The shanty was perhaps a trifle more uncomfortable than the average;

our only seat was a kind of trestled plank, which suggested a

certain obsolete military punishment called riding on a rail. The

station-master was a _bon enfant_; but his help, a Mormon lad, still

in his teens, had been trained to go in a “sorter” jibbing and

somewhat uncomfortable “argufying,” “highfalutin’” way. He had the

furor for fire-arms that characterizes the ingenuous youth of Great

Salt Lake City, and his old rattletrap of a revolver, which always

reposed by his side at night, was as dangerous to his friends as to

himself. His vernacular was peculiar; like Mr. Boatswain Chucks (Mr.

D----s), he could begin a sentence with polished and elaborate diction,

but it always ended, like the wicked, badly. He described himself,

for instance, as having lately been “slightly inebriated;” but the

euphuistic periphrasis concluded with an asseveration that he would be

“Gord domned” if he did it again.

The night was, like the day, loud and windy, the log hut being somewhat

crannied and creviced, and the door had a porcelain handle, and a

shocking bad fit--a characteristic combination. We had some trouble to

keep ourselves warm. At sunrise the thermometer showed 35° Fahrenheit.

_To Green River. August 21st._

We rose early, despite the cold, to enjoy once more the lovely aspect

of the Wind-River Mountains, upon whose walls of snow the rays of

the unrisen sun broke with a splendid effect; breakfasted, and found

ourselves _en route_ at 8 A.M. The day did not begin well: Mrs. Dana

was suffering severely from fatigue, and the rapid transitions from

heat to cold; Miss May, poor child! was but little better, and the team

was re-enforced by an extra mule returning to its proper station: this

four-footed Xantippe caused us, without speaking of the dust from her

hoofs, an immensity of trouble.

At the Pacific Creek, two miles below the springs, we began the

descent of the Western water-shed, and the increase of temperature

soon suggested a lower level. We were at once convinced that those who

expect any change for the better on the counterslope of the mountains

labor under a vulgar error. The land was desolate, a red waste, dotted

with sage and greasebush, and in places pitted with large rain-drops.

But, looking backward, we could admire the Sweetwater’s Gap heading far

away, and the glorious pile of mountains which, disposed in crescent

shape, curtained the horizon; their southern and western bases wanted,

however, one of the principal charms of the upper view: the snow

had well-nigh been melted off. Yet, according to the explorer, they

supply within the space of a few miles the Green River with a number

of tributaries, which are all called the New Forks. We kept them in

sight till they mingled with the upper air like immense masses of

thunder-cloud gathering for a storm.

[THE GLISTENING GRAVEL WATER.]

From Pacific Creek the road is not bad, but at this season the emigrant

parties are sorely tried by drought, and when water is found it is

often fetid or brackish. After seventeen miles we passed the junction

of the Great Salt Lake and Fort Hall roads. Near Little Sandy Creek--a

feeder of its larger namesake--which after rains is about 2·5 feet

deep, we found nothing but sand, caked clay, sage, thistles, and the

scattered fragments of camp-fires, with large ravens picking at the

bleaching skeletons, and other indications of a halting-ground, an eddy

in the great current of mankind, which, ceaseless as the Gulf Stream,

ever courses from east to west. After a long stage of twenty-nine miles

we made Big Sandy Creek, an important influent of the Green River; the

stream, then shrunken, was in breadth not less than five rods, each =

16·5 feet, running with a clear, swift current through a pretty little

prairillon, bright with the blue lupine, the delicate pink malvacea,

the golden helianthus, purple aster acting daisy, the white mountain

heath, and the green Asclepias tuberosa,[106] a weed common throughout

Utah Territory. The Indians, in their picturesque way, term this stream

Wágáhongopá, or the Glistening Gravel Water.[107] We halted for an hour

to rest and dine; the people of the station, man and wife, the latter

very young, were both English, and of course Mormons; they had but

lately become tenants of the ranch, but already they were thinking, as

the Old Country people will, of making their surroundings “nice and

tidy.”

[106] Locally called milkweed. The whites use the silky cotton of

the pods, as in Arabia, for bed-stuffings, and the Sioux Indians

of the Upper Platte boil and eat the young pods with their buffalo

flesh. Colonel Frémont asserts that he never saw this plant without

remarking “on the flower a large butterfly, so nearly resembling it

in color as to be distinguishable at a little distance only by the

motion of its wings.”

[107] Similarly the Snake River, an eastern influent of the Colorado,

is called Yampa Pa, or Sweet Root (_Anethum graveolens_) Water.

Beyond the Glistening Gravel Water lies a _mauvaise terre_, sometimes

called the First Desert, and upon the old road water is not found in

the dry season within forty-nine miles--a terrible _jornada_[108] for

laden wagons with tired cattle. We prepared for drought by replenishing

all our canteens--one of them especially, a tin flask, covered outside

with thick cloth, kept the fluid deliciously cold--and we amused

ourselves by the pleasant prospect of seeing wild mules taught to bear

harness. The tricks of equine viciousness and asinine obstinacy played

by the mongrels were so distinct, that we had no pains in determining

what was inherited from the father and what from the other side of the

house. Before they could be hitched up they were severally hustled into

something like a parallel line with the pole, and were then forced

into their places by a rope attached to the fore wheel, and hauled at

the other end by two or three men. Each of these pleasant animals had a

bell: it is sure, unless corraled, to run away, and at night sound is

necessary to guide the pursuer. At last, being “all aboord,” we made

a start, dashed over the Big Sandy, charged the high stiff bank with

an impetus that might have carried us up an otter-slide or a Montagne

Russe, and took the right side of the valley, leaving the stream at

some distance.

