AMONG THE MOUNTAINS (_Continued_).
Returning next day from Culebra to Fort Garland, we proceeded thence
subsequently up the Park to the Indian treaty on the Rio Grande; and
from there _via_ Homan's Park and Poncho Pass north to Fair Play in
South Park. These "parks," so called, are a peculiar feature of the
Rocky Mountains and play an important part in the scenery. There are
five of them--North, Middle, South, Homan's, and San Luis--of which
we passed through the last three. They constitute in reality a great
system of plateaus or valleys, morticed as it were into the very
heart of the mountains, from twenty-five to fifty miles long by half
as many wide, disconnected by intervening ranges, yet all alike in
their general features. One of the main ranges of the Rocky Mountains
bounds them on the east; but _the_ main range, the real Sierra
Nevada or Mother Range--the great Snowy Range or real water-shed of
the continent, dividing the waters of the Pacific from those of the
Atlantic--runs along the west. True, this is disputed by enthusiastic
Coloradoans; but the facts seem nevertheless, as above. The North
Platte, South Platte, Arkansas, and Rio Grande, all take their rise
there, and piercing the eastern range flow thence to the Atlantic or
the Gulf, while no considerable stream flows thence to the Pacific.
Kit Carson, whom we met at Fort Garland, the best geographer of that
region, took this view of the subject, and I humbly concur.
The largest of these Parks, by far, is the San Luis, and we found
it fairly gridironed with trout streams, and rimmed around with
mountains. Its general elevation is from six to seven thousand
feet above the sea, with its surrounding peaks and ridges about
as much more, which is too cold for Indian corn, though the other
cereals--such as wheat, barley, oats, etc.--may readily be grown
there. Volcanic agencies have had much to do with its formation, as
its wide-spread igneous rocks and pebbles still plainly show. Along
the Rio Grande and its numerous affluents wide bottoms have been
formed, that are very rich--the very washings of the mountains; but
elsewhere you have only rocks and gravel, sage-brush and grease-wood.
It contains no timber, except a fringe of cottonwoods and poplars
along most of the larger streams; but cedar, pine, and fir are found
in the neighboring cañons and mountains. Cattle and other live-stock
find good grazing in summer along the streams, and in winter they
were said to thrive well on the coarse bunch-grass, with which the
surrounding cañons all abound. The broad bottoms of the Rio Grande,
waving with tall grass and fatter than the prairies of Illinois,
ought to make magnificent meadows, and will some day when more of
our Anglo-Saxon population overflows there. The population of the
Park was grouped mainly in two or three Mexican hamlets, and was
computed by Kit Carson (then Colonel of New Mexico Volunteers and
Post Commandant at Fort Garland) at about five or six thousand only.
A noted citizen of Denver, who owned a large part of the Park, had
reported it to us as about twenty thousand. Not that he intended to
be inexact; but his imagination was naturally very vivid, and his
language apt to be poetic. In purchasing property there, under an
old Spanish grant, he certainly acquired any quantity of magnificent
mountain, and a wide stretch of plain; but we suspected, he would
wait some time before he saw his money back again.
Our general ride up the San Luis Park, and so through Homan's to
Poncho Pass, was unique and perfect in its way. Our route on leaving
Fort Garland was first across several mountain brooks, where the
trout were so abundant, that the soldiers at the fort caught them
with blankets and feasted on them at will, and then directly up the
Park, with the Sierra Blanca or Snowy Range towering on our right.
Striking the Rio Grande, we found it alive with geese and ducks, and
when we went into camp, L.--our champion sportsman--caught several
noble trout, weighing from five to six pounds each. Singularly
enough, the streams flowing to the Rio Grande all abound in trout,
while those going to the Mississippi, we were told, all lack them.
