-5, 1859.
THm entire area of this state is officially estimated as
containing a fraction less than one hundred millions of
acres; but, as this total includes bays as well as lakes,
rivers, etc., the actual extent of unsubmerged land can
hardly exceed ninety millions of acres, or rather more
than nine times the area of New Hampshire or Ver mont-perhaps twice the area of the state of New York.
It is only a guess on my part, but one founded on considerable travel and observation, which makes not more
than one-third of this extent-say thirty millions of
acres-properly arable; the residue being either ruggedly mountainous, hopelessly desert, or absorbed in the
tulde' marshes which line the San Joaquin and perhaps
some other rivers. The arable thirty millions of acres
-nearly the area of all New England, except Maine
are scarcely equaled in capacity of production by any
like area on earth. They embrace the best vine4ands
on this continent, to an extent of many millions of acres
-an area capable of producing all the wine and all the
raisins annually consumed on the globe. All the fruits
of the temperate zone are grown here in great luxuriance and perfection, together with the fig, olive, etc., to
which the lemon and orange may be added in the
south.   No other land on earth produces wheat, rye, 
CALIFORNIA-SUMMING UP.
and barley so largely with so little labor as the great
majority of these thirty million acres; a portion of
them are well adapted also to Indian corn. To stockgrowing in an easy, slovenly, reckless way, this mild
climate and fertile soil also lend themselves readily;
yet I must believe that many more acres are required
here to graze a thousand head of cattle than in New
York or Kentucky, and that the capacities of California
to furnish beef and milk in this poor fashion have been
taxed very nearly to the utmost. Doubtless, four, six,
or even ten times the present number of cattle will be
fed here at some future day, but not wholly on the
spontaneous growth of the valleys and hill-sides. Nay,
I hear already that, as the wild oats and natural grasses
are closely fed year after year, so as to preclude their
seeding or prevent the seed falling to the earth and germinating, they gradually die out, and are supplanted
by coarse, worthless weeds. Evidently-and I rejoice
over the fact-the day of ranches, or broad unfenced
domains over which the cattle of the owner range at
will, protected only by his brand from indiscriminate
appropriation, is passing away for ever. And it is high
time. Though the range is yet many acres per head,
and the feed ample for the greater part of the year, yet
the cows of California give less milk to-day than a like
number kept for milk on any other portion of the globe.
The dry grass and stubble on which they subsist keep
them in fair flesh, but furnish a scanty overplus for but ter and cheese. Good butter is worth fifty cents and
over per pound, and has generally at this season a white,
insipid look, like that made in winter at the east.
15*
345 
CALIFORNIA-SUMMING UP.
and barley so largely with so little labor as the groat
majority of these thirty million acres; a portion of
them are well adapted also to Indian corn. To stockgrowing in an easy, slovenly, reckless way, this mild
climate and fertile soil also lend themselves readily;
yet I must believe that many more acres are required
here to graze a thousand head of cattle than in New
York or Kentucky, and that the capacities of California
to furnish beef and milk in this poor fashion have been
taxed very nearly to the utmost. Doubtless, four, six,
or even ten timnes the present number of cattle will be
fed here at some future day, but not wholly on the
spontaneous growth of the valleys and hill-sides. Nay,
I hear already that, as the wild oats and natural grasses
are closely fed year after year, so as to preclude their
seeding or prevent the seed falling to the earth and germinating, they gradually die out, and are supplanted
by coarse, worthless weeds. Evidently-and I rejoice
over the fact-the day of ranches, or broad unfenced
domains over which the cattle of the owner range at
will, protected only by his brand from indiscriminate
appropriation, is passing away for ever. And it is high
time. Though the range is yet many acres per head,
and the feed ample for the greater part of the year, yet
the cows of California give less milk to-day than a like
number kept for milk on any other portion of the globe.
The dry grass and stubble on which they subsist keep
them in fair flesh, but furnish a scanty overplus for but ter and cheese. Good butter is worth fifty cents and
over per pound, and has generally at this season a white,
insipid look, like that made in winter at the east.
15*
345 
CA LIFORNIA-S UMMING UP.
Cheese commands twenty-five cents per pound, and is
seldom seen on hotel or private tables. Yet the produc tion, though meager, is rapidly increasing; the little
valleys opening directly on the Pacific, and thus kept
green by its fogs and damp winds, in spite of the six
months' absence of rain, yielding it most abundantly.
A cheese weighing seven hundred and fifty pounds, the
product of a single dairy, is now here, on its way to the
State Fair at Sacramento; the large store in which I
saw it is full, from basement to attic, of California-made
cheese. Yet California does not nearly supply her own
wants, whether of cheese or butter, and never will until
her dairymen shall dean it profitable to shelter their
stock in winter and supply them with green fodder in
later summer and fall. Whenever they shall generally
devote one-quarter of their lands to growing Chilian
clover, sowed corn, beets, parsnips and carrots, wherewith to feed their cows from August to February, they
will make twice or thrice their present product of butter
and cheese, and prove theirs one of the best dairy regions on earth. But habits, especially bad ones, are
stubborn things, and they will only come to this wisdom
by degrees.
Whether California would be a better country if it
had rain in Summer, I have already somewhat considered. That it would be more inviting and attractive in
aspect, especially to those unaccustomed to such sterility
through the latter half of each year, cannot be doubted.
With such rain, its natural pasturage would suffice for
twice its present number of cattle, while cultivation
could be extended far up into the mountains, on lands
I
346 
CALIFORNIA-SUIJMMING UP.
now deemed arable only when irrigated. Yet, on the
other hand, these dry summers have their advantages.
By their aid, the most bountiful harvests of hay and
grain are secured in the best order, and by means of the
least possible labor. Weeds are not half so inveterate
and troublesome here as in rainy countries. A given
amount of labor accomplishes far more in any direction
than at the east. The wise man may start on a journey, of business or pleasure, without  consulting his
barometer, and the fool without looking into his almanac. Nobody, save in winter or early spring, ever casts
an apprehensive look at the skies; it may be cloudy or
foggy, as it often is; but you know it cannot rain till
next November, and lay your plans accordingly. I
have passed large fields of standing wheat that have
been dead-ripe for at least a month; they will shell
some when cut, but the grain will be bright and plump
as ever. All through the grain region, you see wheat
that has been threshed and sacked, and piled up in the
open field where it grew, to await the farmer's conve nience in taking it to market; and it may lie so for
months without damage, unless from squirrels or go phers. Wheat is sown throughout the winter, though
the earlier sown is the surer. Plowing commences with
the rains, and sowing should follow as closely as may
be.  Very decent crops of " volunteer" grain are often
grown, by simply harrowing in the seed shelled out and
lost in the process of harvesting-sometimes even
though the harrowing is omitted.   But  the ground
squirrels are apt to intercept this process by filling the
grain-fields with their holes, and eating up all the scat
317 
CALIFORNIA- SUMMING UP.
tered grain and a good deal more. They are a great
pest in many localities, and strychnine is freely and effectively employed to diminish their numbers.
THE MOUNTAINS AND MINES.
I have estimated that barely one-third of the total
area of unsubmerged California is perfectly arable: but
it would be a great mistake to suppose the residue
worthless. At least thirty millions of acres more are
covered by rugged hills and mountains, mainly tim bered-much of the timber being large and of the best
quality.  Yellow, pitch and sugar-pine-the pitch-pine
being scarcely akin to its stunted and scrubby New-England namesake, but a tall and valuable tree-the sugar
being nearly identical with our white-pine, save that its
sap is saccharine —white-cedar, red-wood, spruce, balsam-fir-all these averaging at least twice the size of
the trees in any forest I ever saw elsewhere, while the
balsam is just the most shapely and graceful tree on
earth-uch are the forests which cover all but the
snowy peaks of the mountains of California. Trees six
to eight feet in diameter, are as common in the Sierra
Nevada, and I hear in the coast range also, as those
three to four feet in diameter are (or were) in the pine
forests of New-York and New-England. Consider that
these giants look down on the gold mines wherein a very
large proportion of the most active population of this
state must for ages be employed, while the agricultural
districts lie just below them, and even the seaboard
cities are but a day's ride further, and the value of these
forests becomes apparent. The day is not distant
348 
(CALIFORI-8S   G Ua.
there are those living who will see it-when what is
now California will have a population of three to six
millions; then eligible timber-lands in the Sierra will
be worth more per acre than would now be paid for
farms in the richest valleys near San Francisco.
The timber of the lower hills and plains is generally
oak-short-bodied, wide-spreading, and of poor quality,
save for fuel, being brush (easily broken, like a clay
pipe-stem), and not durable. The more common variety
looks like the white-oak found in New England pastures, but resembles it in looks only. Live-oak is next
in abundance, and also a poor article. It has a smooth,
dark bark, a short, crooked trunk, a profusion of goodfor-nothing limbs, and small, deep green leaves, which
defy the frosts of winter. The trunk is often barked by
vandals for tanning, leaving the tree standing alive, but
certain to die. Black and rock-oak are found in some
of the mountain valleys, and seem to be of fair quality.
Large cotton-wood and sycamore line some of the
streams, but very sparingly. Her evergreens are the
pride of California.
The gold mines are generally found among the foothills of the Sierra, or in the beds of the streams which
traverse those hills.  In many instances, hills now tower
where rivers once ran-how long since, who may tell?
Trees in a state of semi-petrifaction are dug out from
under hundreds of feet of solid earth, which seems to
have lain undisturbed for thousands of years. The beds
of ancient lakes are covered by rugged heights; and,
these beds being often auriferous, it is one of the arts of
the miner to know just where to tunnel through the
349 
CALIFORNIA-SUMMING UP.
"rim rock" so as to strike what was the bottom of the
lake, and thus extract its gold as cheaply as may be.
Washing the beds of modern streams, which was the
earliest and most profitable field of mining adventure,
is now nearly at an end, or turned over to the Chinese,
who are willing to work hard and steadily for much
less than will satisfy the aspirations of a Yankee. There
are still some creek-beds that will pay in winter, when
water is abundant, that remain to be washed out; but,
in the main, river-mining is at its last gasp. Very few
dams are being or have recently been constructed to
turn rivers from their beds and permit those beds to be
sluiced out; and I doubt that this special department
of mining ever paid its aggregate cost. The expense is
serious; the product often moderate, and subject to
many contingencies.   Henceforth, dams will be constructed mainly to feed the canals or "ditches" whereby
water is supplied to works that must otherwise be abandoned. Of these ditches, The State -?egister for 1859,
has a list of several hundreds in number, amounting in
the aggregate to five thousand seven hundred and twenty-six miles of artificial water-courses constructed wholly
for mining purposes, at a total cost of $13,575,400, or
about twice that of the original Erie Canal. The largest
of these ditches is that of the Eureka Canal Company,
leading water from the north fork of the Cosumnes
River to Diamond Springs, two hundred and ninety
miles, at a cost of eighty thousand dollars; but there are
many far more expensive and important, being far larger
and carried over a more difficult country. At the head
of these stand the Mokelumne-Hill Canal, in Calaveras
350 
OALIFORNIA-SUMMING UP.
County, only sixty miles long, but costing six hundred
thousand dollars, the Columbia and Stanislaus, in Tuolumnne County, eighty miles long, which also cost six
hufindred thousand dollars, and the South Yuba Canal,
in Nevada County, costing five hundred thousand dollars. Many larger enterprises than even these have
been projected, but not yet carried out, because capitalists cannot be found willing to supply the needful
cash. Thus, in MIariposas alone it has been estimated
that an annual rental of ten millions of dollars would
be paid for water, could enough of it be had at living
rates. I merely guess that it could not be paid many
years.