[108] The Spanish-Mexican term for a day’s march. It is generally

applied to a waterless march, _e. g._, “Jornada del Muerto” in New

Mexico, which, like some in the Sahara, measures ninety miles across.

Rain-clouds appeared from the direction of the hills: apparently they

had many centres, as the distant sheet was rent into a succession of

distinct streamers. A few drops fell upon us as we advanced. Then

the fiery sun “ate up” the clouds, or raised them so high that they

became playthings in the hands of the strong and steady western gale.

The thermometer showed 95° in the carriage, and 111° exposed to the

reflected heat upon the black leather cushions. It was observable,

however, that the sensation was not what might have been expected from

the height of the mercury, and perspiration was unknown except during

severe exercise; this proves the purity and salubrity of the air.

In St. Jo and New Orleans the effect would have been that of India

or of a Turkish steam-bath. The heat, however, brought with it one

evil--a green-headed horsefly, that stung like a wasp, and from which

cattle must be protected with a coating of grease and tar. Whenever

wind blew, tourbillons of dust coursed over the different parts of

the plain, showing a highly electrical state of the atmosphere. When

the air was unmoved the mirage was perfect as the sarab in Sindh or

Southern Persia; earth and air were both so dry that the refraction

of the sunbeams elevated the objects acted upon more than I had ever

seen before. A sea lay constantly before our eyes, receding of course

as we advanced, but in all other points a complete _lusus naturæ_.

The color of the water was a dull cool sky-blue, not white, as the

“looming” generally is; the broad expanse had none of that tremulous

upward motion which is its general concomitant; it lay placid, still,

and perfectly reflecting in its azure depths--here and there broken by

projecting capes and bluff headlands--the forms of the higher grounds

bordering the horizon.

After twelve miles’ driving we passed through a depression called

Simpson’s Hollow, and somewhat celebrated in local story. Two

semicircles of black still charred the ground; on a cursory view they

might have been mistaken for burnt-out lignite. Here, in 1857, the

Mormons fell upon a corraled train of twenty-three wagons, laden with

provisions and other necessaries for the federal troops, then halted

at Camp Scott awaiting orders to advance. The wagoners, suddenly

attacked, and, as usual, unarmed--their weapons being fastened inside

their awnings--could offer no resistance, and the whole convoy was

set on fire except two conveyances, which were left to carry back

supplies for the drivers till they could reach their homes. On this

occasion the _dux facti_ was Lot Smith, a man of reputation for hard

riding and general gallantry. The old Saint is always spoken of as a

good man who lives by “Mormon rule of wisdom.” As at Fort Sumter, no

blood was spilled. So far the Mormons behaved with temper and prudence;

but this their first open act of rebellion against, or secession from,

the federal authority nearly proved fatal to them; had the helm of

government been held by a firmer hand than poor Mr. Buchanan’s, the

scenes of Nauvoo would have been acted again at Great Salt Lake City.

As it was, all turned out _à merveille_ for the saints militant. They

still boast loudly of the achievement, and on the marked spot where it

was performed the juvenile emigrants of the creed erect dwarf graves

and nameless “wooden” tomb-“stones” in derision of their enemies.

[VALLEY OF THE GREEN RIVER.]

As sunset drew near we approached the banks of the Big Sandy River.

The bottom through which it flowed was several yards in breadth,

bright green with grass, and thickly feathered with willows and

cotton-wood. It showed no sign of cultivation; the absence of cereals

may be accounted for by its extreme cold; it freezes there every

night, and none but the hardiest grains, oats and rye, which here are

little appreciated, could be made to grow. We are now approaching

the valley of the Green River, which, like many of the rivers in the

Eastern States, appears formerly to have filled a far larger channel.

Flat tables and elevated terraces of horizontal strata--showing that

the deposit was made in still waters--with layers varying from a few

lines to a foot in thickness, composed of hard clay, green and other

sandstones, and agglutinated conglomerates, rise like islands from

barren plains, or form escarpments that buttress alternately either

bank of the winding stream. Such, according to Captain Stansbury, is

the general formation of the land between the South Pass and the “Rim”

of the Utah Basin.

Advancing over a soil alternately sandy and rocky--an iron flat that

could not boast of a spear of grass--we sighted a number of coyotes,

fittest inhabitants of such a waste, and a long, distant line of dust,

like the smoke of a locomotive, raised by a herd of mules which were

being driven to the corral. We were presently met by the Pony Express

rider; he reined in to exchange news, which _de part et d’autre_ were

simply _nil_. As he pricked onward over the plain, the driver informed

us, with a portentous rolling of the head, that Ichabod was an a’mighty

fine “shyoot.” Within five or six miles of Green River we passed the

boundary stone which bears Oregon on one side and Utah on the other. We

had now traversed the southeastern corner of the country of Long-eared

men,[109] and were entering Deserét, the Land of the Honey-bee.

[109] Oregon is supposed by Mr. Edward to have been named by the

Spaniards from the immensely lengthened ears (_orejones_) of the

Indians who inhabited it.

