WE STEPPED OVER THE RIDGE AND COURTED THE FAVOR OF NEW AND UNTRIED
WATERS.
Between Independence Rock and Devil's Gate we cross the river, which is
about four feet deep and thirty or forty feet wide. There was a man
lying down in the shade of his tent, who had logs enough fastened
together to hold one wagon, which he kindly loaned the use of for fifty
cents for each wagon, we to do the work of ferrying. Rather than to wet
our traps, we paid the price. The stock was driven through the ford.
We camped at the base of some rocky cliffs, and while we were getting
our supper an Indian was noticed peering from behind some rocks, taking
a view of the camp. One of the boys got his rifle from the wagon and
fired at him. He drew in his head and we saw no more of him, but kept a
strong guard out all night.
The trail that followed up the Sweetwater was generally a very good
road, with good camping-place's and fair grass for stock; while grass
and sage brush for fuel and excellent water made the trip of about
ninety miles very pleasant, as compared with some of the former route.
We now came to the last-leaving of the Sweetwater, which is within ten
miles of the highest elevation of the South Pass. The springs and the
little stream on which we were camped, across which one could have
stepped, was the last water we saw that flowed into the Atlantic. We
were upon the summit or dividing line of the continent. With our faces
to the southward, the stream at our left flowed east and into the
Atlantic, while that upon our right flowed west into the Pacific.
There was something not altogether pleasant in considering the
conditions. Following and crossing and studying the streams as we had so
long been doing, it was not without a tinge of regret and broken
fellowship that we stepped over the ridge and courted the favor of new
and untried waters.
The abrupt ending of the great Wind River Mountain range was at our
right. These mountains are always more or less capped with snow. To the
south, perhaps one hundred miles, could be seen the main ridge of the
Rocky Mountains looming up faintly against the sky. The landscape,
looking at it from the camp, was certainly pleasing, if not beautiful.
During the day there could be seen bunches of deer, antelope, and elk
grazing and running about on the ridges, the whole making a picture
never to be forgotten. The sky was clear, the air pure and invigorating,
the sun shone warm by day and the stars bright at night.
The spot proved to be a "parting of the ways" in more than one sense,
for it was here, before the breaking of camp, that the company decided
to separate, not as to interests, but as to modes of travel.
Some of our wagons were pretty nearly worn out, and, as we had but
little in them, there were sixteen men who that night decided to give up
their five wagons and resort to "packing." Consequently the remaining
three wagons, including Captain and Mrs. Wadsworth, bade us goodby and
pulled out in the morning. This parting of the trail, as had been the
case in the parting of the waters, was not without its smack of regret.
For four months we had travelled as one family, each having at heart the
interest and comfort of the others. There had been days of sickness and
an hour of death; there was a grave at the roadside; there had had been
times of danger and disheartenment; all of which marshalled themselves
to memory's foreground as the question of division was talked _pro_ and
_con_ by the entire family while camped at the base of the snow-capped
mountains on that midsummer night.
After the departure of the three wagons we who remained resolutely set
ourselves to work to prepare, as best we could, ourselves and our
belongings for the packing mode of travel. For three days and nights we
remained there busily engaged. We took our wagons to pieces, cutting out
such pieces as were necessary to make our pack saddles. One bunch of men
worked at the saddles, another bunch separated the harnesses and put
them in shape for the saddles, while others made big pouches or
saddle-bags out of the wagon covers, in which to carry provisions and
cooking utensils.
The spot upon which our camp was located was in the vicinity of what is
now known as Smith's Pass, Wyoming. During one of our afternoons here
Nature treated us to one of the grandest spectacles ever witnessed by
mortal eyes. We first noticed a small cloud gathering about the top of
the mountain, which presently commenced circling around the peak,
occasionally reaching over far enough to drop down upon us a few
sprinkles of water, although the sun was shining brightly where we were.
As the cloud continued to circle, it increased in size, momentum, and
density of color, spreading out like a huge umbrella. Soon thunder could
be heard, growing louder and more frequent until it became one
continuous roar, fairly shaking the earth. Long, vivid flashes of
lightning chased each other in rapid succession over the crags and lost
themselves in crevice and ravine. All work was forgotten. In fact, one
would as soon think of making saddles in the immediate presence of the
Almighty as in the presence of that terrific, but sublime spectacle upon
the mountain heights. Every man stood in reverential attitude and gazed
in speechless wonder and admiration. David and Moses and the Christ had
much to do with mountains in their day; and, as we watched the power of
the elements that afternoon, we realized as never before how David could
hear the floods clap their hands and see expressions of joy or anger
upon the faces of the mountains; and how Mount Sinai might have looked
as it became the meeting-place of the Lord and Moses and the tables of
stone. The storm lasted about an hour, and when at last Nature seemed to
have exhausted herself the great mountain-top stood out again in the
clear sunlight, wearing a new mantle of the whitest snow.