We halted two days here, attending the Indian Treaty before alluded
to, and then proceeded on. At Fort Garland, we were advised to
return to Denver by the same route we had come, as the season was
already advancing and nobody had come through by Poncho Pass since
the previous spring. Moreover, the trail was reported impracticable
for ambulances, and even Kit Carson shook his head, unless we went
by pack-mules. But as the pack-mules were not to be had, and we were
all averse to returning over the old route, we resolved to push
ahead by Poncho Pass, and get through the mountains that way, if
possible. From the Treaty-Ground, our route lay nearly due north,
with the snowy crest and peaks of the Sierra Blanca on our right
and about parallel. Bidding our friends good-bye, we set out early
(Sept. 24), with the wind dead-ahead and bitter cold. Toward noon,
the weather moderated somewhat; but snow-squalls chased each other
along the mountains all day, and once we counted nine in view--one
careering along behind the other--at the same time. Now and then one
would expand its wings, and sweep across the Park; and several times
in the course of the day we were thus in the midst of real winter.
The range to the west was more or less broken into foot-hills and
ridges; but the Sierra Blanca to the right seemed a solid rampart,
rugged, inaccessible, sublime. Its serrated crest, white with
perpetual snow, rose five or six thousand feet above the level of
the Park; its tree-line was distinctly marked, as with a rule; and
the whole seemed so near and so gorgeous, when the sunset swallowed
up the snow-squalls, that we could scarcely realize it was yet miles
away. As we got farther up the Park, the soil grew thinner, and more
volcanic in its origin; but we crossed several handsome streams, that
might be made to irrigate considerable land there.
We found only one ranch, however, north of Fort Garland--a Mr.
Russell's, at the extreme north-eastern end of the Park. We camped
there one night, and found the proprietor to be a good specimen of
the average Coloradoan. Born in Illinois and bred a blacksmith, the
gold-fever had taken him to California, where he worked partly in the
mines and partly at his trade. When he failed in the mines, as he
usually did, he again resorted to his trade; and had he stuck to his
anvil, he verily believed, he would have been well-off long before.
But as soon as he had hammered out a little money, his evil genius led
him back to the "diggings;" and so he had wandered all up and down our
mining regions--California, Nevada, Colorado, etc.,--until 1861, when
he found himself in Denver, without a cent in his pockets. Mining
happened to be dull there, a regiment of volunteers was then forming
for service against the Indians, and so he turned soldier. Before his
three years were up, he had saved a moderate "pile," and when he was
finally mustered out and discharged, he came here and "squatted" on
a quarter-section. The money saved while thus soldiering started him
in farming, and he now thought his future secure. This was his first
year there, but he had got along very well so far. The Indians had
not disturbed him, though frequently there, and his Mexican peons
had proved faithful laborers, though a little slow. He had raised
fine crops of oats, barley, and potatoes, which he would sell to the
garrison at Garland at good prices; but his wheat was a failure--he
feared, for want of sufficient warmth. He had a good adobe house, which
he meant to enlarge and improve, and a fine flock of sheep, besides
considerable cattle. The worst feature of his ranch was, that he had
to irrigate; but he said he had plenty of water for this, and the cost
was small. His nearest neighbor was eighteen miles off, and that was
too near; his post-office, sixty miles; and church, two hundred. It is
strange, that men can be content to bury themselves thus, in the heart
of a wilderness, when God and nature are so bountiful elsewhere. It is
the everlasting itching, I suppose, that we Americans have for change,
which comes to little good after all. No doubt plenty of Coloradoans
would emigrate to the moon, or even to Le Verrier, if there were a
practicable "trail" there.
The next day crossing a low ridge, through a forest of gnarled cedars,
we entered Homan's Park, and found it to be nearly a duplicate of the
San Luis, on a smaller scale. It is about thirty miles long, by perhaps
half as many wide, and its essential features are about the same as
those of the San Luis, though its soil seemed deeper and more generous.