At 6 30 P.M. we debouched upon the bank of the Green River. The station

was the home of Mr. Macarthy, our driver. The son of a Scotchman

who had settled in the United States, he retained many signs of his

origin, especially freckles, and hair which one might almost venture

to describe as sandy; perhaps also, at times, he was rather o’er fond

of draining “a cup o’ kindness yet.” He had lately taken to himself

an English wife, the daughter of a Birmingham mechanic, who, before

the end of her pilgrimage to “Zion on the tops of the mountains,” had

fallen considerably away from grace, and had incurred the risk of being

buffeted by Satan for a thousand years--a common form of commination

in the New Faith--by marrying a Gentile husband.[110] The station had

the indescribable scent of a Hindoo village, which appears to result

from the burning of _bois de vache_ and the presence of cattle: there

were sheep, horses, mules, and a few cows, the latter so lively that

it was impossible to milk them. The ground about had the effect of an

oasis in the sterile waste, with grass and shrubs, willows and flowers,

wild geraniums, asters, and various _cruciferæ_. A few trees, chiefly

quaking asp, lingered near the station, but dead stumps were far more

numerous than live trunks. In any other country their rare and precious

shade would have endeared them to the whole settlement; here they were

never safe when a log was wanted. The Western man is bred and perhaps

born--I believe devoutly in transmitted and hereditary qualities--with

an instinctive dislike to timber in general. He fells a tree naturally

as a bull-terrier worries a cat, and the admirable woodsman’s axe which

he has invented only serves to whet his desire to try conclusions with

every more venerable patriarch of the forest.[111] Civilized Americans,

of course, lament the destructive mania, and the Latter-Day Saints

have learned by hard experience the inveterate evils that may arise in

such a country from disforesting the ground. We supped comfortably at

Green-River Station, the stream supplying excellent salmon trout. The

kichimichi, or buffalo berry,[112] makes tolerable jelly, and alongside

of the station is a store where Mr. Burton (of Maine) sells “Valley

Tan” whisky.[113]

[110] Mr. Brigham Young, one of the most tolerant of a people whose

motto is toleration, would not, I believe, offer any but an official

objection to a Mormon member marrying a worthy Gentile; but even

he--and it could hardly be expected that he should--can not overlook

the sin of apostasy. The order of the faith runs thus: “We believe

that it is not right to prohibit members of the Church from marrying

out of the Church, if it be their determination so to do, but such

persons will be considered weak in the faith of our Lord and Savior

Jesus Christ.” The same view of the subject is taken, I need hardly

say, by the more rigid kind of Roman Catholic.

[111] Many of the blades, being made by convicts at the state

prisons, are sold cheap. The extent of the timber regions

necessitated this excellent implement, and the saving of labor on the

European article is enormous.

[112] A shrub 10-15 feet high, with a fruit about the size of a pea,

red like a wild rose-hip, and with a pleasant sub-acid flavor: the

Indians eat it with avidity, and it is cultivated in the gardens at

Great Salt Lake City.

[113] Tannery was the first technological process introduced into the

Mormon Valley; hence all home industry has obtained the sobriquet of

“Valley Tan.”

[EXPLORATION YET TO BE DONE.]

The Green River is the Rio Verde of the Spaniards, who named it from

its timbered shores and grassy islets: it is called by the Yuta Indians

Piya Ogwe, or the Great Water; by the other tribes Sitskidiágí, or

“Prairie-grouse River.” It was nearly at its lowest when we saw it; the

breadth was not more than 330 feet. In the flood-time it widens to 800

feet, and the depth increases from three to six. During the inundation

season a ferry is necessary, and when transit is certain the owner

sometimes nets $500 a week, which is not unfrequently squandered in

a day. The banks are in places thirty feet high, and the bottom may

average three miles from side to side. It is a swift-flowing stream,

running as if it had no time to lose, and truly it has a long way to

go. Its length, volume, and direction entitle it to the honor of being

called the head water of the great Rio Colorado, or Colored River, a

larger and more important stream than even the Columbia. There is some

grand exploration still to be done upon the line of the Upper Colorado,

especially the divides which lie between it and its various influents,

the Grand River and the Yaquisilla, of which the wild trapper brings

home many a marvelous tale of beauty and grandeur. Captain T. A. Gove,

of the 10th Regiment of Infantry, then stationed at Camp Floyd, told

me that an expedition had often been projected: a party of twenty-five

to thirty men, well armed and provided with inflatable boats, might

pass without unwarrantable risk through the sparsely populated Indian

country: a true report concerning regions of which there are so many

false reports, all wearing more or less the garb of fable--beautiful

valleys inclosed in inaccessible rocks, Indian cities and golden

treasures--would be equally interesting and important. I can not

recommend the undertaking to the European adventurer: the United States

have long since organized and perfected what was proposed in England

during the Crimean war, and which fell, as other projects then did,

to the ground, namely, a corps of Topographical Engineers, a body of

well-trained and scientific explorers, to whose hands the task may

safely be committed.[114]

[114] The principal explorers under the United States government of

the regions lying west of the Mississippi, and who have published

works upon the subject, are the following:

1. Messrs. Lewis and Clarke, in 1804-6, first explored the Rocky

Mountains to the Columbia River.

2. Major Z. M. Pike, in 1805-7, visited the upper waters of the

Mississippi and the western regions of Louisiana.

3. Major, afterward Colonel S. H. Long, of the United States

Topographical Engineers, made two expeditions, one in 1819-20 to the

Rocky Mountains, another in 1823 to the Sources of the St. Peter and

the Lake of the Woods, whereby four volumes octavo were filled.

4. Governor Cass and Mr. Schoolcraft in 1820 explored the Sources of

the Mississippi and the regions west and south of Lake Superior.

5. Colonel H. Dodge, U. S. Army, in 1835 traveled 1600 miles from

Fort Leavenworth, and visited the regions between the Arkansas and

the Platte Rivers.

6. Captain Canfield, United States Topographical Engineers, in 1838

explored the country between Forts Leavenworth and Snelling.

7. Mr. M‘Cox, of Missouri, surveyed the boundaries of the Indian

reservations: his work was in part revised by the late Captain Hood,

United States Topographical Engineers.

