TWO GREAT EMIGRATIONS.
SHORTLY after the discovery of the Great Salt Lake by Fremont, took
place that remarkable event in Illinois which led to the peopling
of the Great Basin with the Mormons, or Latter-day Saints, followers
of the so-called martyr, Joe Smith, who, thrown into prison for the
crimes he had committed in the name of religion, was murdered by
a band of roughs on the 29th June, 1844. The State of Illinois had
granted the Mormons lands, and they had lived long enough on them to
found the city of Nauvoo, in which they had built a huge and imposing
temple of polished marble.
After the murder of Smith, the original inhabitants of Illinois,
disgusted at the immoral practices of the Mormons, compelled them to
sell their property and leave the state. The Saints now resolved to
emigrate far away from all civilized communities, and to found a new
republic among the vast solitudes of the Rocky Mountains. Explorers
were sent out in different directions to choose the best locality for
the purpose, and their reports led to the selection of the Great Salt
Lake Valley. Westward then the emigrants, headed by their new prophet
Brigham Young, began to move, their exodus resembling that of the
Israelites from Egypt more than any of modern times.
In February, 1846, the Mississippi, then frozen over, was crossed, and
a journey of fifteen hundred miles, through a country without roads,
bridges, rivers, or wells, and peopled by wild bands of Pawnee and
Shoshone Indians, was commenced. Bravely, however, the multitudes
pushed on, and however we may condemn their peculiar tenets, we can
not withhold from them our admiration for the faith which braced them
up in what they looked upon as suffering for righteousness’ sake.
Still more must we honor the moral courage which, when the war broke
out between the United States and Mexico, led Young to send five
hundred of his sturdiest men to help their country in her hour of need,
the ranks of his followers closing up, when they were gone, to face
the now double dangers of the way, with no perceptible weakening of
resolution.
The Missouri was safely forded, and the great wilderness beyond was
traversed without any great loss of life. Then came the ascent of the
Rocky Mountains, already associated with the memory of so much heroism,
and, early in the year 1847, the western slopes resounded to the clang
of trumpets and the tramp of thousands going down at last to take
possession of their desolate inheritance on the shores of the “still
innocent Dead Sea.”
Without a day’s, with scarcely an hour’s delay, work was commenced,
and, as if by magic, the dreary wilderness began to blossom as a rose.
The rivers of the hills were diverted from their courses to irrigate
the fields; homestead after homestead rose from the salt-encumbered
plains; patches of orchards broke the dull monotony of the sands;
the Utahs and Shoshones were won over by gifts and kindness to act
as hunters and trappers for the new-comers, and before a year was
over, Salt Lake City rose from the banks of a river aptly named
Jordan, between Lake Utah and the Great Salt Lake. A tabernacle――not
so imposing as the last marble temple, but still a grand edifice to
rise from such a spot――soon enabled the Mormons to worship once more
according to their peculiar rites; emigrants poured in from every side,
and in less than twenty years from the founding of Salt Lake City its
population numbered 8,218.
As a matter of course, this great movement was attended by the opening
up of the surrounding country. Numerous expeditions were sent out from
the United States to inquire into the position of the infant community,
and to explore new routes from the Great Basin to the Pacific. In
the years 1849 and 1850 an exhaustive survey of the river systems,
mountain ranges, etc., of the whole district was made by Captain
Stansbury of the American army; and in his report the student will
find much valuable information supplementary to that won by our heroes
of actual discovery. But his work sinks into insignificance before
the thrilling interest of the second great migration of our own day,
that which succeeded the close of the war with Mexico in 1848 by a
treaty consigning California to the United States, and the discovery,
one month later, of gold on the lands of that Captain Sutter, who has
already figured twice in our narrative.
From end to end of the earth spread the news of the existence of
vast seams of ore on the hitherto deserted shores of the Bay of San
Francisco. The name of Sacramento, the infant settlement founded by
Sutter, was in every mouth; and from the north and from the south,
from the east and from the west, a stream of adventurers began to
struggle toward it. In 1849 took place the overland emigration of
no less than thirty thousand souls, men, women and children――half of
them entering California by the old Gila route, associated with the
Franciscan fathers of the earlier portion of our narrative; the other
half literally forcing their way, step by step, across the rugged
passes of the Rocky Mountains.
The Pawnees, the Sioux, and the Arapahoes, amazed and awe-struck at
their numbers, fled at their approach, but the less easily cowed
enemies of famine and pestilence thinned their ranks. Still undaunted,
the survivors, leaving the dead bodies of their comrades a prey to the
wild beasts of the wilderness, pressed on, and, the Rocky Mountains
left behind, they swarmed into the valley of Humboldt’s River,
watering the western half of the newly-formed State of Utah. Many were
here obliged to halt for want of fodder for their cattle or food for
themselves; and it is related that some of the adventurers, in their
eager lust to be the first to arrive in the new El Dorado, set fire to
the meadows of dry grass to hinder the progress of those behind them.
On the shores of the Humboldt River a separation took place in the
ranks of those still able to proceed, some making for the head of the
Sacramento Valley, others choosing the better route to the American
fork of the Sacramento River. Of the former, nearly all perished
before reaching their destination; of the latter, many were rescued by
the noble heroism of parties sent out from California to their relief.
Enough of the original thirty thousand survived to fill the hitherto
desolate valley of the new south-western state with life. Every
ensuing spring brought new comers; the little settlement of Yerba
Buena became the port of San Francisco, which, from “a scattering town
of tent and canvas houses,” grew in four short months to a populous
city, “displaying,” to quote the words of Bayard Taylor, “street after
street of well-built edifices, filled with an active and enterprising
people, and exhibiting every mark of permanent commercial prosperity;”
while on every stream clustered the huts of miners, and from every
sheltered nook rose the smoke of the settler’s cabin.