I do not suppose that the gold mines of California
will ever be thorougly worked out-certainly not in the
next thousand years; yet I do not anticipate any considerable increase in their annual production, because I
deem fifty millions of dollars per annum as much as can
be taken out at a profit, under existing circumstances.
The early miners of California reaped what nature had
been quietly sowing through countless thousands of
years. Through the action of frost and fire, growth
and decay, air and water, she had been slowly wearing
down the primitive rocks in which the gold was origin
ally deposited, washing away the lighter matter, and
concentrating the gold thus gleaned from cubic miles
of stubborn quartz and granite into a few cubic feet of
earth at the bottom of her water-courses.  Many a
miner has thus taken out in a day gold which could not
in weeks have been extracted from the rock where it
first grew. Even the hills, in which it is now mainly
351 
CALIFORNIA-SMING UP.
found, can be washed down at one dollar or less per
cubic yard, by the best hydraulic appliances. But
when the miner is brought face to face with the rough
granite, which he must drill, and blast, and tunnel for
all the gold he gets, the case is bravely altered. He
may make money here; he sometimes does; but I am
sure that, up to this hour, not one quartz-mining enterprize in every four has paid its bare expenses; and,
though there will be brilliant exceptions, I am confident
that quartz-mining, as a whole, will not pay for many
years to come. Either labor must be cheaper, or the
process of quartz-mining far more economical and efficient, or the yield per ton much greater, before one
undeniably auriferous quartz-vein in ten will pay the
cost of working it. And, while I presume improvements will, from time to time, be made, I hear doubtingly the talk of sanguine inventors and operators of
doubling the product of gold by thisor that new ainalgamator, or other device. So many of these contrivances have proved futile, or of little worth, that I wait.
Chemical tests indicate that a portion of the gold actually contained in the vein-stone (especially if a sulphuret) is now obtained by the crushing and washing process; but how soon, or by what process, this proportion
may be essentially increased, I do not know-who does?
And, until it shall be, I must consider quartz-mining,
with labor at the present rates, the poorest business now
prosecuted in California. A few, who have struck
pockets rather than veins of peculiarly rich quartz, are
making a good thing of it, and their luck is in every
one's mouth; but of the hundreds who drive up long
352 
CALIFORNIA-   MMING UP.
adits through dead rock, or sink costly shafts to strike
a vein at the best point, and find it, after all, too poo
to pay for working, little is said or thought, till the
drop into the gulf of acknowledged bankruptcy, and
pass away. I believe fewer quartz-veins are being
worked to-day than were some years ago; I think fewe
still will be worked a year hence, and thenceforward
until cheaper labor, or more effective processes shal
have rendered quartz-mining a very different business
And, until such change is effected, I apprehend tha
the annual gold product of California will not be essen
tially augmented.
POPULATION-EDUCATION-MORALS.
The total population of Upper California (our California, in contradistinction to the peninsula still held
by Mexico), was estimated, on the 1st of January, 1849,
at twenty-six  thousand;  viz.: natives of the country (not including Indians) thirteen thousand; United
States Americans, eight thousand; Europeans, five
thousand. The aborigines were estimated, in 1856, by
Colonel Henley, superintendent of Indian affairs, at
sixty-five thousand. I deem this a gross exaggeration.
Six Indian reservations have been officially established
in different sections of the state, on which all the Indians have been gathered that could be; and these
amount to barely seventeen thousand two hundred and
five, according to the official returns, which, being the
basis of requisitions on the government, are certain not
to fall below the truth. I do not believe there are so
many more Indians in the state; and, whatever may
353 
CALIFORNIA-SUMMING UP.
be the number, it is steadily and rapidly diminishing.
These Indians are generally idle and depraved, while
the white men who come in contact with them are
often rascals and ruffians, who hold that Indians have
" no rights that white men are bound to respect."  By
these, the poor savages are intruded upon, hunted,
abused, robbed, outraged, until they are themselves
driven to acts of violence, when a " war" ensues, and
they are butchered without mercy. If an honest census
of the various tribes and bands be taken in 1860, their
number will not be found to,tuch exceed thirty thousand, which 1870 will find reduced to ten thousand.
The native or Spanish Californians are already reduced
in number since 1849, and are now mainly confined to
the southern agricultural counties. I have not seen
half a dozen of them in a month's travel through the
heart of the state.
The census of 1850 made the total population of California (Indians not counted) ninety-two thousand five
hundred and ninety-seven; but there were some counties from which no returns were received, which, it was
estimated, would increase the aggregate to one hundred
and seventeen thousand five hundred and thirty-eight.
Only two years thereafter, a state census was taken,
which increased the number to two hundred and sixtyfour thousand four hundred and thirty-five-it having
more than doubled (by immigration) in two years. Of
this number, only twenty-two thousand one hundred and
ninety-three were females-less than one-tenth of the
whole; while the great majority were men in the vigorous prime of life. The state of public morals among a
354 
CALIFORNIA-S    G UMMINU iP.
population so disproportioned, in a land far removed
from the restraining influences of home and kindred,
were better imagined than described.
To-day, the total population of the golden state (excluding Indians) is probably not less than half a million;
the census of 1860 will doubtless give a still larger aggregate. Of these, I judge that some fifty thousand
are Chinese, with about an equal number of Europeans
or Mexicans, not including those who, by treaty or naturalization, have become American citizens. Of the
half million, probably seventy-five thousand are under
eighteen years of age, while perhaps an equal number
are women and girls over eighteen, though I fear not.
This would leave three hundred and fifty thousand men,
including boys over eighteen, nearly all in the prime
of life-vigorous, active, enterprising, and industrious.
There are idlers, and drones here as elsewhere; but
there probably was never before a community of half
a million people capable of doing so much good work
in a year as this population of California.  The facts
that they mine gold to the extent of fifty millions of
dollars annually, while growing four millions of bushels
of wheat, five millions of bushels of barley, with large
amounts of other grains and an ample supply of vegetables and fruits for home consumption, would go far
toward establishing the fact.
But the industry of Califbrnia produces important
results which are not exhibited above. No part of the
union is making more rapid strides in building, fencing,
opening farms, setting fruit-trees, breeding stock, etc.
The number of grape-vines alone was increased from
355 
CALIFORNIA-SUMMG UP.
1,540,134 in 1856 to 3,954,548 last year, (of which
1,650,000 were in the southern county of Los Angeles
alone.) The aggregate will be carried this year above
6,000,000. Los Angeles in 1857 produced 350,000 gallons of wine. Probably no other market on earth is so
well supplied with fruit throughout the year as that of
San Francisco-a city hardly yet ten years old. Strawberries are abundant here to-day, and are in season from
April to December. Raspberries are ripe in May, and
are now plentiful and perfect. Peaches are fresh from
June to November. Grapes come in July, and are sold
till December. All these and other fruits require preparation and outlay before they begin to make returns.
The orchards and vineyards of California have cost millions of dollars, which are destined to return to their
proprietors with interest in the course of a few years.
As yet, there are probably more apple-trees in the state
than there have been gathered bushels of apples up to
this day.
The following are the latest school statistics of the
state that I have been able to find:
Year.         Corn. Schools.
1853............... 53
1856..............313
1857...............367
Next after the deficiency of women shown to exist in
the population of California, this "beggarly account"
* This number of pupils was not in actual attendance on the schools, but
is a return of all the children between four and eighteen years living in
the cities or towns which had organized schools. The number who actually attended school for even a part of a term was of course much smaller.
356
Teachers.
56
417
486
*Pupils.
11,242
30,019
36,222 
CALIFORNI-SUMMING UP.
of schools is the darkest shade in the picture. I believe I have seen but two school-houses outside of cities
or considerable villages in the course of my travels
through the state. And, so long as ranches, of five
hundred to many thousand acres each, stand in place of
small, neat, well-cultivated farms, this deficiency, though
it may be modified, will continue.
I have visited several of the common schools of San
Francisco, and found them admirable in their appointments, under intelligent and vigilant supervision, and
in a high state of efficiency. There may somewhere be
better managed Seminaries than the High School, but
I never entered their doors. Most of the smaller cities
are taking hold of the subject in the right spirit, but
under many disadvantages.  Youth are too often kept
away from school to earn money which their parents
could do without, and many parents wait till they have
improved their circumstances essentially before they
think of educating their children. I was told in Marysville that many of the pupils of fourteen years and upward, in her schools, were just learning to read. There
ought to be two thousand good common schools in operation this winter in California; but I fear there will
not be six hundred. I entreat the early and earnest attention of her better citizens to her lamentable lack of
schools. In no way can her energy and wealth be bet ter employed than in multiplying and improving them.
WHAT IS THIIE INDUCEMENT FOR FURTHER IMMIGRATION?
I have endeavored so to arrange the facts embodied
in my letters from this state as to furnish an answer
357 
CALIFORNIA-SU MING UP.
to this question. I will here only sum up my conclu sions:
1. California has still a great need of virtuous, edu cated, energetic women. One hundred thousand more
of these would find homes and be useful here. Cer tainly, I would advise no woman to pitch into such a
community devoid of the protection of relatives or
trusted firiends; but women who can teach, manage a
dairy, keep house, etc., and do not fancy any useful
work degrading, are still greatly needed here. House
servants command twenty to thirty dollars per month;
capable female workers in other capacities are paid in
proportion. For a resolute, capable young woman,
who has a married sister or trusted friend here, and who
is not detained elsewhere by strong natural ties, I believe,
there is no better country than this.
- Good farmers, who have considerable means, but
especially those who understand the dairy business, and
have families who can and will tender them efficient
help in it, can also do well here. The naked facts that,
while wheat now sells for one dollar per bushel, butter
brings fifty and cheese twenty-five cents per pound, are
enough to show that dairy-farming is profitable. The
best grazing country is found along the coast; but it is
all good for those who understand it, and are willing to
grow feed for a part of each year. Bees do far better
here than elsewhere, are worth one hundred dollars per
hive, and good property at that.  Fruit-growing is still
profita'ble; vine-growing will always be. I believe a
young, energetic, intelligent farmer, with a good wife
and two thousand dollars or over, can do as well in
358 
CALIFORNIA-SUMMING UP.
California as elsewhere, in spite of the horrible confusion of land-titles. Buy no tract of which the title is at
all doubtful, unless you can buy all the conflicting
claims, but pay higher for good land well located, and
as to the ownership of which there is no dispute. Such
may at all times be found; if settlers were willing to
pay for this rather than buy uncertainties at lower
rates, it would be far better for them.
I do not think it advisable for young men, or ally
others, to come here expecting to "make their pile,"
and return to the east. The chances for doing this, always doubtful, have nearly ceased to exist. No more
merchants or clerks are wanted; and of those who come
hereafter, nine-tenths will go back disappointed and impoverished, or stay here paupers..Goods are sold in
California at as reasonable rates, all things considered,
as in  New England or New York, and there are quite
sellers enough.  The chances for " big strikes " in the
mines  are few, and greenhorns cannot share them.
Mining is reduced to a business, and one, at best, no
better, in the average, than o.ther business. The men
who dig the gold carry away but a small share of it.
Better leave the chances of gold-digging to those who
understand it.
