ACROSS THE SIERRA NEVADA.
RAPID ASCENT--THE TRESTLE-BRIDGES--MOUNTAIN
PROSPECTS--"PLACERS"--SUNSET--CAPE HORN--ALTA--THE SIERRAS BY
NIGHT--CONTRAST OF TEMPERATURES--THE SNOW-SHEDS--THE
SUMMIT--RENO--BREAKFAST AT HUMBOLDT--THE SAGE-BRUSH--BATTLE
MOUNT--SHOSHONIE INDIANS--TEN MILE CANYON--ELKO STATION--GREAT AMERICAN
DESERT--ARRIVAL AT OGDEN.
We had now begun the ascent of the difficult mountain country that
separates the Eastern from the Western States of the Union, and
through which the Central Pacific Railway has been recently
constructed and completed--one of the greatest railway works of our
time. As we advance, the scenery changes rapidly. Instead of the flat
and comparatively monotonous country we have for some time been
passing through, we now cross deep gullies, climb up steep ascents,
and traverse lovely valleys. Sometimes we seem to be enclosed in
mountains with an impenetrable barrier before us. But rushing into a
tunnel, we shortly emerge on the other side, to find ourselves
steaming along the edge of a precipice.
What struck me very much was the apparent slimness of the
trestle-bridges over which we were carried across the gullies, in the
bottom of which mountain torrents were dashing, some fifty or a
hundred feet below us. My first experience of such a crossing was
quite startling. I was standing on the platform of the last car,
looking back at the fast vanishing scene--a winding valley shut in by
pine-clad mountains which we had for some time been ascending,--when,
glancing down on the track, instead of solid earth, I saw the ground,
through the open timbers of the trestle-bridge, at least sixty feet
below me! The timber road was only the width of the single iron track;
so that any one looking out of the side carriage-windows would see
sixty feet down into space. The beams on which the trestle-bridge is
supported, are, in some cases, rested on stone; but oftener they are
not. It is not easy to describe the sensation first felt on rattling
over one of these trembling viaducts, with a lovely view down some
mountain gorge, and then, perhaps, suddenly plunging into a dark
cutting on the other side of the trestle. But use is everything; and
before long I got quite accustomed to the sensation of looking down
through the open woodwork of the line on to broken ground and mountain
torrents rushing a hundred feet or more below me.
We left Sacramento at 2 P.M., and evening was coming on as we got into
the mountains. Still, long before sunset we saw many traces of large
"placers," where whole sides of the hills had been dug out and washed
away in the search for gold; the water being brought over the
hill-tops by various ingenious methods. Sometimes, too, we came upon
signs of active mining, in the water-courses led across valleys at
levels above us, consisting of wooden troughs supported on trestles
similar to those we are so frequently crossing. In one place I saw a
party of men busily at work along the mountain side, preparatory to
letting the water in upon the auriferous ground they were exploring.
I stood for more than two hours on the platform at the rear of the
train, never tired of watching the wonderful scenery that continually
receded from my gaze,--sometimes the track suddenly disappearing as we
rounded a curve; and then looking ahead, I would find that an entirely
new prospect was opening into view.
Never shall I forget the lovely scene that evening, when the golden
sun was setting far away on the Pacific coast. The great red orb sank
slowly behind a low hill at the end of the valley which stretched away
on our right far beneath us. The pine-trees shone red in the departing
sunlight for a short time; then the warm, dusky glimmer gradually
faded away on the horizon, and all was over. The scene now looked more
dreary, the mountains more rugged, and everything more desolate than
before.
Up we rushed, still ascending the mountain slopes, winding in and
out--higher and higher--the mountains becoming more rugged and wild,
and the country more broken and barren-looking. Crossing slowly
another trestle-bridge seventy-five feet high, at the upper part of a
valley, we rounded a sharp curve, and found ourselves on a lofty
mountain-side along which the road is cut, with a deep glen lying 2500
feet below us wrapped in the shades of evening. It seems to be quite
night down there, and the trees are so shrouded in gloom that I can
scarcely discern them in the bottom of that awful chasm. I can only
clearly see defined against the sky above me, the rugged masses of
overhanging rock, black-looking and terrible.