8. Mr. Nicollet (French) in 1833-38 mapped the country west of the

Upper Mississippi: he was employed in 1838-9 to make a similar

scientific reconnoissance between the Mississippi and the Missouri,

on which occasion he was accompanied by Mr. Frémont. He died in 1842.

The explorations of Colonel Frémont, Captain Howard Stansbury,

Lieutenant Gunnison, and Lieutenant Warren have been frequently

alluded to in these pages.

9. Lieutenant, afterward Captain Charles Wilkes, U. S. Navy, set out

in 1838, and, after a long voyage of discovery in South America,

Oceanica, and the Antarctic continent, made San Francisco on August

11, 1841. It is remarkable that this officer’s party were actually

pitched upon the spot (New Helvetia, afterward called Sacramento

City) where Californian gold was dug by the Mormons.

10. Captain R. B. Marcy, U. S. Army, “discovered and explored,

located and marked out the wagon-road from Fort Smith, Arkansas, to

Santa Fé, New Mexico.” The road explorers, however, are too numerous

to specify.

11. Governor I. I. Stevens, of Washington Territory, surveyed in 1853

the northern land proposed for a Pacific railway near the 47°-49°

parallels, from St. Paul to Puget Sound. No portion of that line

had been visited since the days of Lewis and Clarke, except a small

portion toward the Pacific Ocean.

12. Captain Raynolds, United States Topographical Engineers,

accompanied by Colonel Bridger as guide and interpreter, is still

(1860) exploring the head-waters of the Yellow Stone River.

We passed a social evening at Green-River Station. It boasted of no

less than three Englishwomen, two married, and one, the help, still

single. Not having the Mormonite _retenue_, the dames were by no means

sorry to talk about Birmingham and Yorkshire, their birthplaces. At 9

P.M. arrived one of the road-agents, Mr. Cloete, from whom I gathered

that the mail-wagon which once ran from Great Salt Lake City had lately

been taken off the road. The intelligence was by no means consolatory,

but a course of meditation upon the saying of the sage, “in for a

penny, in for a pound,” followed by another visit to my namesake’s

grog-shop, induced a highly philosophical turn, which enabled me--with

the aid of a buffalo--to pass a comfortable night in the store.

_22d August. To Ham’s Fork and Millersville._

We were not under way before 8 A.M. Macarthy was again to take the

lines, and a _Giovinetto_ returning after a temporary absence to a

young wife is not usually rejoiced to run his course. Indeed, he felt

the inconveniences of a semi-bachelor life so severely, that he often

threatened in my private ear, _chemin faisant_, to throw up the whole

concern.

[MICHAEL MARTIN’S STORE.--AN ORIGINAL.]

After the preliminary squabble with the mules, we forded the pebbly

and gravelly bed of the river--in parts it looks like a lake exhausted

by drainage--whose swift surging waters wetted the upper spokes of the

wheels, and gurgled pleasantly around the bags which contained the mail

for Great Salt Lake City.[115] We then ran down the river valley,

which was here about one mile in breadth, in a smooth flooring of clay,

sprinkled with water-rolled pebbles, overgrown in parts with willow,

wild cherry, buffalo berries, and quaking asp. Macarthy pointed out in

the road-side a rough grave, furnished with the normal tomb-stone, two

pieces of wagon-board: it was occupied by one Farren, who had fallen by

the revolver of the redoubtable Slade. Presently we came to the store

of Michael Martin, an honest Creole, who vended the staple of prairie

goods, Champagne, bottled cocktail, “eye-opener,” and other liquors,

dry goods--linen drapery--a few fancy goods, ribbons, and finery;

brandied fruits, jams and jellies, potted provisions, buckskins,

moccasins, and so forth. Hearing that Lieutenant Dana was _en route_

for Camp Floyd, he requested him to take charge of $500, to be paid to

Mr. Livingston, the sutler, and my companion, with the obligingness

that marked his every action, agreed to deliver the dollars, _sauve_

the judgment of God in the shape of Indians, or “White Indians.”[116]

At the store we noticed a paralytic man. This original lived under the

delusion that it was impossible to pass the Devil’s Gate: his sister

had sent for him to St. Louis, and his friends tried to transport

him eastward in chairs; the only result was that he ran away before

reaching the Gate, and after some time was brought back by Indians.

[115] Sticklers for strict democracy in the United States maintain,

on the principle that the least possible power should be delegated

to the federal government, that the transmission of correspondence

is no more a national concern than the construction of railways and

telegraphs, or the transit of passengers and goods. The present

system was borrowed from the monopolies of Europe, and was introduced

into America at a time when individual enterprise was inadequate

to the task; in the year one of the Republic it became, under the

direction of Benjamin Franklin, a state department, and, though men

argue in the abstract, few care to propose a private mail system,

which would undertake the management of some 27,000 scattered offices

and 40,000 poorly paid clerks.

On this line we saw all the evils of the contract system. The

requisite regularity and quickness was neglected, letters and papers

were often lost, the mail-bags were wetted or thrown carelessly

upon the ground, and those intrusted to the conductors were perhaps

destroyed. Both parties complain--the postmaster that the contractors

seek to drive too hard a bargain with the department, and the

contractors that they are carrying the mails at a loss. Since the

restoration (in 1858) of the postal communication with the United

States which was interrupted in 1857, the Mormons attempt to secure

good service by advertising their grievances, and with tolerable

success. Postmaster Morrill--a Gentile--complained energetically of

the mail service during the last year, that letters were wetted and

jumbled together, two of one month perhaps and one of another; that

magazines often arrived four months after date, and that thirty sacks

left at Rocky Ridge were lost. The consequence was that during my

stay at Great Salt Lake City the contractors did their duty.