As to labor for wages, it is generally well paid here
-say from twenty-five to forty dollars per month, be side board, and for mechanics still higher. But employ mient is precarious, whether in the cities, or the mines,
while the farmers are shy of hiring at high wages when
wheat brings but one dollar per bushel. I cannot con sider it worth any man's while to risk the price of a
359 
CALIFORNIA-SUMMING UP.
passage hither for the chance of getting employment by
the month. The experiment will usually cost all it
comes to. If you come to California at all, come to
stay; and nowhere else will you find a little money
more desirable than here. Even one thousand dollars,
well applied, may, with resolute industry and frugality.
place you soon on the high road to independence.
But the steamship's shrill pipe gives warning that I
must be up and away. I had ardently hoped and expected to return by the Butterfield Overland Mail, via
Los Angeles, Fort Yumas, Tucson, E1 Paso, etc., but
this was not to be. These pestilent boils, which are the
scourge of many overland comers to California, forbid
it. I have no choice but to return by way of the
Isthmus, for I can wait no longer. And so, as the good
steamer Golden Age swings from her moorings, I wave
to my many and generous friends in California-whose
number I trust my visit has not tended to diminish-a
fervent and hearty adieu!
360 
CALIFORNIA-FINAL GLEANINGS.
been clutched by squatters, a very valuable property
still remains.  Santa Clara College, near San Jose, is
probably the best literary institution in the state, and
attracts many sons of non-Catholic parents, though a
Catholic seminary. It has by ifar the largest theological library to be found on this coast. Oakland College,
opposite San Francisco, is a young, but thriving seminary, under Orthodox direction. There is to be a San
Francisco University, I believe, but is not yet. Whatever
colleges of a high grade may be established in the state,
for many years will owe their existence to religion.
As yet, the great majority of the non-Catholic Californians have no habit of attendance on religious worship-no proclaimed attachment to any church whatever. Estimating their number, (not including Chinese
or Indians) at three hundred and fifty thousand, I judge
that less than one-tenth of themn statedly attend church,
or make any religious profession. I simply state the
facts as they appear to me, without drawing therefrom
any deduction beyond this: an unsettled, homeless population rarely or never build churches, or habitually
frequent them.
THE PRESS.
There are between ninety and one hundred periodicals published in California. Thirty-one of the fortyfive counties have each one or more  journals.   Of
these, twenty are issued daily-six of them of the
Buchanan-Lecompton stripe in politics, three anti-Lecompton, and only one (The San  Fi.awisico Times)
decidedly republican. The remainder are independent
362 
XXXII.
CALIFORNIA-x-FINAL GLEANINGS.
STEAMSHIP GOLDEN AGE, Pacific Ocean, Sept. 9. 1859.
THOUGH my overland journey is ended, some facts
gathered in its last stages remain to be noted. They
relate exclusively to the moral and intellectual wellbeing and prospects of the golden state.
RELIGION.
The last State Register gives a tabular view of religious denominations, making two hundred and sixteen
Christian, and five Jewish congregations in the state,
with two hundred and eighty-nine Christian, and three
Ilebrew clergymen. Of the Christian, one hundred and
thirty-three-nearly one half-are Methodists, and seventy-one-nearly one-fourth-are Roman Catholics. I
hear from different quarters that the Methodists and(
Catholics manifest generally far more energy and vitality
than the other churches. The Catholics enjoy certain
marked advantages  over all others.  Theirs is the
church of the old Californians-that is, of the SpanishMexican population without exception-also a part of
the Indians. The Catholic inhabitants are estimated t,)
exceed one hundred thousand. But the old church is
strong in position and wealth, as well as numbers.
Much of the most valuable land in the state was lone
since conceded by Spanish or Mexican officials to the
Catholic missions; and, though a good deal of this has
16 
CALIFORNIA-FINAL GLEANINGS.
this state are known to be, it is still deplorably true that
the great mass of the facts which impelled and necessitated the republican movement and organization have
never been made known through their journals-not
even through those of the independent order. To this
hour, California, otherwise well informed imagines that
there was no serious struggle in Kansas or if there
was that one side was about as much in fault as the
other-that Kansas was invaded, her people driven firom
the polls, her ballot-boxes stuffed, and the verdict of her
settlers falsified (if at all,) as much by republicans
(whence?) as by the Missouri border ruffians! One
democrat with whom I discussed the matter supposed
they came over from Iowa! Hiad the independent
press done its simple duty in the premises, such monstrous fabrications could neither be credited nor profitably coined. But I rejoice in the hope that the break
on Lecompton insures a more ample and truthful presentment of the current history of the great struggle
hereafter. I trust that the people of this state are not
much longer to be held in the leading-strings of slavery
and sham-democracy.
Of the ninety-odd periodicals in California, three are
printed in the French language, two in Spanish, one in
Germnan; and at least one in Chinese. (Whoever would
subscribe to "TAte CAinese News" should address its
editor, Hung Tai, at Sacramento.) Six are devoted to
religion; two to agriculture; nine ol ten to literature,
mining, medicine, etc. About one-third of the whole
number are issued fromn San Francisco alone.
36-i 
CALIFORNIA-FINAL GLEANINGS.
-most of them with strong anti-Leconmpton proclivities.
At the head of these stands The Sacramento  Unio,
(daily and weekly), which, by means of extensive and
systematic reporting, presents the fullest and fairest
account of whatever is said or done in California of any
journal, and which has, very naturally, the largest and
widest circulation. Next in importance and influence
stands The Alta California, the oldest paper in the
state, and I believe the first ever issued in San Francisco.  The Bulletin is the only evening paper issued
in that city, and is distinguished for the fullness of its
correspondence.   The California Farmer, by Colonel
Warren, is the pioneer work in its line, and has hardly
been exceeded in usefulness to California by any other.
I trust it has a long and prosperous career before it.
Of the weekly newspapers issued in the state, twentyfive support Lecompton democracy, fourteen are antiLecompton, only two or three republican; the residue
independent-several of them with strong and outspoken
anti-Lecompton tendencies. It will thus be seen that
the influence of the local press leans strongly to the side
of whatever may for the time being be commended as
regular democracy. No state is more intensely scourged
by office-seeking than California; offices being here
numerous and salaries and pickings very fat; hence
each county has its powerful junto of office-seekers who
understand (if little else) that the way to their goal lies
through " sticking to the party," right or wrong-in
fact, if it be wrong, the merit of sticking to it is, ill the
party sense, so much greater, and the reward is likely to
be larger. Intelligent as a majority of the people of
363 
CALIFORNIA-FINAL GLEANINGS.
SAN FRANCISCO.
The city of San Francisco is built along the eastern
base and up the side of a row of high sand-hills, which
stretch southwardly from the Golden Gate, between the
Pacific ocean on the west and the bay of San Francisco
on the east.  The city has been built out into the bay
some fifty to a hundred rods by carting in sand from
the eastern slope of the hills, which are thus left more
abrupt than they originally were.  The compactly built
district seems rather more than two miles north and
south, by somewhat less east and west. I judge that
the city is destined to expand in the main southwardly,
or along the bay, avoiding the steep ascent toward the
west. Thle county covers 26,000 acres, of which onehalf will probably be covered in time by buildings or
country-seats.   I estimate the present population at
about 80,000.* It seems not to have increased very
rapidly for some years past; and this is as it should be.
San Francisco has the largest trade of any city on the
Pacific; but as yet she is the emporium of California
and Oregon only. A railroad communication with the
Atlantic states would make her the New-York of this
mighty ocean-the focus of the trade of all America
west of the Andes and Rocky lMountains, and of Polynesia as well, with an active and increasing Australian
commerce. Without an inter-oceanic railroad, she must
grow slowly, because the elements of her trade have
* The S. F. Directory for 1859 makes it 78,083, including 3,150 Chinese and 1,605 Africans.
365 
CALIFORNIA-FINAL GLEANINGS.
been measured and their limits nearly reached. The
gold product of this region has for years averaged about
fifty millions per annumn, and is not likely soon to rise
much above that amount.  That sum does not require,
and will not create, a larger mnart than San Francisco
now is. The horrible anarchy of land titles forbids any
rapid expansion of agricultural industry hereabouts;
but if it were to expand, where is its market?  Wheat
is cheaper here to-day than in New-York or Liverpool;
yet whither can any considerable amount of it be exported at a profit?  I do not know.
With an efficient protective tariff, San Francisco
would become, what she oughit now to be, a great manufacturing center-the united Manchester and Birmingham of the South Seas. She ought to make half the
wares she now merely buys and sells. Under our present tariff, with the high rates of labor prevailing in
this state, this cannot be. She is evidently destined to
become a great city, but not yet.
Some of the elements of greatness she certainly hasa spacious, secure, magnificent harbor, with easy access
to the ocean, and a noble river communication inland;
a temperate and equable climate-one very favorable
to the highest efficiency in industry, though I do not
deem it a pleasant one; an inexhaustible supply of the
finest timber close at hand; the richest mines of the
precious metals; and a fertile, beautiful, but not unlinmited agricultural region filling up the interval between
her and those mines, and stretching hundreds of miles
north and south. She has a population rarely surpassed
in intelligence, enterprise, and energy. Add to these a
366 
CALIFORNIA-FINAL GLEANINGS.
railroad and telegraph to the Atlantic, and she could
hardly fail to grow in population, trade, industry, and
wealth, with a rapidity for which there have been few
precedents.
San Francisco has some fine buildings, but is not a
well-built city-as, indeed, how could she be?   She is
hardly yet ten years old, has been three or four times
in good part laid in ashes, and is the work mainly of
men of moderate means, who have paid higher for the
labor they required than was ever paid elsewhere for
putting so much wood, stone, brick and mortar into
habitations or stores. Her growth for the first five years
of her existence was very rapid; but Pottsville, Chicago, Liverpool, have also had rapid growths, and St.
Louis is now expanding faster than this city has done
since 1852. Cities are created and enlarged by the
wants of populations outside of their own limits; San
Francisco will take another start when she shall have
become beneficent if not indispensable to a much larger
radius than that now buying and selling mainly through
her. In the hope that the time for this is not far distant, I bid her God speed.
367 
xxxiv
ARAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC.
NEW YOREK, Oct. 20, 1859.
I PROPOSE in this letter to present such considerations
as seem to me pertinent and feasible, in favor of the
speedy construction of a railroad, connecting at some
point our eastern network of railways with the waters
of the Pacific ocean.
Let facts be submitted to, and pondered by considerate, reflecting men. There are thousands of usually
intelligent citizens, who have decided that a Pacific
railroad is a humbug-the fantasy of demagogues and
visionaries-without having ever given an hour's earnest
consideration to the facts in the case. Let me have a
patient hearing while I set forth some of the more mnaterial of those facts: and first, in answer to the question,
I there a national need of a railroadfrom the JMissouri
to the Pacidcl?  Let us study the records:
The number of passengers arriving at, and departing
from San Francisco by water, so far as we have official
returns of them, is as follows:
Years.                      Arrivals.   Departures.
1849..........................91,415   No returns.
1850..........................36,462   No returns.
1851...........................27,182   No returns.
1852..........................66,988   22,946
1853..........................33,232   30,001
1854..........................47,531   23,508
1855..........................29,198   22,898
1856..........................28,119   22,747
1857..........................22,990   16,902
Total.....................381,107    139,002 
A RAILROAD TO THE PAC]ICIC.
