THROUGH THE WASATCH MOUNTAINS
Fred, who one afternoon had been riding in advance, was observed toward
the close of the day waving his old hat and shouting, "Hurrah, here is
water!" We had been traveling many hours across a desolate, barren
country that lay silent and apparently lifeless beneath a bright sun,
and the announcement that water was in sight was received with great
satisfaction. We soon descended toward a swift-running stream, along
which there strolled a solitary man, the only person we had seen during
the day. He paused at the ford, awaiting our arrival.
"What stream is this?" we asked the stranger.
"Smith Fork," was the reply.
"This appears to be a good place to camp," remarked Fred.
"You'll go a long way before you find another," said the stranger as he
drew nigh to our horsemen.
"Do you live in these parts?"
"Yes, I have a ranch down below here, and I'd like to have you come and
see me."
We promised to respond to his invitation, as soon as our stock could be
properly picketed on the range. An hour later Ben, Fred, and I sauntered
down the stream and were soon at the door of a good-sized cabin, in
which stood our new acquaintance ready to receive us. He was a strong,
fine-looking fellow, with a genial face, and he welcomed us most
cordially. The room into which we were immediately ushered, although
simple in its appointments, as was to be expected in the cabin of a
frontiersman in such a wilderness, nevertheless had an air of comfort.
The attractive arrangement of various little articles indicated that
woman was the presiding genius; for there is an indescribable something
that is imparted even to the rudest cabin by a woman's hands.
In a short time a young lady of engaging appearance entered the room,
whom our host introduced to us as his wife, Clara. The boys all rose
instantly to take the hand of this Queen of the valley of Smith Fork.
When we resumed our seats, the rancher asked the usual questions
concerning our destination. Learning in addition to other facts that one
of our party, Paul Beemer, had with him in his wagon a stock of jewelry
which he was taking West to sell, the mountaineer requested that some of
the articles be brought over to the cabin, so that the women might see
them.
All is not gold that glitters, and this was true of the treasures that
Paul possessed, which had been packed away in attractive packages in his
wagon. He was perfectly willing to present for inspection a few choice
samples, which he believed would interest the ladies of Smith Fork,
whoever they might be. The society of that entire valley as far as we
could learn, was centered in this one cabin, but we knew nothing of the
character of the household.
In response to the rancher's request, Paul soon appeared bearing a few
packages containing his choicest jewels, which were soon opened upon a
table in the room where we had been received.
In anticipation of the pleasure in store for them, two other young
women soon came rushing into the room in high glee. To our surprise,
these also were introduced as wives of the host.
They were all certainly very attractive in personal appearance, and none
of the three seemed to be more than twenty-three years of age. The
husband was a comparatively young man.
"With such a fine family we may safely conclude that you are a Mormon,"
said Ben.
"You are correct," replied the rancher. "We are of the church of Latter
Day Saints, and I think I have a fine family."
This sentiment met our cordial endorsement. Being thus introduced for
the first time into a Mormon home, and having read much concerning the
doctrines and practices of this people, I was very curious, as other
persons have been, to observe something of their religious life and the
manner in which their complex domestic affairs are managed. In later
years I have been received in many Mohammedan homes in Turkey and other
parts of the Orient, but among those people, as is well known, the women
of the household are required to retire from the room before a guest may
enter, however intimate that guest may be with the host. These young
women of Utah were apparently as free to converse with guests as would
be the wife of an Illinois farmer. They were also refined and modest in
deportment.
As soon as Paul had spread out upon the table several trays of his most
attractive jewelry, imported as I believed from Connecticut, the ladies
proceeded to examine the articles. There were so-called amethyst pins
and earrings, the jewels of which were of an excellent quality of
exquisitely colored glass, and necklaces that might please a queen, if
she did not know how little they cost. The young women were delighted,
and when one of them espied a pin that had the appearance of an emerald
set with diamonds she made a dive for it and, holding it to her neck,
asked the husband, in whom she had a one-third interest, if it was not
beautiful. He seemed favorably impressed with the combination, and asked
the price of the treasure. It was a good opportunity for Paul to ask
about nine thousand dollars, but he was square, and informed the
admiring husband that as he, Paul, was not regularly in business he
would make the price to him ten dollars, because he was anxious to
realize on a few articles and ready to make a sacrifice to obtain a
little money. The pin was immediately presented to the young wife by the
husband, who said that the other girls must have something equally fine.
