Westward Journey resumed.—Queen City of the Mountains.—Crossing the
Rockies.—Butte City, the Great Mining Centre.—Montana.—The Red Men.—
About the Aborigines.—The Cowboys of the West.—A Successful Hunter.—
Emigrant Teams on the Prairies.—Immense Forests.—Puget Sound.—The
Famous Stampede Tunnel.—Immigration.
After a delightful, though brief, sojourn of ten days in the Yellowstone
Park, realizing that twice that length of time might be profitably spent
therein, we returned to Livingston, where the Northern Pacific Railroad
was once more reached, and the westward journey promptly resumed. The
Belt Range of mountains is soon crossed, at an elevation of over five
thousand five hundred feet. A remarkable tunnel is also passed through,
three thousand six hundred feet in length, from which the train emerges
into a grand cañon, and soon arrives at the city of Bozeman. This place
has a thrifty and intelligent population of over five thousand, and is
notable for its rural and picturesque surroundings, in the fertile
Gallatin Valley, which is encircled by majestic ranges of mountains,
shrouded in “white, cold, virgin snow.” Having passed the point where
the Madison and Jefferson rivers unite to form the headwaters of that
great river, the Missouri, whence it starts upon its long and winding
course of over four thousand miles towards the Mexican Gulf, we arrive
presently at Helena, the interesting capital of Montana. This is called
the “Queen City of the Mountains,” and is famous as a great and
successful mining centre, the present population of which is about
twenty thousand. It is said to be the richest city of its size in the
United States, an assertion which we have good reasons for believing to
be correct. The vast mineral region surrounding Helena is unsurpassed
anywhere for the number and richness of its gold and silver-bearing
lodes, having within an area of twenty-five miles over three thousand
such natural deposits, the ownership of which is duly recorded, and many
of which are being profitably worked. The city is lighted by a system of
electric lamps, and has an excellent water-supply from inexhaustible
mountain streams.
We were told an authentic story illustrating the richness of the soil in
and about Helena, as a gold-bearing earth, which we repeat in brief.
It seems that a resident was digging a cellar on which to place a
foundation for a new dwelling house, when a passing stranger asked
permission to remove the pile of earth that was being thrown out of the
excavation, agreeing to return one half of whatever value he could get
from the same, after washing and submitting it to the usual treatment by
which gold is extracted. Permission was granted, and the earth was soon
removed. The citizen thought no more about the matter. After a couple of
weeks, however, the stranger returned and handed the proprietor of the
ground thirteen hundred dollars as his half of the proceeds realized
from the dirt casually thrown out upon the roadway in digging his
cellar.
Between Helena and Garrison the main range of the Rocky Mountains is
crossed, and at an elevation of five thousand five hundred and forty
feet the cars enter what is called the Mullan Tunnel. This dismal and
remarkable excavation is nearly four thousand feet long. From it the
western-bound traveler finally emerges on the Pacific slope, passing
through the beautiful valley of the Little Blackfoot.
The region through which we were traveling stretches from Lake Superior
to Puget Sound, on the Pacific coast, and spreads out for many miles on
either side of the Northern Pacific Railroad, known as the “Northern
Pacific Country.” No portion of the United Sates offers more favorable
opportunities for settlement, and in no other section is there as much
desirable government land still open to preëmption, presenting such a
variety of surface, richness of soil, and wealth of natural productions.
Intelligent emigrants are rapidly appropriating the land of this very
attractive region, but there is still enough and to spare. Europe may
continue to send us her surplus population for fifty years to come at
the same rate she has done for the past half century, and there will
still be room enough in the great West and Northwest to accommodate
them.
As we left the main track of the Northern Pacific Railroad at Livingston
to visit the Yellowstone Park, so at Garrison we again take a branch
road to Butte City, situated fifty-five miles southward, and which is
admitted to be the greatest mining city of the American continent. Here,
on the western slope of the main range of the Rocky Mountains, stands
the “Silver City,” as it is generally called, though one of its main
features is its copper product, which rivals that of the Lake Superior
district in quantity and quality, giving employment to the most
extensive smelting works in the world. There are thirty thousand
inhabitants in Butte, and it is rapidly growing in territory and
population. Its citizens seem to be far above the average of our
frontier settlers in intelligence and thrift. The Blue Bird silver mine
is perhaps the richest in this locality, yielding every twelve months a
million and a half of dollars in bullion; while the Moulton, Alice, and
Lexington mines each produce a million dollars or more in silver yearly.