Of course, these were not all from the Atlantic slope,
via the Isthmus, or Nicaragua; but the great mass of
them were.  Probably most of those brought by small
vessels from the Pacific ports were not reported to, or
recorded at the custom-house at all. There were soine
immigrants to California, who did not land at San Francisco; though the great mass undoubtedly did. Then
there was a heavy, though capricious overland emigrationl. Governor Bigler stated the number in 1854 alone
at sixty-one thousand four hundred and sixty-two; and
there was a very large migration across the Plains in
1852.  In 1857, the number was estimated at twelve
thousand five hundred.  This year, my estimate of the
number, founded on personal  observation, is thirty
thousand; but others make it forty thousand to sixty
thousand. There was, also, a very considerable emigrant movement across the Plains in an easterly direction.  So far, I have taken no account of the emigration to, and travel from Oregon and Washington.
I know I am within bounds in estimating the number
who have passed from the Atlantic slope to California
and Oregon or Washington at an average of fifty thousand, while the average number who have annually
returned thence cannot have fallen below thirty thousand.
Can there be any doubt that nine-tenths of these
would have traveled by railroad, had such a road
stretched from the Missouri or Mississippi to the Pacific,
the fare being moderate, and the passage made within
ten days?  I estimate that twice to thrice the number who actually did go to California would have gone,
16*
369 
A RAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC.
had there been such a means of conveyance, and that
the present Anglo-American population of the Pacific
slope would have been little less than two millions-say
California, one million five hundred thousand; Oregon,
three hundred thousand; Washington, one hundred
thousand; Sonora and Mexican California, one hundred
thousand.
Now as to the gold crop of California:
The custom-house returns of San Francisco show the
following shipments of gold from that city.
Year.                Amount.       Year.                Amount
1849........... $4,921,250        1853.......... $57,331,024
1850.............27,676,346    1854............51,328,653
1851.............42,582,695      1855...........  43,080,211
1852..............46,586,134    1856............. 48,887,543
1857............................   $48,592,743
The returns for the last two years, and the first three
quarters of the present are not before me; but they are
known to have varied little from the rate of fifty millions of dollars per annum, making the total amount
entered at the custom-house of San Francisco, as shipped
at that port up to this date, rather over five hundred
millions of dollars. How many more millions have been
brought away in the trunks or belts of returning emigrants, or mercantile passengers, I will not attempt to
guess; but the amount is certainly large. On my recent trip homeward, one of the steerage passengers was
currently reported as having thirty thousand dollars in
gold in his carpet-bag, which he kept in his hands or
under his head; others were said to have their thousands each, to a very large aggregate amount.  M1ani
3,0 
A RAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC
festly, the export of gold from California, the current
produce of her mines, has exceeded fifty millions of dollars per annum, while a considerable amount is retained
in the country.
Now all this gold is sent away to pay for goodsmany of them very costly in proportion to their bulk
and weight-silks and other dear textile fabrics; jewelry; rare wines; expensive wares; drugs, spices, etc.
Experience has amply proved that all such products
take the quickest rather than the cheapest route. I believe that twenty million dollars of costly or perishable
merchandise would annually seek California overland if
there were a continuous line of railway from the Atlantic to the Pacific seaboard; and that this amount would
steadily and rapidly increase. When the Erie Railroad
earns over three million dollars per annum by freight, it
certainly must be moderate to hope that ten million
dollars would be paid as freight on all the merchandise
sent from this side to the Pacific by railroad, and that
the larger share of this freight must be earned by and
paid to the Pacific road.
Now let us see how far the government would necessarily patronize such a road:
The Post-Office Department is now paying at least
one million and a quarter for the conveyanco of mails
between the Atlantic and Gulf states and California,
and was recently paying one million and a half. For
this, it gets a semi-monthly mail by way of the Isthmus
(six thousand miles, or more than double the distance
direct), and a semi-weekly mail by the Butterfield route
(also very circuitous), which carries letters only. There
371' 
A RAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC.
are two or three slow mails on other routes, but they
cannot be said to add anything of moment to the facilities enjoyed by California and the older states for the
interchange of messages or ideas.
As to military transportation, I cannot say what is its
amount, nor how far a single line of railway could reduce its proper cost.   I believe, however, that the
government is now paying at least six millions of dollars
for the transportation of men, munitions and provisions
to our various military posts between Kansas proper
and California, and that fully half of this would necessarily be saved and earned by a railroad to the Pacific.
Utah is now receiving accessions of population (mainly from Europe) over the Plains, though very much of
their household stuff has to be sacrificed to the exigencies of the long, hard, tedious journey in wagons drawn
by weary, thirsty, famishing cattle. Her people generally live poorly, yet they have to eat and drink, while
most of them like to smoke or chew also. At present,
most of themn abstain from the use of tea, coffee, etc.,
because these are very dear while the Saints are mostly
poor. If there were a good railroad through Utah from
Missouri to California, I believe the Saints would patronize it to the amount of at least half a million per annum,
and that this amount would rapidly grow to one million. It would of course not stop there. The Rocky
Mountain gold mines are no longer a matter of speculation. They just as surely exist as we live; and I believe they are destined to increase in importance and
productiveness. I advise no man to dig gold or start
for "Pike's Peak."  I presume ten  of those who  go
372 
A RAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC.
thither will come back ragged and penniless, for every
one that they make rich. I expect to hear many times
yet that the Kansas gold mines are a humbug-that
they have exploded-that everv one has left or is leaving them, etc., etc.-and I expect further to hear of new
discoveries in this direction or in that, and to record the
receipts of millions thence in each of the years from
1861 to 1871 inclusive. Meantime, those who prospect
or mine there must live-a point to which eating is
rather essential in that keen mountain air. Everything
that can be eaten or drank is selling in the Kansas
mines at far more than Califbrnia prices. A railroad
from the Missouri to the heads of the Platte or Arkan.
sas would reduce, in those mines, the average cost of
food at least half, and would'thereby diminish sensibly
the cost, and increase the profit of digging gold. If
one hundred thousand persons can manage to live
in the Rocky Mountain gold region as it stands, three
hundred thousand could do better there with a railroad
up from the Missouri. And that number, if located there,
could not supply less than three million dollars per annum
of travel and transportation to a Pacific railroad.
Let us sum up, now, and see what elements of support for such a railroad may be presumed to already
exist:
I. Fifty thousand passengers from the Missouri to California
and thirty thousand the other way, half first-class at
$100, and the residue, second-class at $50 eachl: To    tal passage-money...............................$6,000,000
II. Fifty millions of gold brought from California, now pay    ing 1I per cent. freight and insurance, if charged 1 per
cent. for conveyance over the railroad would pay.....   500,000
373 
A RAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC.
twenty-five millions per annum for military service,
mainly west of the Mississippi. Nearly half of this
heavy sum is paid for transportation in its various
shapes-for the conveyance of provisions, munitions,
etc., to the army in Utah, and to the various posts scattered through the Indian country; for horses, mules,
and wagons, required to facilitate the conveyance of
soldiers, arms, munitions, and baggage from post to
post, etc., etc. Every regiment employed in the Indian
country, or on the Pacific, costs the treasury at least one
thousand dollars per man per annumn, of which I estiniate that nearly half would be saved by a Pacific railroad. Certainly, the saving from this source could not
fall short of five millions per annum.
2. But the efficacy, the power of an armed force, in
the defense and protection of a vast empire, depend
less on its numbers than on its mobility-on the facility
with which it can be conveyed to the point at which it
may at any time be wanted. For instance, our government has now some six to eight thousand regulars scattered over Nebraska, Kansas, New Mexico, Northern
Texas, Utah,  California, Oregon,  and  Washington.
These six or eight thousand are not as efficient as two
thousand would be, if it were in the power of the government instantly to transfer those two thousand, by a
mere order, to the point at which they might at any
time be wanted. A Pacific railroad would not, indeed,
fully effect this;  but it would go far toward it.
3. Suppose our little armny, now largely concentrated
in Utah, were urgently needed to repel some sudden
danger, whether on the Pacific or the Atlantic coast:
375 
A RMAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC.
It would be a good three month's work to provide the
needful animals, and remove that force to either sea board.  But with a Pacific railroad, the whole might
be in New  York, Charleston, New  Orleans, or San
Francisco, within a fortfnight after the order was dispatched by telegraph from the War department, at
Washington. The value of this facility of movement
can hardly be over-estimated.
4. At present, the regiments employed on the Pacific
are almost or quite wholly raised and recruited in the
Atlantic States. Their removal thence to their destination costs largely, heavily, in direct expense, and in
that time which is money. Suppose a regiment to
cost half a million per annum, and that six months are
now consumed in sending it from Baltimore to Puget's
Sound, while one month would suffice with a Pacific
railroad.  In addition to the saving on the present cost
of its transportation, the saving in the time of that regiment would be two hundred thousand dollars directly,
and practically much more; as a part of the cost of
recruiting, drilling, etc., now lost in the tedious transportation, would be saved by the accelerated movement.
5. In case of war with any great maritime power, in
the absence of a Pacific railroad, we should be compelled either to surrender the Pacific states to subjugation and spoliation, or maintain a double armament at
enormous cost. Our army on this side of the Rocky
Mountains would be utterly ineffective as against an
expedition launched against the Pacific coast, and vice
versa. But, with a Pacific railroad, and the telegraph
376 
A RAILROAD TO THE PACIIO.
which would inevitably accompany it, it would be
morally impossible that an expedition directed against
either seaboard, should not be anticipated in its arrival
by the concentration, to oppose its landing, of our soldiers, drawn from every part of the country. Our government, in aiding the construction of such road, would
inevitably stipulate for its use-exclusive, if requiredin times of public peril; and would thus be enabled to
transfer fifty thousand men from either coast to the
other in the course of twenty or thirty days.
6. We have already expended some scores of millions
of dollars on fortifications, and are urgently required to
expend as many more. Especially on the Pacific is
their construction pressingly demanded. I do not decide how fast nor how far this demand may or should be
responded to; but I do say that a Pacific railroad,
whereby the riflemen of the mountains could be brought
to the Pacific within three days, and those of the Missouri within ten, would afford more security to San Francisco than ever so many gigantic and costly fortifications.
But enough on this head.
The social, moral, and intellectual blessings of a Pacific railroad can hardly be glanced at within the limits
of an article.  Suffice it for the present that I merely
suggest them.
1. Our mails are now carried to and from California
by steamships, via Panama, in twenty to thirty days,
starting once a fortnight. The average time of transit
from writers throughout the Atlantic states to their correspondents on the Pacific exceeds thirty days. Withi
377 
A RAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC.
a Pacific railroad, this would be reduced to ten; for the
letters written in Illinois or Michigan would reach their
destinations in the mining counties of California quicker
than letters sent from New York or Philadelphia would
reach San Francisco. With a daily mail by railroad
from each of our Atlantic cities to and from California,
it is hardly possible that the amount of both letters and
printed matter transmitted, and consequently of postage,
should not be speedily quadrupled.
2. The first need of California to-day is a large influx
of intelligent, capable, virtuous women. With a railroad
to the Pacific, avoiding the miseries and perils of six
thousand miles of ocean transportation, and making the
transit a pleasant and interesting overland journey of
ten days, at a reduced cost, the migration of this class
would be immensely accelerated and increased. With
wages for all kinds of women's work at least thrice as
high on the Pacific as in this quarter, and with larger
opportunities for honorable and fit settlement in life, I
cannot doubt that tens of thousands would annually
cross the Plains, to the signal benefit of California
and of the whole country, as well as the improvement
of their own fortunes and the profit of the railroad.