About half way up, a lusty mountain-stream crosses from west to east,
lined with cottonwoods, and here four Germans had each "pre-empted"
a quarter-section, all lying together. They had all been officers of
Colorado Volunteers, and when mustered out came and "squatted" here
together, in this picturesque little valley. The last year of their
service, being stationed at Fort Garland, they had been up that way on
a scout after Indians; and, falling in love with the Park, selected
it for their future homes. One of them was married, and his wife--a
tidy young German woman--kept house for all. They began operations the
previous year, and already had accomplished large results. They put in
seven thousand dollars as joint-capital, and with this purchased all
the necessary animals, implements, provisions, seeds etc., to start
well with. Among the rest, they bought a hundred and forty cows, which
the following spring brought them in nearly as many calves, all of
which they were now raising. Pasturage was abundant in summer, and
in the winter the adjoining cañons supplied bunch-grass, etc. They
milked all their cows, and converted the milk into butter and cheese,
which two items alone had paid their current expenses so far, with a
small margin over. A sluice-way from the brook carried the water into
their milk-house, where instead of tin or earthen pans, they had long
milk-troughs hollowed out of logs, around which the water flowed, and
then passed back into the stream again. A bowl of buttermilk, that
they tendered us, fresh from the churn, was an unlooked-for luxury in
the heart of the Rocky Mountains, that none of us could refuse. The
ensuing winter they proposed to build a water-churn, and so make their
friendly brook serve them still further. They had had tolerable crops
of barley, oats, and potatoes, all of which that could be spared they
were husbanding for seed the coming year. They had tried some corn and
wheat, but neither had matured well, and they would hardly venture them
again. Their butter and cheese they sold to the miners over in South
Park, and some they sent even to Denver and a market. They called their
place _Kerber's_ Ranch, after their leading partner, who seemed to be
a live Dutchman all over. Of course, we had to stop to dinner, though
it was not yet noon; and when that meal was announced, they conducted
us to a table Denver might have envied. Trout, venison, grouse, krout,
with all the vegetables of the season, and lager-beer home-brewed, made
up a meal not to be despised anywhere, least of all in the fastnesses
of the Rocky Mountains. They had seen no officers and hardly any body
else, for months, and would take no pay for anything; but gratefully
accepted an armful of "literature," as we bade them good-bye--the last
of our newspapers, magazines, and books still left from our supply on
leaving Denver. Their nearest neighbor was eighteen miles off, and
nearest post-office seventy-five. To Denver was a hundred and fifty
miles, and it took a team a month or more to go there and return
_via_ Poncho Pass. They pronounced the Pass, in response to our eager
inquiries, entirely practicable, with careful driving, if we crossed by
daylight; and with their kindest wishes, we went on our way rejoicing.
Some miles after leaving Kerber's, we began to ascend the mountain,
but the ascent was so gradual you scarcely noticed it. There was no
well-defined road any where--only an old Indian trail for saddle and
pack animals, along which only a few wagons had ever passed before.
We continued to ascend until dusk, hoping to reach and cross the
summit before going into camp; but after sunset, the trail became
so faint and our animals so leg-weary, we were compelled to halt
at the first wood and water we came to. This we did on the bank of
a beautiful stream, that washed the base of a high bluff or rather
"butte," and rushed thence _via_ Homan's Park to the Rio Grande.
Several of us had rode on ahead on horseback, but the teams did not
get up until after dark. Meanwhile, we had gathered wood, and built
a roaring fire; and when the rest arrived, we soon had camp pitched,
and the coffee boiling. We had shot some ducks on the Rio Grande,
and brought along some excellent beef-steaks; and these H. and L.
now broiled before the fire, on sharpened sticks, in a style the
Parker House could hardly have beaten. We found excellent grass here,
although so far up the Pass, and our poor tired animals cropped it
eagerly. The moon was at the full that night, and the sky cloudless;
but before morning the air grew bitter cold. We shivered through
the night, in spite of our blankets and buffalo-robes; and the next
morning at breakfast, the ice formed in our tin-cups between the
intervals of eating and drinking. We were camped, in fact, on the
summit of the Rocky Mountains, at a height of nine or ten thousand
feet above the sea, with snow-peaks all about us, and the only wonder
is that we got through the night so well. For the first time since
leaving Denver, we felt a sense of loneliness and danger; and the
occasional yelping of the wolves around us, in the still midnight
air, did little to allay this. Our animals, also, seemed fretful and
uneasy, and we suspected Indians about, but nothing came of it. We
looked well to our arms before retiring, and talked much of the night
away--it was so cold; and the next morning broke camp early, and were
off up the Pass again.
A half an hour's ride or so brought us to the summit, which
surprised us, as the ascent had been so gentle all the way up from
Kerber's--far less than that of Sangre del Christo from Fort Garland.