There are several other rich mines, among them the Anaconda copper mine,
which gives an aggregate each year larger in value than any we have
named. The Parrott Copper Company, also the Montana and Boston Copper
Company, each show an annual output of metal valued at a million of
dollars. In place of there being any falling off in these large amounts,
all of the mines are increasing their productiveness monthly by means of
improved processes and enlarged mechanical facilities. But we have gone
sufficiently into detail to prove the assertion already made, that Butte
City is the greatest mining town on the continent. Eight tenths of its
population is connected, either directly or indirectly, with mining.
“It would seem that the United States form the richest mineral country
on the globe,” said an English fellow-traveler to whom these facts were
being explained by an intelligent resident.
“That has long been admitted,” said the American.
“And what country comes next?” asked the Englishman.
“Australia,” was the reply. “But the United States,” continued the
American, “have another and superior source of wealth exceeding that of
all other lands, namely, their agricultural capacity. There are here
millions upon millions of acres, richer than the valley of the Nile,
which are still virgin soil untouched by the plow or harrow.”
Not mining, but agriculture forms the great and lasting wealth of our
broad and fertile Western States, rich though they be in mineral
deposits, especially of gold and silver.
Before proceeding further on our journey, let us pause for a moment to
consider the magnitude of this imperial State of Montana, which measures
over five hundred miles from east to west, and which is three hundred
miles from north to south, containing one hundred and forty-four
thousand square miles. This makes it larger in surface than the States
of New Hampshire, Vermont, Massachusetts, Connecticut, New Jersey,
Maryland, Ohio, and Indiana combined. With its vast stores of mineral
wealth and many other advantages, who will venture to predict its future
possibilities? It would be difficult to exaggerate them. The precious
metals mined in the State during the last year gave a total value of
over forty million of dollars, which was an increase of six million over
that of the preceding year. Between forty and fifty million dollars in
value is anticipated as the result of the local mining enterprise for
the current twelve months, and yet we consider this to be the second,
not the first, interest of Montana; agriculture take the precedence.
Returning to Garrison, after a couple of days passed at Butte City
examining its extremely interesting system of mining for the precious
metals, we once more resume our western journey.
Along the less populous portions of the route groups of dirty, but
picturesque looking Indians are seen lounging about, wrapped in fiery
red blankets. These belong to various native tribes, such as the Sioux,
Blackfeet, Cheyennes, and Arapahoes. Bucks, squaws, and papooses gather
about the small railroad stations, partly from curiosity, and partly
because they have nothing else to do; but they are ever ready to sell
trifles of their own rude manufacture to travelers as souvenirs, also
gladly receiving donations of tobacco or small silver coins. The men are
fat, lazy, and useless, scorning even the semblance of working for a
livelihood, leaving the squaws to do the trading with travelers. These
are “wards” of our government, who receive regular annuities of money
and subsistence, including flour, beef, blankets, and so on. Support is
thus insured to them so long as they live, and no American Indian was
ever known to work for himself, or any one else, unless driven to it by
absolute necessity.
When the author first crossed these plains, nearly thirty years ago,
before there was any transcontinental railroad, the Indian tribes were
very different people from what we find them to-day. The men were thin
in flesh, wiry, active, and constantly on the alert. They were ever
ready for bloodshed and robbery when they could be perpetrated without
much danger to themselves. Contact with civilization has changed all
this. They have become fat and lazy. They have borrowed the white man’s
vices, but have ignored his virtues. When not fighting with the pale
faces, the tribes were, thirty and forty years ago, incessantly at war
with each other, thus actively promoting the fate which surely awaited
them as a people. Their pride, even to-day, is to display at their belts
not only the scalps of white men and women taken in belligerent times,
but also the scalps of hostile tribes of their own race.
We believe most sincerely in fulfilling all treaty obligations between
our government and the Indians, to the very letter of the contract, nor
have we any doubt that our official agents have often been unfaithful in
the performance of their duties; but when we attempt to create saints
and martyrs out of the Red Men, we are certainty forcing the canonizing
principle. They are entitled to as much consideration as the whites, but
they are not entitled to more. They are crafty and cruel by nature; this
is, perhaps, not their fault, but it is their misfortune. Nothing is
really gained in our fine-spun moral theories by attempting to deceive
ourselves or others. The plain truth is the best.
A little way from the railroad station on the open prairie the camps of
these aborigines may often be seen, consisting of a few rude buffalo
hides or canvas tents, while a score of rough looking ponies are grazing
hard by, tethered to stakes driven into the soil. Here and there in
front of a tent an iron kettle, in which a savory compound of meat and
vegetables is simmering, hangs upon a tripod above a low fire built on
the ground, presided over by some ancient squaw, all very much like a
gypsy camp by the roadside in far off Granada.