3. Thousands now staying in California, expecting to
"' go home " so soon as they shall have somewhat improved their circumstances, would send or come for
their families and settle on the Pacific for life, if a railroad were opened. Tens of thousands who have been
to California and come back, unwilling either to live
away firom their families or to expose them to the present hardships of migration thither, would return with
378 
A RAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC.
a Pacific railroad, this would be reduced to ten; for the
letters written in Illinois or Michigan would reach their
destinations in the mining counties of California quicker
than letters sent from New York or Philadelphia would
reach San Francisco. With a daily mail by railroad
from each of our Atlantic cities to and from California,
it is hardly possible that the amount of both letters and
printed matter transmitted, and consequently of postage,
should not be speedily quadrupled.
2. The first need of California to-day is a large influx
of intelligent, capable, virtuous women. With a railroad
to the Pacific, avoiding the miseries and perils of six
thousand miles of ocean transportation, and making the
transit a pleasant and interesting overland journey of
ten days, at a reduced cost, the migration of this class
would be immensely accelerated and increased. With
wag,es for all kinds of women's work at least thrice as
high on the Pacific as in this quarter, and with larger
opportunities for honorable and fit settlement in life, I
cannot doubt that tens of thousands would annually
cross the Plains, to the signal benefit of California
and of the whole country, as well as the improvement
of their own fortunes and the profit of the railroad.
3. Thousands now staying in California, expecting to
c go honme " so soon as they shall have somewhat improved their circumstances, would send or come for
their families and settle on the Pacific for life, if a railroad were opened. Tens of thousands who have been
to California and come back, unwilling either to live
away firom their families or to expose them to the present hardships of migration thither, would return with
378 
A RAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC.
all they have, prepared to spend their remaining days 
in the land of gold, if there were a Pacific railroad.
4. Education is the vital want of California, second
to its need of true women. School-books, and all the
material of education, are now scarce and dear there.
Almost all books sell there twice as high as here, and
many of the best are scarcely attainable at any rate.
With the Pacific railroad, all this would be changed for
the better. The proportion of school-houses to grogshlops would rapidly increase. All the elements of
moral and religious melioration would be multiplied.
Tens of thousands of our best citizens would visit the
Pacific coast, receiving novel ideas and impressions, to
their own profit and that of the people thus visited.
Civilization, intelligence, refinement, on both sides of
the mountain-still more, in the Great Basin inclosed
by them-would receive a new and immense impulse,
and the Union would acquire a greater accession of
strength, power, endurance, and true glory, than it would
from the acquisition of the whole continent down to
Cape Horn.
The only points of view in which a railroad from the
Missouri to the Pacific remains to be considered are
those of its practicability, cost, location, and the ways
and means. Let us look at them:
I. As to practicability, there is no room for hesitation
or doubt. The Massachusetts Western, the Erie, the
Pennsylvania, and the Baltimore and Ohio, have each
encountered difficulties as formidable as any to be overcome by a Pacific railroad this side of the Sierra Nevada. Were the railroad simply to follow the principal
379 
A  RAILROAI) TO THiE PACIFIC.
* emigrant trail up the Platte and down the Snake and
Columbia to Oregon, or south-westwardly from the
South Pass to the foot of the Sierra, it would encounter
no serious obstacle.
II. The dearth of timber on the plains is the chief
difficulty to be overcome; and this, with the prevalence
of deep snows in and about the South Pass, will proba bly send the road considerably north or south of that
famous and facile pass. I presume the shortest, most
feasible, and best wooded route for a railroad from the
Mississippi to the Pacific is one from Minnesota to Puget's Sound, leaving the Rocky Mountains, save some
low spurs, on the south, and encountering less formidable snows than those of the North Platte, South Pass,
and Green River. Another pretty well timbered and
direct route, with but a moderate elevation at the pass
of the Rocky Mountains, strikes westward from Dubuque to the Yellow Stone, follows one of the sources
of that stream into and through the Rocky Mountains,
and thence down a similar stream to the Columbia, and
so through Oregon to Astoria. By taking this route,
the timber of the Rocky Mountains could be cheaply
rafted or floated to every part of the track on either
side at which timber is naturally deficient. The routes
which turn the Rocky Mountains and the Sierra Nevada by the south are necessarily longer than those above
indicated (the earth's circumference being greater toward
the equator than near the pole), traverse in good part a
parched and sterile desert, and must encounter serious
obstacles in the dearth of water and in crossing the Rio
380
I 
A RAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC.
Del Norte and Colorado. They would, however, rarely
or never be formidably obstructed by snow.
In my judgment, however, the preferable, though
not the easiest route for a Pacific road traverses the
valleys of the Kansas and its Smoky Iill fork, crossing
thence to the more northerly sources of the Arkansas,
and passing with one of them through the Rocky
Mountains, not far from the South Park, thence winding down some tributary to the Colorado, thence up a
western fork or valley and down the Timnpanagos or
some such stream into Utah, and through that territory
on or near Capt. Simpson's new road to the valley of
the Carson, Truckee, or whatever stream should be found
to proffer the least difficult way across the Sierra Nevada, to San Francisco. A railroad on this route would
at once command a large and lucrative traffic from the
Kansas gold region, from Utah, and from the newly-discovered but rich and growing gold region of Carson
Valley or western Utah-soon, I trust, to be the territory of Nevada. Thousands have recently been drawn
to Carson Valley by the fame of these mines; and the
fact being established that gold, silver, and other valuable metals are found in Carson Valley, it is at least
strongly probable that they will be found elsewhere
along the eastern base of the Sierra Nevada.  A railroad on this route would have an immediate and large
local traffic, both in passengers and goods, from California to Carson Valley, from Missouri and Kansas to the
Rocky Mountain gold region, and firom each to Utah.
Its mails, too, would be heavier and far, far more beneficent, than if conveyed by any other route. I judge,
381 
A RAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC.
therefore, that on this route the railroad is most likely
to be built, unless future developments of mineral
wealth north or south of it should change the whole
aspect of affairs.
III. And now as to cost and the ways and means:
This road cannot be built cheaply; for provisions and
all the necessaries of life must rule high along its line,
and most of the laborers will have to be carried thither.
Yet it is but fair to consider that many of the heaviest
items of expense on most other railroads-land and land
damages, timber, stone, etc.-will here cost nothing but
the labor of preparing them for this use. Then the
rock-cutting will, in the average, be light, and the
bridging still lighter. For much of the distance, five
thousand dollars per mile will grade and bridge a double
track in the very best manner. Doubtless, there are
miles that would cost $100,000; but these are comparatively few; while the Colorado is the only formidable
stream to be crossed between the Missouri and the Sacramento. And, as the road would necessarily be conmmenced at each end and pushed toward the centelr, it
would have a considerable traffic on the very first hundred miles that should be completed, and a large one on
the first five hundred.  Were it to be finished next April
so far as Carson Valley from the west and "Pike's
Peak" from the east, I firmly believe that those two
sections would pay expenses and interest on cost forthwith. If so, what might not be hoped from the completed road?
Again; it is to be considered that, by building thus
in sections, each portion, as finished, would be used to
382 
A RAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC.
forward provisions, rails, timber, etc., for the next. If
wheat be worth five dollars per bushel to-day at Denver, it by no means follows that it would cost half
so much, with a railroad from the Missouri completed
nearly or quite to that point.
I estimate that a railroad from the Missouri at Kansas
City, Wyandot, Leavenworth, Atchison, or St. Joseph,
to San Francisco, must be nearly or quite two thousand
miles long, and that it would cost, with a double track
and fully equipped, seventy-five thousand dollars per
mile, or one hundred and fifty millions of dollars.  A
sanguine engineer would probably reduce this to fifty
thousand dollars per mile, or one hundred millions of
dollars; but, as most works cost more than they were
expected to, it is as well to begin with large figures, so
as not to be disappointed. More than a third of this
road would build itself-that is, so much of it as lies in
California, or within the boundaries assigned herself by
the new state of Kansas, would readily be built by
private enterprise, if the connecting link were certain
to be perfected in due season. It seems advisable, however, to have a single road, under one direction, from
the Missouri to the Pacific, and thus make the certain
profits of the extremities contribute toward the construction and support of the less promising center.
But, supposing the cost of a Pacific railroad to be one
hundred and fifty millions of dollars, or even one hun dred millions of dollars, how is so large an amount to
be procured?
I answer-not wholly by individual subscription, or
voluntarily associated enterprise. The amount is too
383 
A RAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC.
vast; the enterprise too formidable; the returns too
remote and uncertain. In the present depression of
railroad property and interests, an attempt to raise such
a sum for any such purpose, would be madness. One
railroad to the Pacific would probably pay; but what
assurance could an association of private citizens have,
that, having devoted their means and energies to the
construction of such a road, it would not be rivaled
and destroyed by a similar work on some other route?
No hundred millions can be obtained for such an undertaking without assurance of government aid.
But neither will it answer to commit the government
unqualifiedly to the construction of such a work. Its
cost, in the hands of Federal functionaries, would be
incalculable; it would be an infinite source of jobbing
and partisan corruption; it would never be finished;
and its net revenues would amount to nothing. And
then the question of location-the conflict of rival interests-would alone suffice to prevent the construction of
the work by the federal government.
But let that government simply resolve that the
Pacific road shall be built-let Congress enact that
sealed proposals for its construction shall be invited,
and that whichever responsible company or corporation
shall offer adequate security for that construction, to be
completed within ten years, on the lowest terms, shall
have public aid, provided the amount required do not
exceed fifty millions of dollars, and the work will be
done, certainly for fifty millions' bonus, probably for
much less. The government on its part should concede
to the company a mile in width, according to the section
384 
A RAILROAD TO ToE PACIFIC.
lines, of the public lands on either side of the road as
built, with the right to take timber, stone and earth from
any public lands without charge; and should require
of said company that it carry a daily through-mail each
way at the price paid other roads for conveying mails
on first-class routes; and should moreover stipulate for
the conveyance at all times of troops, arms, munitions,
provisions, etc., for the public ervice, at the lowest
rates, with a right to the exclusive possession and use
of the road whenever a national exigety shall seem to
require it. The government should leave the choice of
route entirely to the company, only stipulating that it
shall connect the navigable waters of the Mississippi
with those of the Pacific Ocean, and that it shall be
constructed wholly through our own territory. Payment of the national bonus to be made, say one-twentieth
so soon as one-tenth of the road shall have been finished
and approved, and at this rate until one-third of the
road shall have been built, when the remainder of onefourth of the bonus shall be paid; when half the road
shall have been built, the payment of bonus shall be
increased to one-third; when the work is three-fourths
done, what remains of five-eighths of the bonus shall be
paid; and when the work is done and accepted, all that
remains unpaid of the bonus shall be handed over to
those who will have so nobly earned it.
By adopting this plan, the rivalries of routes will be
made to work for, instead of working against, the construction of the road. Strenuous efforts will be made
by the friends of each to put themselves in position to
bid low enough to secure the location; and the lowest
17
385 
A RAILROAD TO THE PACIFIC.
rate at which the work can safely be undertaken will
unquestionably be bid. The road will be the property
of the company constrtucting it, subject only to the
rights of use, stipulated and paid for by the government.
And, even were it to cost the latter a bonus of fully fifty
millions, I feel certain that every farthing, of that large
sum will have been 4imbursed to the treasury within
five years after the completion of the work in the pro ceeds of land sales, in increased postages, and in duties
on goods import*, sold, and consumed because of this
railroad-not to speak of the annual saving of millions
in the cost of transporting and supplying troops.