The view from the summit we found limited, compared with that from
Sangre del Christo; and soon after we descended into a sheltered nook
knee deep in grass, with wood and water both just at hand, where
we had been advised to camp the night before, if able to reach it.
Following the banks of a diminutive brook, we descended gradually to
Poncho Creek; and here our really bad road began. So far, the Pass
had been excellent, all things considered, and we were astonished
at its bad reputation; but after we crossed Poncho Creek, and got
started down its wild cañon, we soon found ample cause for it all.
A narrow defile, with precipitous banks on either side from five
hundred to a thousand feet high, furnished the only road-way, which
here found room first on one side of the creek and then on the other,
the best it could, and in many places it had to take to the bed of
the creek itself, in order to round the rocky bluffs. The trouble
with the Pass was, it had had no work done on it, and needed grading
badly at several points. A few hundred dollars judiciously expended
would have made it much superior to Sangre del Christo, we all
thought. It is not so high by a thousand feet or more, nor nearly so
steep, and we judged it would yet become one of the favorite routes
to and from San Luis Park.
While the teams were working through, L. and I passed on ahead, with
our rifles at our saddle-bows, hoping to start a bear or shoot a
buck-tail deer, but saw no game of any kind. Our experience among
the mountains on this trip, indeed, was unfavorable to the stirring
accounts we had heard and read of great game there. The lack of trees
there, except in the cañons, and especially of nut-bearing trees,
and likewise of fruit-bearing bushes, must be unfavorable to animal
life, as a rule, and I doubt if there ever was much there, except an
occasional deer or bear, eagle or buzzard. We were surprised to find
so few birds, and scarcely any squirrels, except a little red species
no bigger than our ground-squirrels east. We met two of Kerber's teams
toiling wearily up the Pass, as we descended it, and gave them the
first news they had had from the ranch in weeks. We got several miles
ahead, before we knew it, and did not halt until we reached the foot of
the Pass, where it debouches into the valley of the Little Arkansas.
It was an hour or more before the ambulances overtook us, and then we
received a rough account of their experiences. In several places, they
had had to lash ropes around them and edge them along the hillsides
the best they could. In others, they would have upset repeatedly,
but managed by walking and pushing to keep them on their wheels, and
finally got through safe and sound. The wagon, however, being heavier
and clumsier, had capsized badly, and they had driven ahead and left
it, with instructions to follow on as soon as possible. Crossing the
valley of the little Arkansas and a high range beyond, late in the
afternoon we descended into the valley of the Arkansas proper, and
at sunset went into camp on its banks, near Schwander's ranch. The
Arkansas, we found, was here already a very considerable stream, but we
forded it without difficulty. Our unfortunate wagon, perhaps it should
be added, got along after dark, much the worse for wear; and jaded and
weary with the day's journey, we were glad to pass a quiet night of it.
The next morning we crossed another lofty range, the ascent of which
was wild and picturesque, and thence descended into South Park. Less
in size than the San Luis, and more broken in surface, the South
Park nevertheless has the same general characteristics, though more
nearly circular. Its enclosing mountains are abrupt and bold, and the
views from many points are very striking and charming. Passing out
of it to Denver, we ascended the range from which Leutze is said to
have conceived his well-known painting in the Capitol at Washington,
"Westward the star of Empire takes its way." The facts are little
like the painting aforesaid, because no emigrant train would ever
attempt to pass over such an impossible road, as Leutze has painted:
but the landscape from the point referred to is nevertheless noble
and grand. The range there, I believe, is about eight thousand feet
above the sea. South Park, at your feet, extends say, thirty miles
north and south, by twenty east and west; down in its bosom nestles
a necklace of exquisite little lakes, with streams flashing onward
from the mountains to them; while beyond--all along the west, in
fact--runs the perpetual Snowy Range, notched and peaked, clear cut
and beautiful against the sky, though not so grand and stately as we
had seen it farther south. To the north of the road the range shoots
up nearly a thousand feet higher, but the view from there did not
compensate us for our toil in ascending it. The whole view here,
though fine in its way, lacks breadth and sublimity, as a specimen
of Rocky Mountain scenery, and Leutze would have done better (in
my judgment) had he gone to Sangre del Christo or perhaps Poncho
Pass. The sky and general coloring of his painting are good; but how
inadequately, how feebly they express the exquisite serenity and
unapproachable glory of the Mountains! Bierstadt's skies, though
thought impossible east, are nearer to the truth, as our critics
will yet learn, when they come to know more of Colorado.