The male aborigines wear semi-civilized clothing made of dressed
deerskins, and woolen goods indiscriminately mixed; their long coarse
black hair, decked with eagle’s feathers, hangs about their necks and
faces, the latter often smeared with yellow ochre. Now and then a touch
of manliness is seen in the bearing and facial expression of the bucks;
but the larger number are debauched and degraded specimens of humanity,
who impress the stranger with some curiosity, but with very little
interest. Like the gypsies of Spain, they are incorrigible nomads,
detesting the ordinary conventionalities of civilized life. The Indian
women are clad in leather leggings, blue woolen skirts and waists,
having striped blankets gathered loosely over their shoulders. No one
can truthfully ascribe the virtue of cleanliness to these squaws. The
papooses are strapped in flat baskets to the mothers’ backs, being
swathed, arms, legs, and body, like an Egyptian mummy, and are as silent
even as those dried-up remains of humanity. Whoever heard an Indian baby
cry? The mothers seemed to be kind to the little creatures, whose faces,
like those of the Eskimo babies, are so fat that they can hardly open
their eyes.
We are sure to see about these railroad stations in the far West an
occasional “cowboy,” clad in his fanciful leather suit cut after the
Mexican style, wearing heavy spurs, and carrying a ready revolver in his
belt. His long hair is covered by a broad felt sombrero, and he wears a
high-colored handkerchief tied loosely about his neck. He enjoys robust
health, is sinewy, clear-eyed, and intelligent in every feature, leading
an active, open-air life as a herdsman, and being ever ready for an
Indian fight or a generous act of self-abnegation in behalf of a
comrade. He will not object on an occasion to join a lynching-party who
happen to have in hand some horse-thief or a murderous scoundrel who has
long successfully defied the laws. These cowboys are splendid horsemen,
sitting their high-pommeled Mexican saddles like the Arabs. They are
oftentimes educated young men, belonging to respectable Eastern
families, seeking a brief experience of this wild, exposed life, simply
from a love of independence and adventure. They are chivalric, and
nearly always to be found on the side of justice, however quick they may
be in the use of the revolver. Their life is spent amid associations,
and in regions, where the slow process of the law does not meet the
exigencies constantly occurring. The reader may be assured that they are
nevertheless governed by a sense of “wild justice,” in which an element
of real equity predominates. To realize the skill which they acquire,
one must see half a dozen of them join together in “rounding up” a herd
of several hundred cattle, or wild horses, scattered and feeding on the
prairie, and from the herds collect and sort out the animals belonging
to different owners, all being distinctly branded with hot irons when
brought from Texas or elsewhere. In doing this it is often necessary to
lasso and throw an animal while the operator is himself in the saddle
and his horse at full gallop. No equestrian feats of the ring equal
their daily performances, and no Indian of the prairies can compare with
them for daring and successful horsemanship. Indeed, an Indian is hardly
the equal of a white man in anything, not even in endurance. “An
intelligent white man can beat any Indian, even at his own game,” says
Buffalo Bill. Each one of the aborigines has his pony, and some have two
or three, but they are as a rule of a poor breed, overworked and
underfed. They are never housed, never supplied with grain, but subsist
solely upon the coarse bunch grass of the prairie. The poor, uncared-for
animals which are seen as described about the natives’ encampments tell
their own doleful story. The Indian ponies and the squaws are alike
always abused.
As we cross these plains straggling emigrant teams are often seen,
called “prairie schooners.” The wagons as a rule are much the worse for
wear, being surmounted by a rude canvas covering, dark and mildewed,
under which a wife and four or five children are generally domiciled. A
few domestic utensils are carried in, or hung upon the body of, the
vehicle,—a tin dipper here, a water-pail there, a frying-pan in one
place, and an iron kettle in another. These wagons are usually drawn by
a couple of sorry-looking horses, and sometimes by a yoke of oxen.
Beside the team trudges the father and husband, the typical pioneer
farmer, hardy, independent, self-reliant, bound west to find means of
support for himself and brood. Many such are seen as we glide swiftly
over the iron rails, causing us to realize how steadily the stream of
humanity flows westward, spreading itself over the virgin soil of the
new States and Territories, and producing a growth in population no less
legitimate than it is rapid. These pioneers are almost invariably
farmers, and by adhering to their calling are sure to make at least a
comfortable living.
While stopping at a watering-place in the early morning, the picturesque
figure of a hunter was seen with rifle in hand. Over his shoulder hung
the body of an antelope, while some smaller game was secured to his
leathern belt. He had just captured these in the wild brown hills which
border the plateau where our train had stopped. Cooper’s
Leather-Stocking Tales were instantly suggested to the mind of the
observer, as he watched the careless, graceful attitude and bearing of
the rugged frontiersman, whose entire unconsciousness of the unique
figure which he presented was especially noticeable.