--   Len and brethren! let us resolve to have a railroad
to the Pacific-to have it soon. It will add more to the
strength and wealth of our country than would the
acquisition of a dozen Cubas. It will prove a bond of
union not easily broken, and a new spring to our national
industry, prosperity and wealth. It will call new manu factures into existence, and increase the demand for the
products of those already existing. It will open new
vistas to national and to individual aspiration, and crush
out filibusterisin by giving a new and wholesome direc  tion to the public mind. My long, fatiguing journey
was undertaken in the hope that I might do something
toward the early construction of the Pacific Railroad;
and I trust that it has not been made wholly in vain.
386 
Gentle Dora!!-Dash.-ng Maggie!!!
MRS. MARY J. HOLMES' NEW STORIES,
DO)l:tA DEA.NEAND MIAGGIE MIILLER
In One neat 12mo. Volume. 474 pages. Price $1.00.
$
Mrs. Holmes endeavors to touch the heart, to take what is pure and excellent aI d
hold it up to the reader in contrast with what is vile aind deceptive.  And in this she
excels.  The fireside, we are sure, will thank hei heartily for these books, and preserve
them with reliodiois strictness, for they are entertang as well as instrictive.-l e wo
l'ork Conmmer-.ial Tines.
The two tales in tis new  volume are d(lelichtfl], and will be well re ceived by the
many who have derived so much entertainment from their predecessors.- Bo,toi Tray.
There is an air of truthfulness in her commrnon-sense style, an absence of exaggeration
anld,f hiighIi coloring, which conveys a sense of repose to thel,in( which has ted on the
artificial stinul us of exciting novels.   Ier womnanly gentles    wins the heart, and her
chlarmling fancy tlhrows a spell over the imagination.-Detroit Free Press.
The incidents in both these stories are snuch as pertain to daily experience, an,  on
that account they brine  out more touchingly  the traits of individuals ili whom  the
authoi determines to interest her readlers. tier konowledge of the human heart. in
clildhoo.d, and in the imult iform trials of woman's lot, gives her thepower of an experieuced artist.-N. Y Express. 
She has the h,,ipy fitculty of enlisting the sympathies and affections of her readers,
and of holding their attention to her pages with deep and absorbing intere-st.-Albany
Tiine.,.
Tile two stories which make up this volumes" Dora Deane" and " Maggie Miller"
has e the elemenuts of as wide a popularity as either of their predecessors.  She wields a
graceful and graphic pen. Her characters are skilfully portrayed, and she never fails
to win aid retain tie good opinion of her readers.  She has not failed in this agreeable
volume. —Det? oit Adveitiser.
These stories are told in her best manner.  "Maggie  Miller" will be found  particinrly interesting. The characters are finely drawn, and the incidents are life-like and
truthful.-LLowell VE Populi.
The stories in this volume will be read by every lover of fiction with unadulterated
satisfaction.  As a  tudlent of human character Mrs. liolines has few equals, and her
descriptive faculties are of a superior order.'"Maggie Miller" especially demonstrate.
this fact  Some  of its passages,.S specimens of spirited composition, are seldomn
excelled.- Troy Times.
The two stories in the work before us -are among the most entertaining the talented
authoress has ever written; there is, throughout liotli, a charm  and a beauty which
cannot fail to please, and they have not a dull piage within them.  The  characters are
sketciued with a master pen —ot overwrought, but yet so earnestly life-like as to be full
of interest-and an easy grace pervades the wh jle.-Lawrence  American.
Also ready, uniforml in style with the above, New Editions of
I.FNA  RIVERS.............................416 pages, 12mo. $1.00
liOMIESTEAD  ON  THE  HILLSIDE.......... 380 pages, 12mo. $1.00
MEADOW BROOK; OR, ROSA  LEE..........   880 pages, 12mo. $1.00
MIRS. HOLMIES' WORKS,
Uniform style, 4 vols., scarlet cloth, $4.00.-4 vols., half-calf,  $6.00
Sold by all Booksellers. Single copies sent by mail, postaye paid, upon
roe.'lpt of thle pi-ice.
C. M. SAXTON, BARKER & CO., Publ-shers,
25 Par!e P_ow, Ybew York. 
A  Book  which will not be forgotten.
'L E N A R I V E RS.
BY MAtIY J. HOLMES,
Author of " Tempest and Sunshine,'" "The English Orphans," "The Homestead
on the Hillside," et etc.
In One Volume, 416 Pages, 12mo. Price $1 00.
As the social and domestic relations are the great sources of happi.
ess, or its opposites, so those romances that properly treat of those reations-of the virtues that adorn, and of the vices that deform them
-are clearly the most interesting, impressive, and useful.
'LENA RIVERS Is an Alrican Domestic Story, unveiling in a masterly manner the sources of'social and domestic enjoyment, or of disquiet and misery. By intermarriages of New England and Kentucky
parties, a field is opened to exhibit both Yankee and Southern domestic life,
for which the talente authoress was well prepared, being of Yankee
birth and early educ   on, and having subsequently resided in the South
She was thus especially fitted to daguerreotype the strictly domestic
and social peculiarities of both sections.
PLENA RIVERS AND THE PRESS.
A work of unus&l promise Mrs. Holmes possesses an enviable talent in the study of
American character, which is so perfectly developed by acute observation from life, that
it would now be impossible for her to write an uninteresting book.-PAila. Sat. Buletin
There still lingers the artist-mind, enlivening, cheering, and consoling by happy
thoughts and pleasant words; moving the heart alternately to joy or sorrow, convulsing
with laughter, or bringing tears to the eyes.-Rochester Amnercan.
The characters are well drawn, and the tale is one of interest It will find many well
pleased reader&-Albany Statesman
The story is simple, natural, truthful.-Rochester Daily Ad/ertiser.
Before we were aware, we had read the first two chapters  We read on-and on-and
It was long after midnight when we finished the volume. We could not leave it. We
know of no work with which we could compare "'Lena Rivers "-so as to form a just
estimation of its merits. —erric/ie Cronicle.
It is not the first of the author's works, but it is thebest-State Regr.
To the sex we commend it, on the assurance of its merit, volunteered to us by ladies
min whose critical acumen we have the fullest confidence.-Buffa/o Express.
The story opens in New England, and is continued in Kentucky, with very lively and
characteristic sketches of scenery and character in both States. It is both OOOD and INTERESTING. —ew York Daily Times.
The moral of the plot is excellent Cowardly virtue, as exhibited by'Lena's father,
may here learn a lesson without suffering his bitter experience; while the rashness of
youth may be warned against desperate acts, before a perfect understanding is had.-Nes
Bedford Espress.
This is an American novel possessing merit far superior to many which have been
)nblished during the last two years.  Thie delineations of character are neatly and accu
;ately drawn, and the tale is a deeply interesting one, containing many and varied inci
lents, illustrative of the workings elf the human mind, and of social and domestic life ir.
lifferent parts of this country.  The lesson to be deduced from its pages is a profitable
ne-which is more than can be said of many novels of the d(lay.-Portj)flio.
The scene of this tale is in Kentucky, although New England figures in it somewhat,
.tnd New Englanders still more largely. It is written in a lively style, and the interest
s not allowed to flag till the story terminates. One ol the best things in the book s its
sly and admirable hits at American aristocracy. It quietly shows some of "the plebeian
~ocation," which have, early or late, been connected with the "first families," alld gives
us a peep behind the curtain into the private life of those who are often objects of envy.
Sold by all Booksellers.   Single copies mailed, post paid, on receipt uf
ne price. C.M.   SAXTON, BARKER & CO., Publishers,
25 Park Row, New  York. 
Natural, Truthful, and Enticing
THE
IHOMESTEAD ON TIE iIILLSIDE,
iil    (.Ofr Catty
BY MIRS. MARY J. HOLMES,
The Popular Author of "Tempest and Sunshine" aid "The English Orphans.'"
In One Volunlc,'S380 Pages, 12nio. Price $1 00.
The numerous and delighted readers of "TF,MPsT AND SUTNSI.NF" and "THg  ENGLISI ORPHANS"-Mrs. Holmies' formerwo~rks-will be pleased to learn that another
work of their favorite author is again within their reach.  That this work will be eagerly sought and widely read, her former brilliant success affords the surest guaranty.
Mrs. HIolmes isa peculiarly pleasant and fascinating writer. Her subjects are the home
and family relations.  She has the happy faculty of enlisting the sympathies and afections of her readers and of holding their attention to her pages, with deep and absorbing
interest'Iale!lonlestead  on  thle Hillside  is, thlerefore, attracting tbhe
liveliest attention; and readers and
REVIEWERS ARE DECIDED IN ITS PRAISE.
Any one talking up the book must take a "through ticket," as t"ere is no stopptin
place'this side" of the last page.  The arts of the designing woman are given in their
true color, showing to what oily-tongued hypocrisy humanity will stoop for the furtherance of its purposes; what a vast amount of unhappiness one individual' may bring npon an otherwise happy family; what untold misery may result from the groveling spiril
of fancied revenge, when cherished in the bosom of its unhappy postessor.-Brockpoit
Gazette.
The talented author of "Tempest and Sunshine" has again hit on a happy subect.
The Homestead on the Hillside" has afforded her ample scope for the exercise of tlihose
high descriptive powers and those striking portraitures of character which have reiidered her former works such general favorites. In one word, the book before us is ito
ordinary production.-Ph,iladelphia Daily  rews.
Vigor, variety, a boldness and freedom of style and expression, eccentricity alike of
character al-d incident, are among its most striking peculiarities.  She has Improved, in
the book before us, upon her first effort, and several of these tales will not fail to add to
her already well establishled reputation as a vigorous and attractive writer.-Bost. Atlas.
The artfulness and resignation exhibited by the Widow Carter, in her modest but not
unnatural e,,deav,rs to gain tle tender regard of Mr. IIamilton. as she smoothed the pillow of his dying wife, deserve the especial attention of gentlemen liable to a like attempt
from a similar cause.  They will doubtless see a dozen widlows in the very dress and position of the philanthropic irs. Carter. There is quite a moral for young Misses, too, in
the book."-.V. I' D)itelhtan.
It cannot fail to please the lovers of flowing and graceful narratlve.-Tribun.
It will be superfluous to say that Mrs. Holmes is a charming writer.-Tru  Pa.
Its genial spirit, its ready wit, its kindly feeling, will doubtless meet with due appreciation from all its readers.  It touches with ready sympathy the fountains of mirth and
tears, and one can neither restrain the one nor withhold the other, in reading its tales of
joy and sorrow.-Bi-oonme Repub.
We have perused this book with none but feelings of pleasure; and we have closed its
ages, bearing in oar heart its sweet spirit and eloquent moral.  We heartily comnmend
it —Lockport Courier.
Her portrayal of human character and actions are admirable; her style is fluent and
f&ascinating, and a most intense degree of interest is kept up throughout the volume
But among all it3 excellent qualities, most prominent appears its eloquent morals. P?eaa
It, so that you can have it to say, I I ONCF. READ A GOOD BOOK."-Lockpot Dmeneorat
Sold by all Booksellers. Single copies sent by mail, postpaid, upon
receipt of the price.
C. M. SAXTON, BARKER & CO., Publishers,
25 Park Row, New York,.
s 
Quiet, Gentle, Home-like, Earnest, Truthful.
MEADOW BROOK; OR, ROSA LEE.
BY MARY J. HOLMES,
Author of "'Lena Rivers," "Homestead on the Hillside," eta, eta
One Volume, 12me, 380 pages. Price $100.