[Illustration: TWIN LAKES (South Park).]
In South Park, we had struck a new civilization, the evidences of
which grew constantly more apparent. The Mexican and the herder had
given way to the Yankee and the miner, and the contrast was most
striking. Ranches and settlements were more numerous, and the spirit
of enterprise was everywhere observable. First we struck some saline
springs, where extensive salt-works had already been erected, and they
were reported to be paying well. They were said to furnish a superior
article of salt, at a less price than it could be imported from the
east, and the company expected thus to monopolize the salt-market of
Colorado and the adjoining regions. Beyond these, ranches thickened up
all the way to Fair Play, and we found some splendid duck-shooting in
the marshes, that now and then skirted the road. Some of the flocks,
however, carried off an immense amount of lead, or else H. and L. were
indifferent shots--we were never quite able to decide which. They
were our champion sportsmen, and though they bagged a number of fine
ducks _en route_, they never were entirely satisfied. They both fired
simultaneously at a great flock that rose up as we drove by, and when
none dropped H. protested, "I know I hit a dozen that time, but these
confounded Rocky Mountain ducks don't know what shot is. They fly
away with enough honest lead in them to kill an ordinary eastern duck
twice over." L. of course, confirmed this, and adduced the abundant
feathers as proof of their joint achievement. B. suggested that the
Indians had charmed their fowling-pieces, and meekly inquired of H.,
"Didn't the ducks carry off your shot-pouch also?" At Fair Play, in
the northwest corner of the Park, we found a mining town of four or
five hundred inhabitants, apparently busy and prosperous. Timber grew
plentifully in the neighboring cañons, and now adobe huts gave place
to frame and log shanties. The South Platte skirts the town, and is
already a considerable stream here, although it cannot be far away from
its source. At Fair Play it heads north up into the great Snowy Range,
or water shed of the continent, which feeds it perpetually, and runs
thence east to join the North Platte near Fort McPherson, where we had
struck it by stage-coach a month before. Good "gold diggings" had been
found here long before, and its entire banks about Fair Play have been
dug over, "panned out," and ransacked generally. They presented a torn
and ragged appearance, as if a young earthquake or two had recently
broken out there, and this was not materially improved by the long and
high flumes then going up. When these were completed, they expected to
turn the Platte considerably aside, and to find rich "placer mines"
in its sand-bars and bed again. The principal mining then in South
Park, however, was farther up the Platte, at Empire, Buckskin Joe, and
other euphoniously named places, none of which had we time to visit.
The business generally seemed to be settling down to quartz-mining, as
at Black-Hawk and Central City, and to be passing more and more into
the hands of Companies. We met several huge boilers on the road, _en
route_ to various mills, and it seemed marvellous how they could ever
wagon them so far across the Plains, and up into the very heart of the
Mountains. Progress with them must have been slow and tedious anywhere;
but when they struck a slough, or reached the mountain ranges, then
came the whacks and oaths.
Judge Costello, of the Fair Play House, entertained us while there,
and gave us excellent accommodations. There had been several
inches of snow at Fair Play a few days before, and arriving just at
nightfall after a long day's drive, we felt the cold very keenly. But
the Judge soon had a roaring fire blazing on his hearth, and welcomed
us to Fair Play right royally. In due time he gave us a substantial
dinner, piping hot--roast-beef, chicken-fricasee, potatoes with their
jackets on, dried-apple-pie and coffee--a meal that seemed supremely
Sybaritic, after "roughing it" by the roadside for over a fortnight.