When salaries are small and families large, post-office robberies

must at times be expected. The postal department have long adopted

the system of registered letters: upon payment of five cents instead

of three, the letter is placed in a separate bag, entered separately

in the office books, forwarded with certain precautions, and

delivered to the address only after a receipt from the recipient.

But the department disclaims all responsibility in case of loss or

theft, and the only value of the higher stamp is a somewhat superior

facility of tracking the document that bears it.

[116] A cant term for white thieves disguised as savages, which has a

terrible significancy a little farther West.

Resuming our journey, we passed two places where trains of fifty-one

wagons were burned in 1857 by the Mormon Rangers: the black stains

had bitten into the ground like the blood-marks in the palace of

Holyrood--a neat foundation for a structure of superstition. Not far

from it was a deep hole, in which the plunderers had “cached” the

iron-work which they were unable to carry away. Emerging from the

river plain we entered upon another _mauvaise terre_, with knobs and

elevations of clay and green gault, striped and banded with lines of

stone and pebbles: it was a barren, desolate spot, the divide between

the Green River and its western influent, the shallow and somewhat

sluggish Black’s Fork. The name is derived from an old trader: it is

called by the Snakes Ongo Ogwe Pa, or “Pine-tree Stream;” it rises in

the Bear-River Mountains, drains the swamps and lakelets on the way,

and bifurcates in its upper bed, forming two principal branches, Ham’s

Fork and Muddy Fork.

Near the Pine-tree Stream we met a horse-thief driving four bullocks:

he was known to Macarthy, and did not look over comfortable. We had

now fallen into the regular track of Mormon emigration, and saw the

wayfarers in their worst plight, near the end of the journey. We passed

several families, and parties of women and children trudging wearily

along: most of the children were in rags or half nude, and all showed

gratitude when we threw them provisions. The greater part of the men

were armed, but their weapons were far more dangerous to themselves

and their fellows than to the enemy. There is not on earth a race of

men more ignorant of arms as a rule than the lower grades of English;

becoming an emigrant, the mechanic hears that it may be necessary

to beat off Indians, so he buys the first old fire-arm he sees, and

probably does damage with it. Only last night a father crossed Green

River to beg for a piece of cloth; it was intended to shroud the body

of his child, which during the evening had been accidentally shot, and

the station people seemed to think nothing of the accident, as if it

were of daily recurrence. I was told of three, more or less severe,

that happened in the course of a month. The Western Americans, who are

mostly accustomed to the use of weapons, look upon these awkwardnesses

with a profound contempt. We were now in a region of graves, and their

presence in this wild was not a little suggestive.

Presently we entered a valley in which green grass, low and dense

willows, and small but shady trees, an unusually vigorous vegetation,

refreshed, as though with living water, our eyes, parched and dazed by

the burning glare. Stock strayed over the pasture, and a few Indian

tents rose at the farther side; the view was probably _pas grand’

chose_, but we thought it splendidly beautiful. At midday we reached

Ham’s Fork, the northwestern influent of Green River, and there we

found a station. The pleasant little stream is called by the Indians

Turugempa, the “Blackfoot Water.”

[THE DIRTY HOUSE.]

The station was kept by an Irishman and a Scotchman--“Dawvid Lewis:”

it was a disgrace; the squalor and filth were worse almost than

the two--Cold Springs and Rock Creek--which we called our horrors,

and which had always seemed to be the _ne plus ultra_ of Western

discomfort. The shanty was made of dry stone piled up against a

dwarf cliff to save back wall, and ignored doors and windows. The

flies--unequivocal sign of unclean living!--darkened the table and

covered every thing put upon it; the furniture, which mainly consisted

of the different parts of wagons, was broken, and all in disorder; the

walls were impure, the floor filthy. The reason was at once apparent.

Two Irishwomen, sisters,[117] were married to Mr. Dawvid, and the house

was full of “childer,” the noisiest and most rampageous of their kind.

I could hardly look upon the scene without disgust. The fair ones had

the porcine Irish face--I need hardly tell the reader that there are

three orders of physiognomy in that branch of the Keltic family, viz.,

porcine, equine, and simian--the pig-faced, the horse-faced, and the

monkey-faced. Describing one I describe both sisters; her nose was

“pugged,” apparently by gnawing hard potatoes before that member had

acquired firmness and consistency; her face was powdered with freckles;

her hair, and, indeed, her general costume, looked, to quote Mr. Dow’s

sermon, as though she had been rammed through a bush fence into a world

of wretchedness and woe. Her dress was unwashed and in tatters, and her

feet were bare; she would not even take the trouble to make for herself

moccasins. Moreover, I could not but notice that, though the house

contained two wives, it boasted only of one cubile, and had only one

cubiculum. Such things would excite no surprise in London or Naples, or

even in many of the country parts of Europe; but here, where ground is

worthless, where building material is abundant, and where a few hours

of daily labor would have made the house look at least respectable,

I could not but wonder at it. My first impulse was to attribute the

evil, uncharitably enough, to Mormonism; to renew, in fact, the

stock-complaint of nineteen centuries’ standing--

“Fœcunda culpæ secula nuptias

Primùm inquinavere, et genus et domus.”

[117] A man (Mormon) may even marry a mother and her daughters:

usually the relationship with the former is Platonic; the tie,

however, is irregular, and has been contracted in ignorance of the

prohibited degrees.

[A SCOTCH IDLER.]