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
No admirer of Mr  Holmes' writings will thank us for a "critical" opinion of this,
her latest and best work. The time for such a thing has gone by. But surely they will
pardon us if we dwell lingeringly and lovingly over one or two of her characters:-tlhe
angel-like Jessie, the rightly-named  Angel of tl,e Pines, who, though  a child. went
about like a ministering angel, when all others had fled the pestilence that walked at
noonday, and at last fell before its withering stroke. Surely, if a tear falls here; it falls
in the right place.  And then RosA:-Rosa at thirteen the schoolmistress and in love.
One year after, Rosa the governess was again in love.  hIow we are interested in the
tangled web of her life-experience, and how we  rejoice when at last the orange-flowers
crown her brow, and the storm-tossed barque reaches the sure haven of repose:
"The blessing given, the ring is on;
And at God's altar radiant run
The currents of two lives in one."
Ada, the deceiving, merits our scorn; Ada, the dissipated, somewhat of our pity.  Dr.
Clayton we despise for his fickleness, honor for his after-manliness, and congratulate for
his eventual happines&-National American.
We have read this book with no little satisfaction, for it has a reality about it that
touches a spot not always sensitive to descriptions written with more pretence and literary style. It is particularly attractive to one with a New-England experience, as its
earlier chapters are drawn from life in the country portions of that region, and those
immediately following are laid in Boston. We do not mean to intimate that the book
is carelessly written, but that it is "the touch of nature that makes all men kin" that is
its especial charm. It does not read like a romance, but like a calm narration by some
friend of events occurring in a circle of one's old friends, and the intense interest with
which we follow tile narrative seems to be rather from personal feeling than from the
usual false excitement of the overstrained sentimentalities of most of the modern works
of fiction which "read like a book."-Newark Advertiser.
Our friends in the novel-reading line will gladly hail a new work called "Meadow
Brook," by Mrs. Mary J. Holmes, author of "Tempest and Sunshine," and several other
well-known and popular works.  "Meadow Brook" is an exceedingly attractive book,
and one that will alternately call forth smiles and tears   The chapters delineating tho
life of the youthful "school-ma'am," and her experience in "boarding round," may be
termed "rich" in every senise of the word. We doubt if their equal can be met with in
any of the novels of the present day. The after-life of Rosa Lee, the heroine of Meadow
Brook, will be found to be of equal, if not of superior interest to the earlier part, so
graphically delineated in the first half-dozen chapter-Providence JouoTnaL.
Many of her characters might be, if they are not, drawn from life. We have met a
little Jessie whose bright, sweet face, winning ways, and sunny, happy temper, mad"
her a favorite with all who knew her.  Jessie Lanising vividly recalls our little Jessie
who, we hope, is still the sunbeam of her own sweet Southern bhome. Mrs. HIolnmes
draws her pictures from the deep welling fountain of her ovwn heart and life, reaching
our hearts as well as our imaginations. and will always meet a cordial reception whenever she appears.-Binghamton Reptblican.
" Meadow Brook" is a plain story of American life and American people, with capita;
illustrations of American habits and manuer... The story is a well-written commonsense affair, containing much that will please the reader. Nothing is distorted or overdrawn, but all is calculated to impress the reader with a beliefin the writer-that is
that she is telling a true tale.-Rochester Advertiser.
Sold by all Booksellers.   Single copies sent by mall, postagepaid, upon
receipt of the price.
C. X.  SAXTON, BARKER & CO., Publishers,
25 Potrk Row, Ye,w York 
LIFE OF HtENRY CLAY,
Of Iteinthy.
BY HORACE GREELEY AND EPES SARGEANT.
"But there are deeds which should not pass away,
And names which should not wither."
One Volume, 428 pp. 12mo., Steel Portrait, Muslin, Price $1,25
While the youth of America should imitate his noble qualities,  they
may take courage from his career. and note the high proof it affords that, under our
equal institutions, the avenues of hon,r are open to all. Mr. Clay rose by the force of
his own genius, unaided by power, pationage, or wealth.  At an age when our young
men are usually advanced to the higher schools of learning provided only with the rtudiments of an En glish education, he turned his steps to the West. and, amidst the rude
collisions of a bordier life, mnatutred( a character wlhose highest exhibitions were destined
to mark er.as in his counitrv s history.  Beginning on the frontiers of American civilizatioii, the orphan boy, supliurted oniy bvy the consciousness of his owp powers, and hy
the confidence of the people, surinounted all the barriers of adverse fortune, and won a
glorious name ili the annals of his country.  Let the generous youth. fired with honorable ambition, remember that the American system of government offers on every hand
bounties to merit  If, like Clay, orphanage, obscurity, poverty, shall oppress him; yet,
If, like Clay. he feels the Promniethlean spark within, let him reinenber that his c.ountry,
like a generous mother, extends her arms to welcome and to cherish every o -.. I,,
children whose genius and worth may promote her prosperity or increase her reno.v"
' Iff anl                        ttt  t5 o                   tnt                a
BEING THE ABOVE, TO WHICH  IS ADDED
ItIS MOST ABLE AND POPULAR SPEECTIlE
Steel Portrait, 633 pp. 8vo., Muslin, $2 00; Morocco, Marble Edge, $2 50.
"The rush of native eloquence, resistless as Niagara,
The keen demand, the clear reply, the fin.e poetic image,
The nice analogy, the clenching fact, the metaphor, bold and free,
The grasp of concentrated intellect, wielding the omnipotence of truth,
Upon whose lips the mystic bee hath dropped the honey of persuasion."
As a leader in a deliberative body, Mr. Clay had no equal in Amer
lea. In him, intellect, person, eloquence and courage, united to form a character fit to
command. He fired with his own enthusiasm, and controlled by his amazing will, individuals and niasses. No reverse could crush his spirit, nor defeat reduce him to des
pair. Equally erect and dauntless in prosperity and adversity, when successful, lihe
moved to the anc,xmplishment of his purposes with severe resolution; when defeated
he rallied his broken bands around him, and from his eagle-eye shot along their rank
the contagion of hlis own courage. Destined for a leader, he everywhere asserted hia
lestiny. In his lone and eventful life, he came in contact with men of all ranks and professions. but he never felt that he was in the presence of a man superior to himself. In
tha wssemblies of the people, at the bar, in the Senate-everywhere within the circle
elf his personal presence, he assumed and maintained a position of pre-eminenc.
Sold by all Booksellers.  Mailed, postpaid, to any address, upon receipt of price.
C. M. SAXTON, BARKER & CO., Publishers,
2) Pallk Ronv, adW Yor.. 
THE BOOK OF THE AGE.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A LIFETIME,
OR
MEN AND THINGS I HAVE SEEN IN EUROPE AND A IITOC
BY S. G. GOODRICH,
The veritable "Peter Parley," author of "The History of All Nations," &c. &c.
In two volumes, 1105 pp. large 12m,)., 25 Original Engravings, including
an accurate Steel Portrait of the Author.   Piice, Black or Scarlet
Cloth, $3 00; Scarlet Cloth, Gilt Edres, $4 00; Half Calf, Marble
Edges, $5 00; Full Calf, Gilt Edges,  $7 00.
This work embraces the prominent public events of the last half century, both at horne
and abroad; a complete Autobiography of the author-his early days, education, and lit.
erary career; and an amount of  origial curious, and valuable Personal Incident, Anecdote, and Description, seldom, if ever, met with in a single work.  It is the Au'TIOR's
LIFE-LONG WORK. and nothing superior, if anything equal to it, in blended amusement
and instruction, has ever been published. Mr. Goodrich is thie author and editor of
170  Vol unies, of which ox er seven  millions of copies have been sold! andl
this. the great work of his life, embodies the condensed substance of his ample Literav,
and Prctical Ef,pe, iea,ce; the Wcar uitfh England in 1812-14, in vlwhich Mr. Goodrich
was a private soldier; the lIa itjbord Consvention, whose operations took place under his
immnediate observation, and with most of the members of which he was personally acquainted.  Etibraci  curious and interesting details respecting Old Jefessonian Denocracy, Old FedeP ali,m, avid Connecticut Blue  Lights; curious and marvellous
events connected with the rise and progress of RELIGIOUS SECTS in the United States;
with descriptions of the French Revolution of 1848, and Louis,Vapoleon's Coup d'Etat,
both of which the atlhor witnessed.  Al.,, a full account of the "P'ETER  PARLEY"'
TALES," of which Four Millions have been sold.
In the course'f the work will be found a G(llery of PEN AND I.K PORTRAITS Of
over Two IltIndred Celebrated Persoi8s-Presidents, Vice-Presidents, Kings, Queens,
Emperor  Sol!diers, Poets, Wit., Enthusiasts, Physicians, Preachers  Laawyers, Politicians, Diploiiiatists, &c.-all described from personal acquaintance or observation-among
whom are the following:
George IV.    Lamartine,   hIenry Clay,   Duke of Wellington, Benjamin West,
William IV.   Victor llugo, Dan'l Webster, Lord Broiiuham,   Feninore Cooper,
Prince Albert, Alex. Duimas,  M. Van Buren, Sir J. MacLiintosh,  Percival
Queen Victoria Mad. Catalini, M. Fillmore,   Kin  Rhio Rllio, or Brainerd,
Sir W. Scott,  Mad. Malibiran, J. C. Fremont,  Doi of Dogs, Willis
Lord Jeffrey,  Pasta,          General Scott, Louis Phillippe,    Hawthorne,
J. G. Lockhart, Talina,       IProf Silliinan, Louis Napoleon,    Mrs. Sigourney
W. Blackwood Mlle. Mars,    Eli W hitney, Thios. A. Emmett,   Miss Sedgwick,
Hannah More. Rachel,,liide Keit.  Bish,op Seabury,       Mrs. Child
Dr. Chalmers,  Ristori,        Geo. Cabot,   Bishop Wainwrighlt, Charles Sprague,
Edw. Irving   Plope Pitlus IX. tt. G. Otis.    l)r. Masi.)n,        Longfellow
Thoe. Hood,   Pres't Monroe, Jas. iilllluse,Dr. Dr.      y,         Pierlont,
Louis XVIII. J. Q. Adaimis,  Uriali Tracy.   Archlibald Gracie,   T. Buchanan Reem
Charls X.    Dr. Dwight,,Natl,'l Smith,  Minot Sherman,           Jacob Perkins.
To all which is added, the Author's recent
ANECDOTES OF TRAVEL,
In Englandl, Scotland, Ireland, France and Italy, together with a COMPILETZ CATALOCTI
*I' THE ATionR's WoICKs, now fi)r the first time published; with curious commentarie,
on the COUNTERFEIT PARLEY BOOKS, got up in London.
SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.
SBingl  Copies mailed, POST-PAID, to any  addres.
Published( l)vy
C. M. SAXTON, BARKER  & CO., Publishers,
25 Park Row,  yu,',, iA-. 
LOUIS NAPOLEON,
AND THE
BONAPARTE FAMIILY.
COMPRISING A
HISTORY OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION,
THE CAREER OF NAPOLEON, THE RESTORATION OF THE BOUR  BONS, THE REIGN OF LOUIS PHILLIPPE, THE LIFE AND CA     REER OF LOUIS NAPOLEON, AND THE CAUSES, EYENTS,
AND CONSEQUENCES OF THE CRIMEAN WAR.
BY HENRY W. DE PUY,
AUTHOR OF "KOSSUTH AND HIIS GENERALS" "ETHAN ALLEN,"' ETc.
OneVolume, 457 pp. 12mo., with Steel Portraits of Louis
Napoleon and the Empress Eugenie. Price $1 25.