It will be readily understood that in a home with three young wives, the
principle of the square deal must be fundamental, otherwise there will
be jealousies and heart-burnings.
The Mormon rancher stood a little distance back from the enthusiastic
group in the Smith Fork cabin, and with a broad smile upon his face
watched his wives while they reveled freely in the assortment of cheap
jewelry. Paul did not hand the treasures out article by article with the
watchful care that is practiced by the trained diamond salesmen in the
great New York shops, but allowed free access to his goods. When the
young women had satisfied their hearts' desire, the husband was
apparently the happiest person in the group and promptly paid cash for
the articles selected. Thus the lord of this frontier manor with a free
and easy air scanned with an eye to equity the articles with which his
several wives were adorning themselves and (as we believed) was
conscious of the fact that there would be an hereafter, in case one of
them should believe herself to be the subject of unfavorable
discrimination.
Our visit to this new Mormon home far out in the mountains became the
subject of much discussion in the evening, and in fact made a lasting
impression on us. What were to be the experiences of this family as the
months should go by, and the responsibilities of later years should rest
upon the father and mothers? Could the husband under this system
religiously preserve the principle of the square deal, and not find
among the three who were pledged to share his joys and sorrows one who,
because of some peculiar attraction, should become a favorite, and for
that cause rouse the green-eyed monster in the breasts of her sisters?
Would they all welcome the fourth wife, if another should be escorted to
the door?
On the morning after our arrival at Smith Fork I was called at 12.30
A. M., it being my duty that morning to stand guard until the breakfast
hour, which was to be at daybreak. We soon discovered that our course
had led us to the thoroughfare pursued by the Holliday mail coaches. The
trail was stony, and many steep hills were ascended and descended. At
noon we reached Fort Bridger, established by James Bridger, to whom
Bancroft and other high authorities have accorded the honor of the first
discovery of Great Salt Lake, whose waters he reached when in the
service of Henry and Ashley of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company. Bancroft
also states that Franciscan friars, who explored in the southern
country, had evidently learned of this lake through the Yutah Indians
inhabiting that region.
[Illustration: WEBER RIVER, MOUTH OF ECHO CANYON]
Fort Bridger was beautifully situated near one of the tributaries of
Black Fork, 124 miles northeast of Salt Lake, at an elevation of about
seven thousand feet above the sea. Some incidents in the history of
this Fort in its relation to the Mormons, as given to me personally, may
be more properly mentioned in another chapter. At Fort Bridger we found
many Snake and Bannock Indians, who were then at peace with all the
world, except the Sioux. It was reported that three thousand Snakes had
left this post the week preceding our arrival.
The scenery between Fort Bridger and the entrance to Salt Lake valley,
as observed from our pathway, is grand and interesting. Having passed
over the divide and thence down to the swift waters of Bear River, we
again ascended to another summit and thence into the upper entrance to
Echo Canyon, a wild gorge hemmed in by sandstone cliffs. Toward the
close of the day we overtook a Mormon farmer having a wagonload of
garden truck and other produce. We had not tasted a fresh vegetable
since leaving Nebraska City in May, and it was now the eighth of August.
We were in a frame of mind similar to that of the Israelites in the
wilderness of Sin, when they sighed for the good things back in Egypt.
Paul was delegated to interview the farmer in a diplomatic manner and if
possible negotiate for something to eat, but under no circumstances to
divulge the fact that we were famishing for a change of diet, which if
known might cause the farmer to establish high prices, for he certainly
had an effective corner on the green goods market. Paul reported that
the best prices he could obtain were six bits, or seventy-five cents,
per pound for butter; eight cents per pound for potatoes; ten cents for
onions.
"Did he say six bits?" asked Uncle Simeon Cobb.
"He did," replied Paul.
"Then he is from Missouri," continued the deacon.
The order finally was to buy potatoes and onions. "They are a good
buy," said the deacon, whereupon we instantly went into camp. In fact,
it was near the close of the day, and the clear, bright waters of Echo
Creek rushing down the narrow gorge, and the little patches of grass on
which our horses might revel, presented every inducement needed for
pitching our tent, but the supreme reason was onions and potatoes.
Soon the delicate fragrance of frying onions, as all pervasive as the
aroma of an orange grove, was diffusing itself throughout that beautiful
and magnificent valley. The party watched around the campfire, as if in
fear that something might be wasted in the air. The potatoes, carefully
counted, were placed beneath the ashes, where for one long hour they
must lie unseen and untasted. How long and how many its sixty minutes!