We did ample justice to it, having breakfasted nearly twelve hours
before, and then adjourned to a common bed-room, where we smoked
and read the papers until midnight. We had seen none since leaving
Denver, nearly a month before; but Judge C. happened to have just
received a large supply, which we devoured eagerly. The elections in
California and Oregon had just been held, and the North was again
rocking with enthusiasm. Andrew Johnson's apostacy, it was clear,
promised to be a losing game after all. The spirit of a few people
at last was aroused, as after the firing on Sumter, and evidently
the nation meant again neither to be bribed nor scared. True, the
November elections were yet to come; but we took increased faith in
the virtue and intelligence of the masses, and rejoiced that Congress
was still true to Liberty. Absence from "the states" is a great
purifier of one's political ideas. We see things at home clearer, and
reverence the Union more, the farther we get away from New York and
Washington. We forgot all the wretched hair-splitting east, by one
side or the other; and came to love only the old flag, in its highest
and best significance, as the symbol of freedom and justice, for each
and for all men, the broad continent across and the wide world over.
The next morning, a young miner invited us out to take a look at
a fine specimen of the American black-eagle, which he had caught a
few days before, while "prospecting" along the Snowy Range. He was
comparatively a young bird still, yet measured some six feet from tip
to tip of wings, and was as brave and fierce as a tiger. He was kept
chained by the leg in a dark stable; but he was as wide awake as he
could be, and screamed and flew savagely at every one who came near
him. It was intended to forward him to the great Fair soon to be held
at St. Louis, as a specimen of the feathered tribe from Colorado,
where no doubt he created a sensation. His eyes were bright and keen
as a falchion, and his talons ugly looking grappling-irons. So, too,
his legs were massive, compact columns, that seemed made for strength
and endurance. And altogether he was not a bad representative of the
Rocky Mountains, where his species have their birth-place and home.
From Fair Play we descended the South Platte direct to Denver,
following the course of the river wherever practicable. In some places,
its narrow and precipitous cañons prevented this, but we always
returned to its banks again as soon as possible. Some miles from Fair
Play, we passed several gems of lakes, which H. declared to be "the
natural home of the wild-duck;" but though the ducks were there, he
failed to bag any, greatly to his disgust. L. more fortunate, got
one, and killed several others, but failed to reach them because of
the marshes. Our road led over several ranges, some of them quite
precipitous, but in the main followed the windings of the Platte, as
before said. Here and there the wild cañons, through which the Platte
sped like an arrow, became picturesque in the extreme. Frequently our
course ahead seemed barred by impenetrable fastnesses, yet somehow
we always got through. High and rocky cliffs towered all about us,
and all up and down these, wherever they could secure a foothold, the
fir, pine, maple, ash, etc. grew densely. As we neared Denver, ranches
became more frequent, and saw-mills multiplied, the lumber from which
was shipped far and near, among the mines and across the Plains, even
to Julesburg and Fort Riley. The road in the main was a natural way;
but here and there it had been blasted out of the bluff, or built up on
the edge of the Platte, at large expense, and I believe is a chartered
turnpike from Fair Play down. The Platte alone makes such a road
practicable, and South Park and all its dependencies would be virtually
inaccessible, were it not for this great natural highway into the very
heart of the Mountains. Altogether, it is a remarkably good road, all
things considered, and so are the majority of the roads there. As a
rule, they follow the streams that seem to lead almost everywhere among
the ranges, as if purposely chiseled out from the beginning, as future
pathways of civilization. Our miners, taking the hint, carry their
roads over heights, and through depths, and among peaks, that would
appal most eastern engineers, and thus enable us to conquer nature in
her mightiest strongholds.
The last day out from Denver, we ascended Bradford's Hill--our last
serious climb--about noon. This is in reality the first range of the
mountains, and gets itself up to some 8,000 feet above the sea; but is
yet termed a "Hill," in Colorado parlance. We all got out or dismounted
and walked up, to relieve our worn animals, and became well blown
ourselves before reaching the summit--the atmosphere grew so rare.