A more extended acquaintance with the regions west of the Wasach taught

me that the dirt and discomfort were the growth of the land. To give

the poor devils their due, Dawvid was civil and intelligent, though a

noted dawdler, as that rare phenomenon, a Scotch idler, generally is.

Moreover, his wives were not deficient in charity; several Indians came

to the door, and none went away without a “bit” and a “sup.” During

the process of sketching one of these men, a Snake, distinguished

by his vermilion’d hair-parting, eyes blackened, as if by lines of

soot or surma, and delicate Hindoo-like hands, my eye fell upon the

German-silver handle of a Colt’s revolver, which had been stowed away

under the blankets, and a revolver in the Lamanite’s hands breeds evil

suspicions.

Again we advanced. The air was like the breath of a furnace; the sun

was a blaze of fire--accounting, by-the-by, for the fact that the human

nose in these parts seems invariably to become cherry-red--all the

nullahs were dried up, and the dust-pillars and mirage were the only

moving objects on the plain. Three times we forded Black’s Fork, and

then debouched once more upon a long flat. The ground was scattered

over with pebbles of granite, obsidian, flint, and white, yellow, and

smoky quartz, all water-rolled. After twelve miles we passed Church

Butte, one of many curious formations lying to the left hand or south

of the road. This isolated mass of stiff clay has been cut and ground

by wind and rain into folds and hollow channels which from a distance

perfectly simulate the pillars, groins, and massive buttresses of a

ruinous Gothic cathedral. The foundation is level, except where masses

have been swept down by the rain, and not a blade of grass grows upon

any part. An architect of genius might profitably study this work of

Nature: upon that subject, however, I shall presently have more to say.

The Butte is highly interesting in a geological point of view; it shows

the elevation of the adjoining plains in past ages, before partial

deluges and the rains of centuries had effected the great work of

degradation.

Again we sighted the pretty valley of Black’s Fork, whose cool clear

stream flowed merrily over its pebbly bed. The road was now populous

with Mormon emigrants; some had good teams, others hand-carts, which

looked like a cross between a wheel-barrow and a tax-cart. There was

nothing repugnant in the demeanor of the party; they had been civilized

by traveling, and the younger women, who walked together and apart

from the men, were not too surly to exchange a greeting. The excessive

barrenness of the land presently diminished; gentian and other

odoriferous herbs appeared, and the greasewood, which somewhat reminded

me of the Sindhian camel-thorn, was of a lighter green than elsewhere,

and presented a favorable contrast with the dull glaucous hues of the

eternal prairie sage. We passed a dwarf copse so strewed with the bones

of cattle as to excite our astonishment: Macarthy told us that it was

the place where the 2d Dragoons encamped in 1857, and lost a number of

their horses by cold and starvation. The wolves and coyotes seemed to

have retained a predilection for the spot; we saw troops of them in

their favorite “location”--the crest of some little rise, whence they

could keep a sharp look-out upon any likely addition to their scanty

larder.

[THE UNGENIAL MAN.]

After sundry steep inclines we forded another little stream, with a

muddy bed, shallow, and about thirty feet wide: it is called Smith’s

Fork, rises in the “Bridger Range” of the Uinta Hills, and sheds into

Black’s Fork, the main drain of these parts. On the other side stood

Millersville, a large ranch with a whole row of unused and condemned

wagons drawn up on one side. We arrived at 5 15 P.M., having taken

three hours and fifteen minutes to get over twenty miles. The tenement

was made of the component parts of vehicles, the chairs had backs of

yoke-bows, and the fences which surrounded the corral were of the same

material. The station was kept by one Holmes, an American Mormon, and

an individual completely the reverse of genial; he dispensed his words

as if shelling out coin, and he was never--by us at least--seen to

smile. His wife was a pretty young Englishwoman, who had spent the best

part of her life between London and Portsmouth; when alone with me she

took the opportunity of asking some few questions about old places,

but this most innocent _tête-à-tête_ was presently interrupted by the

protrusion through the open door of a _tête de mari au naturel_, with

a truly _renfrogné_ and vinegarish aspect, which made him look like a

calamity. After supplying us with a supper which was clean and neatly

served, the pair set out for an evening ride, and toward night we heard

the scraping of a violin, which reminded me of Tommaso Scarafaggio:

“Detto il sega del villagio

Perché suona il violino.”

The “fiddle” was a favorite instrument with Mr. Joseph Smith, as the

harp with David; the Mormons, therefore, at the instance of their

prophet, are not a little addicted to the use of the bow. We spent a

comfortable night at Millersville. After watching the young moon as she

sailed through the depths of a firmament unstained by the least fleck

of mist, we found some scattered volumes which rendered us independent

of our unsocial Yankee host.

_23d August. Fort Bridger._

[“UNCLE JACK.”]

We breakfasted early the next morning, and gladly settled accounts with

the surly Holmes, who had infected--probably by following the example

of Mr. Caudle in later life--his pretty wife with his own surliness.

Shortly after starting--at 8 30 A.M.--we saw a little clump of seven

Indian lodges, which our experience soon taught us were the property

of a white; the proprietor met us on the road, and was introduced with

due ceremony by Mr. Macarthy. “Uncle Jack” (Robinson, really) is a

well-known name between South Pass and Great Salt Lake City; he has

spent thirty-four years in the mountains, and has saved some $75,000,

which have been properly invested at St. Louis; as might be expected,

he prefers the home of his adoption and his Indian spouse, who has made

him the happy father of I know not how many children, to good society

and bad air farther east.

