THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE FAR WEST
1863-1870
Very much of my work that has aided most in the development of this
country was done in the great region of the Northwest, then a wild
country, trackless and uninhabited except by savages. Of course, the
chief achievement in the West was the building of the Union Pacific
Railway, which led up to the inception and construction of other
railways and to the present prosperity of the entire section.
But this enterprise was merely a beginning. I looked upon it only as the
launching of a hundred other projects, which, if I had been able to
carry them to completion, would have transformed the West in a few
years, and anticipated its present state of wealth and power by more
than a full generation. One of my plans was the creation of a chain of
great towns across the continent, connecting Boston with San Francisco
by a magnificent highway of cities. That this was not an idle dream is
shown by the rapid growth of Chicago, which owes its greatness to its
situation upon this natural highway of trade; and to the development of
Omaha, which owes its prosperity directly to the Union Pacific Railway
and to the other enterprises that I organized in the West. Most of these
plans were defeated by a financial panic, by the lack of cooperation on
the part of the very people who were most interested in their success,
and by events which I shall describe in the following chapters of this
book. Some of them succeeded, however, and I was able to accomplish a
great deal of work that has gone into the winning and making of the
West.
When I went out to Omaha to break ground for the Union Pacific Railway,
on December 3, '63, there was only one hotel in that town. This was the
Herndon House, a respectable affair, now U. P. headquarters. I was
astonished that men of energy, enterprise, and means had not seized the
opportunity to erect a large hotel at this point, which had already
given every promise of rapid and immediate growth. But what directly
suggested to me the building of such a hotel on my own account was a
little incident that occurred at a breakfast that I happened to be
giving in the Herndon House.
I had invited a number of prominent men--Representatives in Congress,
and others--to take breakfast with me in this house, as I desired to
present to them some of my plans. The breakfast was a characteristic
Western meal, with prairie chickens and Nebraska trout. While we were
seated, one of those sudden and always unexpected cyclones on the plains
came up, and the hotel shook like a leaf in the terrible storm. Our
table was very near a window in which were large panes of glass, which I
feared could not withstand the tremendous force of the wind. They were
quivering under the stress of weather, and I called to a strapping negro
waiter at our table to stand with his broad back against the window.
This proved a security against the storm without; but it precipitated a
storm within.
Allen, the manager of the Herndon, and a man with a political turn of
mind, saw in the incident an assault on the rights of the negroes. He
hurried over to the table and protested against this act as an outrage.
I could not afford to enter into a quarrel with him at the time, so I
merely said: "I am about the size of the negro; I will take his place."
I then ordered the fellow away from the window, took his post, and
stayed there until the fury of the storm abated. Then I was ready for
Allen.
I walked out in front of the house and, pointing to a large vacant
square facing it, asked who owned it. I was told the owner's name and
immediately sent a messenger for him post-haste. He arrived in a short
time, and I asked his price. It was $5,000. I wrote out and handed him a
check for the amount, and took from him, on the spot, a deed for the
property.
Then I asked for a contractor who could build a hotel. A man named
Richmond was brought to me. "Can you build a three-story hotel in sixty
days on this plot?" asked I. After some hesitation he said it would be
merely a question of money. "How much?" I asked. "One thousand dollars a
day." "Show me that you are responsible for $60,000." He did so, and I
took out an envelope and sketched on the back of it a rough plan of the
hotel. "I am going to the mountains," I said, "and I shall want this
hotel, with 120 rooms, complete, when I return in sixty days."
When I got back, the hotel was finished. I immediately rented it to
Cozzens, of West Point, New York, for $10,000 a year. This is the famous
Cozzens's Hotel of Omaha, which has been more written about, I suppose,
than almost any other hostelry ever built in the United States. It is
the show-place of Omaha to this day.