The foregoing is an interesting and a reliable history of the Bonaparte family, from the dawn of its celebrity to the present time. It
contains a biography, not only of Napoleon I., Napoleon IlL, and of the
other members and branches of that distinguished family, but also of
other prominent actors in French affairs, with such a sketch of French
history as is necessary to the proper connection and clear understanding of the work.
EXTRAOTS FROM REVIEWERS.
The Bonaparte family is one of the most remarkable that has ever appeared on the
earth. Its origin was so humble, its elevation so rapid and dazzling, its power 0so great,
its fall so signal and low, its re-appearance in the person of Louis Napoleon so unexpected and potent, and its future so portentous, that it at once arrests the attention of
the modern historian, and audaciously takes its place in the very foreground of his
can vas.
We are not aware that any author has before attempted to present the entire Bonaparte family in one concise, yet clear and satisfactory volume. It is a work long needed,
and for which every intelligent person constantly feels a pressing necessity. Hence we
heartily welcome the work before us. Its method is excellent, its breadth and grasp
very remarkable, and the style lucid and brilliant  The engravings are superior, and
type, paper, and binding excellent.-Taunton Democrat.
An interesting and instructive volume.  The author has given a graphic description
of the career of the great Napoleon, free from that excessive flattery which distisguishes
the work of Abbott; and the scarcely less brilliant career of Louis Napoleon is set forth
with admirable succinctness and truthfulness. The worlt comprises the history of
France. and in fact of Europe, from the revolution of'&9 to the present time, of which
the misfortunes and successes of Louis Philippe firm a most ilnteresting chapter.  The
L,iographical notices of the most distinguished characters that participated in public affairs during that period, is also a valuable feature of the work.-Demn. Expounder.
The style of the author is popular and attractive, and his book blends the interest (of
history with that of biography. Portraits of the present Emperor and of the Empress
EUGENIE, finely engraved, adorn the volume, which is handsomely issued in all respects.
-Boston Telege-cpk
The notices of the various members of the Bonaparte family are written with clearness, as are also the sketches of Louis XVIII., Charles X., Louis Philiplpe, Theirs, Lamartine, Guizot, Abdel-Kader, and numerous others whose names are familiar with
French movements during the present century. The outline of the Russian War is
impartially given, a commendation which may be generally accorded to the entire volu,Ir-rTHOMAs FRANCIS MFEAGHER
Sold by all Booksellers Mailed, post-paid, to any address, upon receipt of price.
C. M. SAXTON,  BARKER  & CO., Publishers,
,) P,at Ad, w, t'e,./.
II
i 
GREAT AMERICAN BIOGRAPHY!
WEBSTER
HIS MAST]]RJ]CES
hi5i  ifift ailB 0" rtaf14ptt t~~4s
BY B. F. TEFFT, D. D., LIf. D.
Steel Portrait, Two Volumes, 1032 pp. 12o. I bees $2 o50
THE LIFE EMBRAOES
The Webster Family.                        6. WebsteI the Legitlator.
2 Webstex the Boy and Youth.                  7. Wabster tile Citizen.
3  Webster the Student. 8. Webtster the rirator.
4. Webster the Lawyer.                        9., ebrtter the Orator.
5. Webster in his Domestic Relations.        10. WeLster the Ifxecutive Officer.
THE SPEEOHES EMBRAOE
1 Argsment in the Dartmouth  College   7. The Character of Washington.
(Cate.                                  8. Speech at Niblo's Garden, New York.
2. Piviwnouth Oration-First Settlement of  9. Letter on Implressiuen.
New England.                           10. Reply to Hlayne on F,oot's Resolution.
8. Sp-ech on the Greekl Revolution.           11. Constitution not a Conplact-Reply to
4i Bunker Ilill Monumient Oration.                   Calhoun.
5. Funieral Oration-Adams and Jefferson.  12. Constitution and the  Union-7th of
6. Lec ture before Mechanic's Institution,           March Speech.
Boston.              I
We receive these volumes with especial satisfaction.  Dr. Tefft's book, we doubt not,
will be a popular one.  It has that brilliancy of touch and that vivacity of style which
are always popular with the great body of readers.-.Bostoi Traveler..
Such a life of the great statesman was needed. There is no' other as cheap yet elegant
f,rui in which Webster's great efforts are to be founid.  They will sell well, we doubt not.
The inmot'e of them there are distributed, the better it is for our intelligence, our political
virtue and the public weal.-YV. Y. Timne.
Dr. Tefft has displayed much industry, versatility and discrimination in his biography,
and good taste in the selection of Mr. Weltster's efforts, and these volumes cannot but
meet with a favorable reception from the public.-Bostois Atlas.
There is no doubt but the book will be very generally sought and read by an appreciating puiblic. It must be regarded as a valuable addition to the standard literary works
of the times.  The author is exceedingly happy in his use of language.  There is nothing
laborious, dull or difficult in the perusal; but on the contrary, it possesses an affabl,,
congenial spirit which is entirely winning. We have been peculiarly interested witls
tire description of Mr. Webster's chlaract r contained in the last chapter of the biography
T1le author enters into the subject w ith his whole soul, delineating faithfully those trais
1peculiar to the man, expanding upon those qua'ities of mind which constituted his great.
n,eq,  The work is handsomely got up, and is fit to adorn any library.-Buffal/o Rel).
We  doubt whether a better biobrPphy will ever meet the eyes of the student, or en
.ih the library of thle man of letfrs.  The style s polished, clear, and interesting l. A
sigh *egree.-Boston Eye. Gazette.
Thio best life of Webster that has ever appeared.-Bu.ffclo Democracy.
gold by all Bookftllers. Mailed, post-paid, to any address, upon receipt of price.
C. M. SAXTON, BARKER & CO., Publishres,
25 Pacrk Rtou,, New  York.
AND 
Truth is Stranger than Fiction.
LIFE OF MARY JEMISON,
WHITE INDIAN WOMAN OF THE GENESEE.
BY JAMES E. SEAVER, ESQ,
One Volume, 312 pp. 12mo., Illustrated. Price $1 00.
..
The subject of this remarkable Narrative was taken captive by a
band of Shawnees at the early age of 13 years. She subsequently became the wife of an
Indian chief, and the mother of a large family of Indian children.  She lost her civilized
habits, and resided with her adopted nation for 78 years, always, however, retaining and
manifesting a constant friendship for the whites. She was granted a reservatiion of
19.000( acres of the richest land in the world. lying in the western nart of the State of
New York.  Yet this did not tempt her to abandon her adopted race or habits, to which
shle pertinaciously adhered. The narrative was taken by the author from her own lips,
and is at once authentic, interesting, and instructive.
The work is filled with startling incidents from first to last, and cannot fail to instruct
and interest the general reader. To the lovers of Indian adventure. and particularly to
ths young, it will prove of great interest, as it conveys a perfect knowledge of the hard..
ships and trials of the Pioneer Settlers, and should find its way into the libraries of all
our citizens
THIF WORK IS AUTHENTIC.
E. S. PAUKER, an educated Seneca Chief, under date of March 24, writes as follows:
'I perused Seaver's book with great interest, and have had a good opportunity of test    ijg its reliability, by comparing it with the traditional history preserved among the In    dians with whom she lived and died; all of which miore than corroborates'every incident
related in the narrative. I have, therefore, every reason to believe it to be entirely true."
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS,
A very interesting book-one that contains sufficient incidents for a romance, and
which, at the same time, may be regarded as a veritable history.  The heroine was tak,en
c aptive bv a band of Shliawnees in 1753, at the age of thirteen.  She became the wife of
three Indians in succession, and raised a large family of Indian children.  Her life was
chequered and eventful in a high degree; she continued  to live with  the Iroquois
thlrothli all vicissitudes until she died, in 18833, aged ninety-one years. Though sincerely
attached to the Indians she was always the friend of the white pioneer and early settler
In a word, her history, as biographically  and agreeably related  in this volume, will
amplv repay perusal.-Phil. Dail.V _dews.
Her dress was made and worn after the usual Indian fashion.  She had a brown,  in    dressed flannel shiort-gown, with long sleeves, the skirt reaching to the hips, being tied
before in two places with deer-skin strings; below the skirt of the gown was to be se,n
three or four inches of tho lower extremity of a cotton shirt, which  was without collar
or sleeves, and open before.  Iler petticoat, or the Indian substitute for that garment
was composed of about a yard and a quarter of blue broadcloth, with the lists on, and
sewed together at the ends.  This was tied around her waist, or rather above her hips,
under lier shirt, with a string, in sutch a manner as to leave one-fourth of a yard or more
of the top of the cloth to be turned over the string, and display the top list and four or
five inches of the cloth below the bottom of the shirt-the main body of the garment and
the otter list reaching down to the calves of her legs; below which was to be seen her
leggings, consisting of pieces of blue broadcloth, wrapped around her leas, and tied or
pinned on, reaching from her knees to just within the tops of her buckskin moccasins.
She wore no footings or socks on her feet at any season, unless some rags wrapped
around her toes could be considered such.  Over her shoulders was wrapped a common
Indian or Dutch blanket, and on her head she wore an old, brown woolen cloth  some    what in the shape of a sun-bonnet.-Daily Enqwirer.
Sold by all Booksellers  Mailed. postpaid, to any address, upon receipt of price.
C. M. SAXTON, BARKER & CO., Publishers,
25 Pa/ rk Raw,   aw  ro'tk.
I
THE 
THE LIVES
OF
TIItE THREE MRS. JUDSONS,
*issioanaris tio   rmal,
BY ARABELLA M. WILLSON.
NEW AND ENLARGED EDITION.
COMPLETED TO THE DEATH OF EMILY 0. JUDSON.
'ith Steel Portraits, 381 pp., 16mo., Mluslin. Price $1,25.
OPINIONS OF REVIEWERS.
Dr. Judson was not only a celebrated man and missionary, but his
wives have been worthy of him, and, of course, have been celebrated
women.  Many of the details of the missions in which these individuals labored, and which  are given  in their separate niemoirs, have
been omitted in this work, and the lives and characters of the women
themselves are set before us. The circulation of the volume cannot
but be useful.-Church Herald.
A rapid examination of the book has left the impression on our minds
that the author has performed her task successfully; weaving faithful
and graceful narratives out of materials furnished to her hand by previous biographers.-ffacedonian.
It will command a wide circulation among the numerous class in our
community, interested in missionary enterprises. It possesses, also, a
literary value, which commends it to the public attention.-Transcript.
It is one effect of the missionary cause that it has given to the church
and the world some of the finest models of female chlaracter. Not a small
number of American ladies who might have spent their lives in circumstances of ease, and in circles of refinement, in their own country, have
cheerfully surrendered everything to the conviction of duty, and have
gone to live and die in heathen lands; and in thus devoting themselves
tothe best of causes, they have become examples of glowing and heroi&[fortitude in honor of Christ, which may be considered as marking
a new epoch in the history of their sex. Dr. Judson's three wives, of
whom we have an interesting account in this volume, belong to this
favored class of females; and no Christian can read these sketches
without feeling that each of them is deservedly embalmed in the gratitu(e of the church.  They differed essentially in some of their natural
qualities, but they were alike in the one grand point, of entire devotion
to the missionary work. There is little danger of multiplying judicious
works of this kind beyond the demand.-Puritan Recorder.
SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLEI'S.
Single Copies mailed, POST-PAID, to any address.
Published by
C. M. SAXTON,  BARKER  & CO., Publishers,
25 Park Row, Now York.