Our road lay along the valley of Black’s Fork, which here flows

from the southwest to the northeast; the bottom produced in plenty

luxuriant grass, the dandelion, and the purple aster, thickets of a

shrub-like hawthorn (_cratægus_), black and white currants, the willow

and the cotton-wood. When almost in sight of the military post we were

addressed by two young officers, one of them an assistant surgeon, who

had been engaged in the healthful and exciting pursuit of a badger,

whose markings, by-the-by, greatly differ from the European; they

recognized the uniform, and accompanied us to the station.

Fort Bridger lies 124 miles from Great Salt Lake City; according to

the drivers, however, the road might be considerably shortened. The

position is a fertile basin cut into a number of bits by Black’s

Fork, which disperses itself into four channels about 1·5 mile above

the station, and forms again a single bed about two miles below. The

fort is situated upon the westernmost islet. It is, as usual, a mere

cantonment, without any attempt at fortification, and at the time of

my visit was garrisoned by two companies of foot, under the command of

Captain F. Gardner, of the 10th Regiment. The material of the houses

is pine and cedar brought from the Uinta Hills, whose black flanks

supporting snowy cones rise at the distance of about thirty-five miles.

They are a sanitarium, except in winter, when under their influence the

mercury sinks to -20° F., not much less rigorous than Minnesota, and

they are said to shelter grizzly bears and an abundance of smaller game.

The fort was built by Colonel James Bridger, now the oldest trapper on

the Rocky Mountains, of whom Messrs. Frémont and Stansbury have both

spoken in the highest terms. He divides with Christopher Carson, the

Kit Carson of the Wind River and the Sierra Nevada explorations, the

honor of being the best guide and interpreter in the Indian country:

the palm for prudence is generally given to the former; for dash and

hard fighting to the latter, although, it is said, the mildest mannered

of men. Colonel Bridger, when an Indian trader, placed this post upon

a kind of neutral ground between the Snakes and Crows (Hapsaroke) on

the north, the Ogalalas and other Sioux to the east, the Arapahoes and

Cheyennes on the south, and the various tribes of Yutas (Utahs) on the

southwest. He had some difficulties with the Mormons, and Mrs. Mary

Ettie Smith, in a volume concerning which something will be said at

a future opportunity, veraciously reports his barbarous murder, some

years ago, by the Danite band. He was at the time of my visit absent on

an exploratory expedition with Captain Raynolds.

[A SORE SUBJECT.]

Arrived at Fort Bridger, our first thought was to replenish our

whisky-keg: its emptiness was probably due to the “rapid evaporation in

such an elevated region imperfectly protected by timber;” but, however

that may be, I never saw liquor disappear at such a rate before. _Par

parenthèse_, our late friends the officials had scarcely been more

fortunate: they had watched their whisky with the eyes of Argus,

yet, as the driver facetiously remarked, though the quantity did not

diminish too rapidly, the quality lost strength every day. We were

conducted by Judge Carter to a building which combined the function

of post-office and sutler’s store, the judge being also sutler, and

performing both parts, I believe, to the satisfaction of every one.

After laying in an ample provision of biscuits for Miss May and

korn-schnapps for ourselves, we called upon the commanding officer, who

introduced us to his officers, and were led by Captain Cumming to his

quarters, where, by means of chat, “solace-tobacco,” and toddy--which

in these regions signifies “cold with”--we soon worked our way

through the short three quarters of an hour allowed us. The officers

complained very naturally of their isolation and unpleasant duty, which

principally consists in keeping the roads open for, and the Indians

from cutting off, parties of unmanageable emigrants, who look upon the

federal army as their humblest servants. At Camp Scott, near Bridger,

the army of the federal government halted under canvas during the

severe winter of 1857-1858, and the subject is still sore to military

ears.

[BEER SPRINGS.]

We left Bridger at 10 A.M. Macarthy explained away the disregard for

the comfort of the public on the part of the contractors in not having

a station at the fort by declaring that they could obtain no land in

a government reservation; moreover, that forage there would be scarce

and dear, while the continual influx of Indians would occasion heavy

losses in cattle. At Bridger the road forks: the northern line leads

to Soda or Beer Springs,[118] the southern to Great Salt Lake City.

Following the latter, we crossed the rough timber bridges that spanned

the net-work of streams, and entered upon another expanse of degraded

ground, covered as usual with water-rolled pebbles of granite and

porphyry, flint and greenstone. On the left was a butte with steep

bluff sides, called the Race-course: the summit, a perfect _mesa_, is

said to be quite level, and to measure exactly a mile round--the rule

of the American hippodrome. Like these earth formations generally, it

points out the ancient level of the land before water had washed away

the outer film of earth’s crust. The climate in this part, as indeed

every where between the South Pass and the Great Salt Lake Valley,

was an exaggeration of the Italian, with hot days, cool nights, and an

incomparable purity and tenuity of atmosphere. We passed on the way a

party of emigrants, numbering 359 souls and driving 39 wagons. They

were commanded by the patriarch of Mormondom, otherwise Captain John

Smith, the eldest son of Hyrum Smith, a brother of Mr. Joseph Smith the

Prophet, and who, being a child at the time of the murderous affair at

Carthage, escaped being coiffe’d with the crown of martyrdom. He rose

to the patriarchate on the 18th of February, 1855; his predecessor

was “old John Smith”--uncle to Mr. Joseph, and successor to Mr. Hyrum

Smith--who died the 23d of May, 1854. He was a fair-complexioned man,

with light hair. His followers accepted gratefully some provisions with

which we could afford to part.