I find, on inquiry, that this part of the road is called "Cape Horn,"
The bluffs at this point are so precipitous, that when the railroad
was made, the workmen had to be lowered down the face of the rock by
ropes and held on by men above, until they were enabled to blast for
themselves a foot-hold on the side of the precipice. We have now
ascended to a height of nearly 3200 feet above the level of the sea;
and, as may be inferred, the night air grows sharp and cold. As little
more can be seen for the present, I am under the necessity of taking
shelter in the car.
At half-past six we stopped for tea at Alta, 207 miles from San
Francisco, at an elevation of 3600 feet above the sea. Here I had a
good meal for a dollar--the first since leaving 'Frisco. Had I known
of the short stoppages and the distant refreshing places along the
route, I would certainly have provided myself with a well-stored
luncheon-basket before setting out; but it is now too late.
After a stoppage of twenty minutes, the big bell tolled, and we seated
ourselves in the cars again; and away we went as before, still toiling
up-hill. We are really climbing now. I can hear it by the strong
snorts of the engine, and see it by the steepness of the track. I long
to be able to see around me, for we are passing some of the grandest
scenery of the line. The stars are now shining brightly over head, and
give light enough to show the patches of snow lying along the
mountain-sides as we proceed. The snow becomes more continuous as we
mount the ascent, until only the black rocks and pine-trees stand out
in relief against their white background.
I was contrasting the sharp cold of this mountain region with the
bright summer weather I had left behind me in Australia only a few
weeks ago, and the much more stifling heat of Honolulu only some ten
days since, when the engine gave one of its loud whistles, like the
blast of a fog-horn, and we plunged into darkness. Looking through the
car window, I observed that we were passing through a wooden
framework--in fact a snow-shed, the roof sloping from the
mountain-side, to carry safely over the track the snow and rocky
_debris_ which shoot down from above. I find there are miles upon
miles of these snow-sheds along our route. At the Summit we pass
through the longest, which is 1700 feet in length.
We reached the Summit at ten minutes to ten, having ascended 3400 feet
in a distance of only thirty-six miles. We are now over 7000 feet
above the level of the sea, travelling through a lofty mountain
region. In the morning, I was on the warm shores of the Pacific; and
now at night I am amidst the snows of the Sierras. After passing the
Summit, we had some very tortuous travelling; going very fast during
an hour, but winding in and out, as we did, following the contour of
the hills, I found that we had only gained seven geographical miles in
an hour. We then reached the "City" of Truckee, principally supported
by lumbering. It is the last place in California, and we shall very
soon be across the State boundary into the territory of Nevada.
After passing this station, I curled up on my bench, wrapped myself in
my rugs, and had a snatch of sleep. I was wakened up by the stoppage
of the train at the Reno station, when I shook myself up, and went out
to have a look round me. As I alighted from the train, I had almost
come to the ground through the slipperiness of the platform, which was
coated with ice. It was a sharp frost, and the ground was covered with
snow. At the end of the platform, the snow was piled up in a drift
about twenty feet high on the top of a shed outside the station. I
find there are two kinds of snow-sheds,--one sort used on the plains,
with pointed roofs, from which the snow slides down on either side,
thereby preventing the blocking of the line; the other, used along the
mountain-sides, sloping over the track, so as to carry the snow-shoots
clear over it down into the valley below.
I soon turned in again, wrapped myself up, and slept soundly for some
hours. When I awoke, it was broad daylight; the sun was shining in at
the car windows; and on looking out, I saw that we were crossing a
broad plain, with mountains on either side of us. The conductor,
coming through the car, informs us that we shall soon be at Humboldt,
where there will be twenty minutes' stoppage for breakfast. I find
that we are now 422 miles on our way, and that during the night we
have crossed the great sage-covered Nevada Desert, on which so many
travellers left their bones to bleach in the days of the overland
journey to California, but which is now so rapidly and safely
traversed by means of this railway. The train draws up at Humboldt at
seven in the morning; and on descending, I find a large,
well-appointed refreshment room, with the tables ready laid; and a
tempting array of hot tea and coffee, bacon, steaks, eggs, and other
eatables. "I guess" I had my full dollar's worth out of that Humboldt
establishment--a "regular square meal," to quote the language of the
conductor.