Much has been written by would-be purveyors on the art of cooking
various mixtures. To many of these concoctions, some of which are unfit
to be introduced into the human stomach, there have been ascribed names
usually of French coinage, the purpose of which is both to disguise the
commonplace ingredients used and to compensate in some measure for lack
of attractiveness to the palate, by spicing the compound with a
mysterious name of foreign derivation.
On the other hand it may be interesting to the fastidious epicure to
glance at some instructions for properly cooking one simple article in
plain American style, _al fresco_, the recipe for which is prepared by
an intelligent expert as the precipitate of personal experience.
HOW TO ROAST POTATOES IN CAMP. First secure the potatoes. Wrap them
separately in wet paper or something of a similar nature that may be
available. Bury them in the hot ashes of the campfire and cover with
hot embers. Let them remain an hour. Then call the boys. In serving
they should not be cut open with a knife, but should be divided by
breaking.
This artless method of cooking this well-known tuber imparts to it a
wholesomeness and palatableness that surpass all the countless _à la's_
with which caterers have deluded the public in its preparation. One such
example of Wild West cooking may suffice in this connection.
Possibly the _chef-d'oeuvre_ of our supper in Echo Canyon was the onions
and bacon, the pleasant savor of which was doubtless heightened by our
thirty-mile ride and tramp in an exhilarating atmosphere after a ten
weeks' total abstinence from vegetable diet.
The well-fed epicure may fail to grasp the full significance of these
conditions, but it was expressed with unction at a banquet given by a
venerable and wealthy bachelor, an acquaintance of the writer. Favorable
comments were passing round the board concerning the excellence of
various articles that were being served. One of the guests, who had been
an intimate friend of the host for nearly a half century, facetiously
said; "Gentlemen, even the excellent cook for this occasion, and, in
fact, all of the modern caterers fail to impart to the viands they serve
the peculiar and appetizing flavor that was given by the old mothers,
when I was a boy, to all their domestic cookery." "Is that so, George?
And how old was your palate then?" was the host's prompt repartee. All
of which throws light on the vagaries of a man's appetite.
Under favorable conditions Echo Canyon is a charming ravine. While our
evening campfire was lighting up the deep gorge, Ben, Fred and I
wandered down the banks of Echo Creek, the bright waters of which glide
along the base of overhanging sandstone cliffs, and we soon guessed why
the canyon had received its present name. To the focus of the vast
concaves that have been scooped from some of the cliffs the sound of our
voices came back with redoubled power, and to other points with softer
reverberations startling in effect. It is an unobservant traveler whose
attention has not often been arrested by weird echoes coming to his ears
from some mountain cliffs, but in the shadows of this canyon we
discussed the phenomena of echoes while interesting demonstrations were
being made. We endeavored to calculate the distance of the unseen cliffs
that sent back the sound, and then speculated upon the effect such
phenomena would produce upon the minds of an imaginative people like the
Greeks of the older period, who were ready at any time to pay homage to
any deity previously unrecognized. It was not strange that they should
conceive the fiction of the Nymph Echo, who because of her babbling was
made to pine away into a bodiless voice. Nights leisurely spent in these
canyons would lead the untutored mind to let loose its fancy, if it
possessed any, and people this mountain valley with beings more than
human.
As we looked westward down the canyon we noticed a little grove of
quaking aspen trees which had sent some of their slender branches above
the lines of the cliffs beyond, so that they were silhouetted against
the evening sky. Although the air seemed to be perfectly still in the
valley, the leaves of the aspen trees were vigorously shaking, as if
some invisible sprites were using them to wave signals across the gorge.
From the ravines now and then there came the dismal howl of a timber
wolf, and the cry, hurled back from the echoing rocks, was repeated
after a little delay, as if the wolf had been awaiting the returning
sound, like enough to his own to be the voice of his hungry brother. The
little stream continued to flow down the valley over its stony bed,
rushing under overhanging willows, singing its own peculiar music, in
which there was any melody that one's fancy might conceive.
Amidst these startling sounds we wandered through the gloom nearly a
mile down the dark, rocky road where we decided that it was time to
return. Before retracing our steps up the canyon we gave a short whoop,
which as before was echoed back from the other side. To our astonishment
the first echo was quickly followed by a soft, suppressed whoop and
echo, evidently the voice of a girl. We repeated our call, but no voice
then came back except our own. Renewed curiosity impelled us to follow
the pathway farther down stream. The light of a campfire soon broke
through the foliage, and it became evident that another party was in the
valley. Approaching the group, we discovered to our great surprise and
pleasure that it was the family of Dr. Brown from whom we had separated
at Julesburg and who intended to remain in Denver. On their arrival at
that mining camp, letters were received by the doctor urging him to
proceed at once to Oregon where a friend had located at a place offering
an excellent opportunity for a physician to practice his profession.