After traveling more than five hundred miles in Montana, which is
surpassed in size only by Alaska and Dakota, we enter northern Idaho,
attractive for its wild and picturesque scenery,—a territory of
mountains, valleys, rivers, lakes, and prairies combined, second only to
Montana in its mineral wealth, and possessing also some of the choicest
agricultural districts in the great West, where Nature herself freely
bestows the best of irrigation in uniform and abundant rains. While
traveling in Idaho we find that the route passes through a magnificent
forest region, where the trees measure from six to ten feet in diameter,
and are of colossal height, such growing timber as would challenge
comment in any part of the world, consisting mostly of white pine,
cedar, and hemlock.
We soon cross into the State of Washington, its northern boundary being
British Columbia and its southern boundary Oregon, from which it is
separated for more than a hundred miles of its length by the Columbia
River. Its form is that of a parallelogram, fronting upon the Pacific
Ocean for about two hundred and fifty miles, and having a length from
east to west of over three hundred and sixty miles. This State has
immense agricultural areas, as well as being rich in coal, iron, and
timber. We pause at Spokane Falls for a day and night of rest. It is on
the direct line of the Northern Pacific Railroad, and is the principal
city of eastern Washington, having the largest and best water-power on
the Pacific slope. Government engineers report the water fall here to
exceed two hundred thousand horse-power, a small portion only of which
is yet improved, and that as a motor for large grain and flouring mills.
Here we find a thrifty business community numbering over twelve
thousand, the streets traversed by a horse railroad, and the place
having electric lights, gas and public water works, with a Methodist and
a Catholic college. It commands the trade of what is termed the Big Bend
country and the Palouse district, and is the fitting-out place for the
thousands of miners engaged in Cœur d’Alene County. In spite of the late
disastrous fire which she has experienced, Spokane, like Seattle, will
rapidly rise from her ashes. Official reports show that over nine
million acres of this State are particularly adapted to the raising of
wheat. Our route, after a brief rest at Spokane Falls, lies through
Palouse County, where this cereal is raised in quantities
proportionately larger than even in Dakota, and at a considerably less
cost. Thirty-five to forty bushels of wheat to the acre is considered a
royal yield in Dakota and the best localities elsewhere, but here fifty
bushels to the acre are pretty sure to reward the cultivator, and even
this large amount is sometimes exceeded. One enthusiastic observer and
writer declares that Palouse County is destined to destroy wheat-growing
in India by virtue of its immense crops, its favorable seasons, its
economy of production, and its proximity to the seaboard.
In the western part of the State, on Puget Sound, the lumber business is
the most important industry, giving profitable employment to thousands
of people. The productive capacity of the several sawmills on the sound
is placed at two million feet per day, and all are in active operation.
A new one of large proportions was also observed to be in course of
construction. The forests which produce the crude material are
practically inexhaustible. The pines are of great size, ranging from
eight to twelve feet in diameter, and from two hundred to two hundred
and eighty feet in height. No trees upon this continent, except the
giant conifers of the Yosemite, surpass these in magnitude. United
States surveyors have declared, in their printed reports, that this
State contains the finest body of timber in the world, and that its
forests cover an area larger than the entire State of Maine.
The most productive hop districts that are known anywhere are to be
found in the broad valleys of this State, where hop-growing has become a
great and increasing industry, yielding remarkable profits upon the
money invested and the labor required to market the crop. The course of
the railroad is lined with these gorgeous fields of bloom, hanging on
poles fifteen feet in height, planted with mathematical regularity.
Large fruit orchards of apples, pears, peaches, cherries, and other
varieties are seen flourishing here; and residents speak confidently of
fruit raising as being one of the most promising future industries of
this region, together with the canning and preserving of the fruits for
use in Eastern markets. We are reminded, in this connection, that the
United States crop reports also represent Washington as producing more
bushels of wheat to the acre than any other State or Territory within
the national domain. This grand region of the far northwestern portion
of our country is three hundred miles long, from east to west, and two
hundred and forty miles from north to south, giving it an area in round
numbers of seventy thousand square miles. That is to say, it is nearly
as large as the States of New York and Pennsylvania combined.
The immigration pouring into the new State of Washington is simply
enormous, its aggregate for the year 1889 being estimated at thirty-five
thousand persons, the majority of whom come hither for agricultural
purposes, and to establish permanent homes. One train observed by the
author consisted of nine second-class cars filled entirely with
Scandinavians, that is, people from Norway and Sweden, presenting an
appearance of more than average sturdiness and intelligence.
As the Pacific coast is approached we come to the famous Stampede
Tunnel, which is nearly ten thousand feet long, and, with the exception
of the Hoosac Tunnel in Massachusetts, the longest in America. On
emerging from the Stampede Tunnel the traveler gets his first view of
Mount Tacoma, rising in perpendicular height to nearly three miles, the
summit robed in dazzling whiteness throughout the entire year.
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