We mount again, and are off across the high plains. The sage-brush is
the only vegetation to be seen, interspersed here and there with large
beds of alkali, on which not even sage-brush will grow. The sage
country extends from Wadsworth to Battle Mount Station, a distance of
about two hundred miles. Only occasionally, by the river-sides, near
the station, small patches of cultivated land are to be seen; but,
generally speaking, the country is barren, and will ever remain so. We
are still nearly 5000 feet above the level of the sea. There is no
longer any snow on the ground alongside us, but the mountains within
sight are all covered. Though the day is bright and sunshiny, and the
inside of the car warm, with the stove always full of blazing wood or
coke, the air outside is cold, sharp, and nipping.
At Battle Mount--so called because of a severe engagement which
occurred here some years since between the Indians and the white
settlers--the plains begin to narrow, and the mountains to close in
again upon the track. Here I saw for the first time a number of
Shoshonie Indians--the original natives of the country--their faces
painted red, and their coarse black hair hanging down over their
shoulders. Their squaws, who carried their papooses in shawls slung
over their backs, came alongside the train to beg money from the
passengers. The Indian men seemed to be of a very low type--not for a
moment to be compared with the splendid Maoris of New Zealand. The
only fine tribe of Indians left, are said to be the Sioux; and these
are fast dying out. In the struggle of races for life, savages nowhere
seem to have the slightest chance when they come in contact with what
are called "civilized" men. If they are not destroyed by our diseases
or our drink, they are by our weapons.
We are now running along the banks of the sluggish Humboldt river, up
to almost its source in the mountains near the head of the Great Salt
Lake. We cross the winding river from time to time on trestle-bridges;
and soon we are in amongst the mountains again, penetrating a gorge,
where the track is overhung by lofty bluffs; and climbing up the
heights, we shortly leave the river, foaming in its bed, far beneath
us. Steeper and higher rise the sides of the gorge, until suddenly
when we round a curve in the canyon, I see the Devil's Peak, a large
jagged mass of dark-brown rock, which, rising perpendicularly, breaks
up into many points, the highest towering majestically above us to a
height of 1400 feet above the level of the track. This is what is
called the "Ten Mile Canon;" and the bold scenery continues until we
emerge from the top of the gorge. At last we are in the open sunlight
again, and shortly after we draw up at the Elko station.
We are now evidently drawing near a better peopled district than that
we have lately passed through. Two heavy stage coaches are drawn up
alongside the track, to take passengers to Hamilton and Treasure City
in the White Pine silver-mining district, about 126 miles distant. A
long team of mules stand laden with goods, destined for the diggers of
the same district. Elko is "not much of a place," though I should not
wonder if it is called a "City" here. It mostly consists of what in
Victoria would be called shanties--huts built of wood and canvas--some
of the larger of them being labelled "Saloon," "Eating-house,"
"Drug-store," "Paint-shop," and such like. If one might judge by the
number of people thronging the drinking-houses, the place may be
pronounced prosperous.
Our course now lies through valleys, which look more fertile, and are
certainly much more pleasant to pass along than those dreary Nevada
plains. The sun goes down on my second day in the train; as we are
traversing a fine valley with rolling hills on either side. The ground
again becomes thickly covered with snow, and I find we are again
ascending a steepish grade, rising a thousand feet in a distance of
about ninety miles, where we again reach a total altitude of 6180 feet
above the sea.
At six next morning, I found we had reached Ogden in the territory of
Utah. During the night we had passed "The Great American Desert,"
extending over an area of sixty square miles--an utterly blasted
place--so that I missed nothing by passing over it wrapped in sleep
and rugs. The country about Ogden is well-cultivated and pleasant
looking. Ogden itself is a busy place, being the terminus of the
Central Pacific Railroad, and the junction for trains running down to
Salt Lake City. From this point the Union Pacific commences, and runs
eastward as far as Omaha.