Echo Canyon, which proved to be so interesting to us and in which
several days and nights were again spent later in the season, is
twenty-three miles in length and increases in depth as it narrows down
to its outlet into the valley of the Weber River. At a few points,
narrow, steep ravines radiate from the main canyon, and in their walls a
few small caves are found. From the summits above the valley the views
obtained were superb.
At the break of day after our first night in Echo Canyon, we heard the
approaching mail coach rattling along the stony road, making its best
possible speed down the rapidly descending grade, turning short curves
on the dizzy edge of cliffs over which a slight deviation would have
hurled it upon the rocks below. A glimpse into the open windows, as the
coach rolled by, revealed the passengers within half-reclining in
various attitudes, doubtless weary with their long ride and evidently
unconscious of the grand scenery through which they were plunging.
On the ninth of August we reached the station at the mouth of the
canyon, and a general rush was made for the establishment in which we
learned there was a telegraph office, the wires having been strung to
Salt Lake several months previous to our visit. Many weeks had passed
since we had received any intelligence from the busy world.
"What's the news from America?" asked Ben after we had entered the door.
"Here's the last Salt Lake paper," said the genial proprietor, as he
laid the welcome sheet upon the counter.
We gathered closely around the journal, and all read the first
headlines: "The Success of the Prussians Attributed to the Needle Gun."
"What have the Prussians been doing with Needle guns?" was asked.
"Fighting, of course," said the man behind the counter. "You probably
haven't heard of the European war. Here are other papers," he added, as
he laid them before us.
These disclosed the fact that on the third day of the preceding month
(July,) a great decisive battle had been fought between the Prussians
and the Austrians at Königgrätz in Bohemia, now called the battle of
Sadowa, in which the Austrians had lost 40,000 men. But why had we not
learned before leaving the states that war existed between those
nations? Further investigation showed that the first message through
the Atlantic cable, which had been quietly laid, was received on July
29th, and it announced that a treaty of peace had been concluded between
Austria and Prussia, a surprise in that day of slow-going even in New
York. On the same day telegrams of congratulation passed between Queen
Victoria and President Johnson on the successful completion of the link
between the two countries, and these were also quoted in the Salt Lake
papers. News from Europe at the close of the Prussian war reached Salt
Lake two weeks more quickly than was possible at the beginning of that
conflict, which lasted only seven weeks. Thus it seemed that although we
were ten weeks in travel farther from Europe than we were when we moved
out from Nebraska City, we were twelve weeks nearer to it in time of
communication than we would have been without the telegraph. As we
passed along on the following days in sight of the cold, silent wires
strung across that wild country, we were conscious that signals were
probably flying through them that others could read, yet for us there
was no message from home that we could see or hear. It was, therefore,
remarked that if we could read the signals which then might be passing
through space where there were no wires, or could understand even the
call of the birds that nested in those rocks, and would soon migrate, we
should be wiser than other men.
Our trail through the Wasatch Mountains zigzagged at acute angles to
reach the canyons through which it must pass and in a manner which
sometimes leaves the observant traveler bewildered concerning the
direction in which he is going. The average immigrant simply follows
such a trail in the abiding faith that it will come out somewhere.
From Echo our trail bore sharply to east of south, thence westward into
Silver Creek Canyon, thence southward through that gorge, thence
westward through Parley's Canyon, at all times following the sinuosities
of mountain streams and crooked valleys.
Beyond a little flouring mill on the Weber River we pitched an
attractive camp, where Fred found water on a mountain side.
Some experiences in Silver Creek and Parley's Canyon will be mentioned
in connection with another trip through these ranges of mountains. On
the morning of August 11th I stood guard from midnight on the western
limits of the beautiful Parley's Park. At 2.45 A. M. as prearranged, the
camp was roused that we might make an early start. At noon we lunched on
a high cliff near the west end of Parley's Canyon, a point not reached
by the present road. In the distance, the waters of Great Salt Lake
sparkled in the sunlight and between it and us was spread that
interesting valley, which once was an alkaline desert soon to be made to
blossom as the rose. In its bosom was the new City of the Saints, which
we entered near the close of the day.