Today at noon we reached the Sweetwater, much elated, as we had been on
the muddy Platte for more than twenty days. The river is here about six
rods wide, and deep; water tolerably good, not quite clear. Another mile
brought us to the far-famed Independence Rock. I climbed up its abrupt,
rocky sides, and spent a few minutes in walking about its summit, though
I had not time to examine it as I wished. It is composed of solid rock
of a light red clay color, about one eighth of a mile long and two
hundred feet high. There are huge masses of grotesque rocks lying upon
its sides and summit, some of which weighed hundreds of tons and appear
as if they could be shoved off by the hand. On the prominent points of
this rock are carved and painted thousands of names, in all styles and
sizes; some are put high up on the ledges, where it must have been
difficult to place them, and others nearer the ground. I looked for a
familiar name, but could find none, though I saw all the states
inscribed, as the former residences of these pilgrims. One half mile
further on we crossed the Sweet Water, and in the afternoon went by what
is called The Devil's Gate, a narrow channel of the stream, through a
pass of the Rattlesnake Mountains. Looking down into the stream from the
rocks hundreds of feet high, it is said that the Sweet Water appears as
a mere rivulet. Some of our party climbed to the top of the Gate and
boasted of having done some daring climbing. We are now surrounded by
mountains, entirely barren, except a few stunted cedars or other
evergreens. The range on the south is partly covered with snow.
Distance, twenty-two miles.