The completion of the Union Pacific Railway in '69 was the occasion of
my visit to California and Oregon. In San Francisco I gave a banquet to
men prominent in finance and politics, and took occasion to refer to the
efforts that had been made there, as it seemed to me, to aid the
seceding States. I was making a response to the toast of "The Union,"
and had said that if I had been the Federal general in command in
California at the time, I should have hanged certain men, some of whom
were present. This was pretty hot shot, and I did not wonder at the
resentment of the men to whom I referred. I was astonished, however, by
the terrific scoring I received from the city press the following
morning. I read the reports of, and the comments on, my speech as I was
making preparations to have my special car taken back East that
afternoon. I was very indignant, but did not know exactly what to do.
Just at this moment a man approached me and said that he would like to
have me deliver a lecture that evening in the theater. He was the
manager, Mr. Poole. I saw my opportunity, and accepted, refusing,
however, his proffer of $500 in gold, and agreeing to take one-half the
gross receipts for a series of lectures. I delivered twenty-eight
lectures to crowded houses, and took in, for my share, $10,000 in gold.
I did not spare my critics, but flayed them alive.
My lectures made me the most conspicuous man on the Pacific coast, and I
received despatches of congratulations, or invitations to deliver
lectures and speeches, almost every hour of the day. I accepted a
five-hundred-dollar check to go to Portland, Oregon, to make the
Fourth-of-July oration, and the Gussie Tellefair was sent to meet me and
take me up the Columbia in state. The oration was delivered to a big
audience of Oregonians, trappers and mountaineers, some of them wearing
the quaintest garb I had ever seen.
I mention this visit to Portland because it afforded me opportunity for
doing several things of importance. I visited the famous Dalles of the
Columbia river, and while there saw the Indians spearing salmon. I asked
what they were doing, and was told that they were laying in their supply
for the winter. I went to the place where the braves were spearing the
fish and asked one of them to let me try my hand at the fish-spear.
Having accustomed myself a little to throwing the harpoon, I found that
I could manage the Indian's weapon quite skilfully, and succeeded in
landing 200 salmon in two hours. Of course the fish were running in
swarms, but this two hours' work would have brought me $1,000 if I could
have taken the catch to New York.
I was the first white man, I believe, that had taken salmon out of the
Columbia, and it then occurred to me, if the Indians could lay up a
supply of fish for the winter, why could not white men do the same
thing? I thereupon suggested the canning of salmon, which has since been
developed into so large an industry and has made the Quinnat salmon the
king-fish of the world, putting Columbia salmon into almost every
household of civilization.
Another fact may be recorded here. My Fourth-of-July oration had been
such a success that I was asked to make another speech at Seattle, on
Puget Sound, which was then a struggling village. I was accompanying a
delegation or committee from the East that was looking for a good place
for the terminus of the Northern Pacific Railway, which had been
projected after the great success of the Union Pacific. When we passed
the point where Tacoma now stands, I was attracted by its appearance and
said: "There is your terminus." The committee selected the spot, and
Tacoma was founded there.
An amusing incident closed this part of my journey. I went from Seattle
to Victoria, British Columbia, and was astonished to find the town in
the wildest commotion. Troops were at the docks, and the moment I landed
I observed that the greatest interest was taken in me. At last, as they
saw me walking about alone, one of the officials came up and said: "Why,
are you alone?" "Of course," I replied. "Did you expect me to bring an
army with me?" I said this in jest, not knowing how closely it touched
his question. He then took me aside and said, "Read this despatch." I
opened the despatch and read: "Train is on the Hunt."
I saw what it meant, and how the good people had been deceived. The Hunt
was the vessel I came on, and the telegraph operator at Seattle, knowing
that I had been with the Fenians and had been stirring up a good deal of
trouble in California, thought he would have some fun with the
Canadians. The people of Victoria were on the lookout for me to arrive
with a gang of Fenians!
I did not smile, but determined to carry the joke a little further.
Walking into the telegraph office, I filed the following cablegram for
Dublin, Ireland. "Down England, up Ireland." The jest cost me $40 in
tolls, but I enjoyed it that much.