As we rounded its western shoulder, we caught a grand view of the
Snowy Range again, solemn and sublime over and above all intervening
peaks and ridges; but with one accord, all hastened forward to behold
once more the Plains, the Plains! Yes, there they were, in all their
immeasurable extent! We were out of the Mountains--our long jaunt
almost over. No more cañons. No more forests. No more snow-squalls. No
more rides, hour by hour, through narrow valleys and defiles, where
the whole man feels "cabined, cribbed, confined." No. There were the
Plains, illimitable, grand, in all their immensity and sublimity. We
thought the view from Sangre del Christo fine, and so it is; but as a
view of the Plains proper, without the Mountains thrown in, this view
from Bradford's Hill, I think, perhaps surpasses it. There is no end
to the vast outstretch and outlook, and in the serene atmosphere of
that region the eye ranges over it all with an ease and freedom, only
equalled by the eagle himself when poised in mid air. To say that the
Plains are visible for miles on miles--north, south, east--is but a
feeble description of the wonderful panorama, that there unfolds before
you. To the south appeared Castle Rock and its sister buttes, that we
had passed three weeks before, looking now like mole-hills beneath us.
Issuing from the Mountains at our feet, we could trace the South Platte
and Cherry Creek to where they unite near Denver, and then follow the
Platte on and on to the east, till lost in the far horizon. Denver lay
like a toy-city, seemingly at the base of the Mountains, though really
twenty miles away. Over all, was one of those perfect days,
"So cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky."
as old George Herbert wrote, which no Bostonian or Gothamite ever
truly witnesses--with not a cloud or haze even visible, the air so
pure it was joy to breathe it and ecstacy to gaze abroad through it.
Verily, here in Colorado, if anywhere.
"The sky _is_ a drinking cup,
That was overturned of old,
And it pours into the eyes of men
Its wine of airy gold;
We drink that wine all day
Till the last drop is drained up,
And are lighted off to bed,
By the jewels in the cup."
Off to the southwest, just shouldering over the range, presently
a white cloud loomed up, no bigger than a man's hand; but the dry
atmosphere east was too much for it, and it faded away as fast as it
toppled over. As we stood gazing at the immensity before us, some one
incidentally said, "I think I now understand how Bilboa felt, when
from the summit of the Andes he beheld the Pacific;" and it is a good
illustration of the identity of thought under like circumstances,
that half-a-dozen others quickly responded, "You bet! Just thinking
of the same thing!"
We reached Denver the same evening, jaded and travel-stained,
but full of enthusiasm over our trip among the mountains. We had
traversed nine counties, some as large as a moderate state east, and
been absent nearly a month in all. We had been reported captured and
slain by the Indians, as much as two or three times, but from first
to last did not see a hostile aborigine. We drove the same animals
down and back, over five hundred miles continuously, without the
loss of a mule, and seldom made less than thirty or forty miles a
day, when on the road. Our ambulances proved very convenient and
serviceable, but in crossing the ranges or in bad cañons I always
preferred a mule. My favorite was Kate, a noble jenny, as large as
a horse and a splendid walker, that carried me over many a mile
delightfully. She was as gentle as a kitten, and as faithful as a
dog--it sometimes seemed almost as knowing as a man--obeying every
whim of her rider, and following him everywhere. If any mule ever
attains immortality and a sort of heaven hereafter, surely Kate
deserves to. In crossing the ranges or threading the cañons thus,
on horse or mule back, several of us would often get miles ahead,
and the time thus gained afforded ample leisure for observation and
reflection. We were seldom at a loss for conversation, there was so
much to investigate and discuss; but when all else failed, we amused
ourselves by organizing (on paper) two monster Mining Companies, with
fabulous capitals, in which we divided off and took stock. I believe
I belonged to the Grand Sangre del Christo Rocky Mountain Mutual
Benefit Gold and Silver Mining Association; capital, $20,000,000!
H. and C. and others constituted a rival company, with like assets
and name equally pretentious. We set up these financial fictions
early in the trip, when somebody fell to talking about "feet;" and
what with selling "short," operating for a "rise," "corralling the
market," "declaring dividends," and abusing each others' "Company,"
they served to while away many an idle interval. The last afternoon
out, we "consolidated," shook hands over the "union," elected a full
"Board of Officers," and adjourned to receive our "joint dividends,"
at New York; but hitherto have never been so fortunate as to get a
"quorum" together there, and doubt now if we ever will.