During our three-days' camp we had a number of callers from other
trains, also six or eight Indians, among whom we divided such things as
we could not take with us.
In the evening of the last day, we made a rousing camp-fire out of our
wagon wheels, which we piled on top of each other, kindling a fire under
them, around which we became reminiscent and grew rested for an early
start on the morrow.
All things finally ready, we brought up the animals in the morning to
fit their saddles and packs to them. One very quiet animal was packed
with some camp-kettles, coffee-pots, and other cooking traps. As soon as
he was let loose and heard the tinware rattle he broke and ran, bringing
up in a quagmire up to his sides. The saddle had turned, and his hind
feet stepping into the pack well nigh ruined all our cooking utensils.
We managed to pull him out of the mire and quieted him down, but we
could never again put anything on him that rattled. We took our guns and
provisions and only such clothing as we had on, leaving all else behind.
I remember putting on a pair of new boots that I had brought from home,
which I did not take off until I had been some time in California, nor
any other of my clothes, lying down in my blanket on the ground, like
the rest of the animals.
As we turned out for noon, we saw off toward the mountain a drove of
eleven elk. I took my rifle and creeping behind rocks and through
ravines, tried to get in range of them, but with all my caution, they
kept just beyond my reach. But I had a little luck toward night just as
we were turning into camp. Out by a bunch of sagebrush sat the largest
jack rabbit I ever saw. I raised my rifle and hit him squarely in the
neck, killing him. I took him by the hind feet and slung him over my
shoulder, and as I hung hold of his feet in front, his wounded neck came
down to my heels behind. His ears were as long as a mule's ears. We
dressed it and made it into rabbit stew by putting into the kettle
first a layer of bacon and then one of rabbit, and then a layer of
dumpling, which we made from flour and water, putting in layer after
layer of this sort until our four camp-kettles were filled. We had a
late supper that night. It was between 9 and 10 o'clock before our stews
were done to a turn, but what a luscious feast was ours when they were
finally ready. I can think of no supper in my whole life that I have
enjoyed so much as I did that one. We had plenty left over for our
sixteen breakfasts the next morning, and some of the boys packed the
remainder as a relish for the noon meal.
Soon after our start in the morning, we came to the Big Sandy, a stream
tributary to Green River. The land here had more of the appearance of a
desert than any we had yet seen. Out on the plain the trail forked, the
left hand leading via Fort Bridges and Salt Lake City, while the right
hand led over what is known as Sublett's Cut-off. Being undecided as to
which fork to follow, we finally submitted it to vote, which proved to
be a large majority in favor of the Cut-off, it having been reported
that the Mormons were inciting the Indians to attack immigrants.
The road here was hard and flinty, and, for more than a mile passed down
a steep hill, at the bottom of which we noticed that wagon tires were
worn half through owing to the wheels being locked for such a long
distance.
This was Green River valley, and, where we made our crossing, the water
being deep and cold, with a swift current. There was a good ferry boat,
on which, after nearly a day's waiting, we ferried over our pack animals
at one dollar per head; the balance of the stock we swam across. A short
way on we had to ford a fork of the same river, and were then in an
extremely mountainous country, up one side and down the other, until we
reached Bear River valley.
We came down off the uplands into the valley and beside the river to
camp, where we had an experience as exasperating as it was unexpected.
Seeing some fine looking grass, half knee high, we started for it, when
all at once clouds of the most persistent and venomous mosquitos filled
the air, covering the animals, which began stamping and running about,
some of them lying down and rolling in great torment. We hurried the
packs and saddles off them and sent a guard of men back to the hills
with them. The rest of us wrapped ourselves head and ears and laid down
in the grass without supper or water for man or beast. About 3 o'clock
in the morning, the mosquitos having cooled down to some extent, the
guard brought in the pack animals, which we loaded, and, like the Arab,
"silently stole away." Returning to the road and getting the balance of
the stock, we moved along the base of the hills, and about sunrise came
to a beautiful spring branch, which crossed the trail, refreshing us
with its cool, sparkling water. Here we went up into the hills and into
camp for a day and a night, to rest and recuperate from our terrible
experience of the night before.
It was now the first of July. By keeping close to the base of the hills
we found good travelling and an abundance of clear spring-water. At
nights we camped high up in the hills, where the mosquito was not.