[118] These springs of sadly prosaic name are the greatest curiosity

to be seen on the earth. They lie but a short distance east of the

junction of the Fort Hall and the California roads, and are scattered

over, perhaps, 40 acres of volcanic ground. They do not, like most

springs, run out of the sides of hills, but boil up directly from a

level plain. The water contains a gas, and has quite an acid taste:

when exposed to the sun or air, it passes but a short distance before

it takes the formation of a crust or solid coat of scarlet hue, so

that the continued boiling of any of these fountains will “create a

stone to the height of its source (15 or twenty feet) some 10 to 20

feet in diameter at the bottom, and from 2 to 3 feet at the top.”

After arriving at a uniform height, the water has ceased to run from

several of the “eyes” to burst out in some other place. The water

spurts from some of these very beautifully.--Horn’s “Overland Guide

to California,” p. 38. They are also described by Colonel Frémont:

“Expedition to Oregon and North California (1843-44),” p. 136.

After passing the Mormons we came upon a descent which appeared little

removed from an angle of 35°, and suggested the propriety of walking

down. There was an attempt at a zigzag, and, for the benefit of wagons,

a rough wall of stones had been run along the sharper corners. At the

foot of the hill we remounted, and, passing through a wooded bottom,

reached at 12 15 P.M.--after fording the Big Muddy--Little Muddy Creek,

upon whose banks stood the station. Both these streams are branches of

the Ham’s Fork of Green River; and, according to the well-known “rule

of contrairy,” their waters are clear as crystal, showing every pebble

in their beds.

Little Muddy was kept by a Canadian, a chatty, lively, good-humored

fellow blessed with a sour English wife. Possibly the heat--the

thermometer showed 95° F. in the shade--had turned her temper;

fortunately, it had not similarly affected the milk and cream, which

were both unusually good. Jean-Baptiste, having mistaken me for a

_Française de France_, a being which he seemed to regard as little

lower than the angels--I was at no pains to disabuse him--was profuse

in his questionings concerning his imperial majesty, the emperor,

carefully confounding him with the first of the family; and so pleased

was he with my responses, that for the first time on that route I found

a man ready to spurn _cet animal féroce qu’on appelle la pièce de cinq

francs_--in other words, the “almighty dollar.”

We bade adieu to Little Muddy at noon, and entered a new country, a

broken land of spurs and hollows, in parts absolutely bare, in others

clothed with a thick vegetation. Curiously shaped hills, and bluffs of

red earth capped with a clay which much resembled snow, bore a thick

growth of tall firs and pines whose sombre uniform contrasted strangely

with the brilliant leek-like, excessive green foliage, and the tall,

note-paper-colored trunks of the ravine-loving quaking asp (_Populus

tremuloides_). The mixture of colors was bizarre in the extreme, and

the lay of the land, an uncouth system of converging, diverging, and

parallel ridges, with deep divisions--in one of these ravines, which is

unusually broad and grassy, rise the so-called Copperas Springs--was

hardly less striking. We ran winding along a crest of rising ground,

passing rapidly, by way of farther comparison, two wretched Mormons,

man and woman, who were driving, at a snail’s pace, a permanently lamed

ox, and after a long ascent stood upon the summit of Quaking-Asp Hill.

[QUAKING-ASP HILL.]

Quaking-Asp Hill, according to the drivers, is 1000 feet higher than

the South Pass, which would exalt its station to 8400 feet; other

authorities, however, reduce it to 7900. The descent was long and

rapid--so rapid, indeed, that oftentimes when the block of wood which

formed our brake dropped a bit of the old shoe-sole nailed upon it

to prevent ignition, I felt, as man may be excused for feeling, that

catching of the breath that precedes the first five-barred gate after

a night of “heavy wet.” The sides of the road were rich in vegetation,

stunted oak, black-jack, and box elder of the stateliest stature; above

rose the wild cherry, and the service-tree formed the bushes below.

The descent, besides being decidedly sharp, was exceedingly devious,

and our frequent “shaves”--a train of Mormon wagons was crawling down

at the same time--made us feel somewhat thankful that we reached the

bottom without broken bones.

The train was commanded by a Captain Murphy, who, as one might expect

from the name, had hoisted the Stars and Stripes--it was the only

instance of such loyalty seen by us on the Plains. The emigrants had

left Council Bluffs on the 20th of June, an unusually late date, and,

though weather-beaten, all looked well. Inspirited by our success in

surmounting the various difficulties of the way, we “poked fun” at an

old Yorkshireman, who was assumed, by way of mirth, to be a Cœlebs in

search of polygamy at an epoch of life when perhaps the blessing might

come too late; and at an exceedingly plain middle-aged and full-blooded

negro woman, who was fairly warned--the children of Ham are not

admitted to the communion of the Saints, and consequently to the

forgiveness of sins and a free seat in Paradise--that she was “carrying

coals to Newcastle.”

[SULPHUR CREEK.]

As the rays of the sun began to slant we made Sulphur Creek; it lies at

the foot of a mountain called Rim Base, because it is the eastern wall

of the great inland basin; westward of this point the waters can no

longer reach the Atlantic or the Pacific; each is destined to feed the

lakes,

“Nec Oceani pervenit ad undas.”

Beyond Sulphur Creek, too, the face of the country changes; the

sedimentary deposits are no longer seen; the land is broken and

confused, upheaved into huge masses of rock and mountains broken by

deep kanyons, ravines, and water-gaps, and drained by innumerable

streamlets. The exceedingly irregular lay of the land makes the road

devious, and the want of level ground, which is found only in dwarf

parks and prairillons, would greatly add to the expense of a railway.

We crossed the creek, a fetid stagnant water, about ten feet wide,

lying in a bed of black infected mud: during the spring rains, when

flowing, it is said to be wholesome enough. On the southern side of the

valley there are some fine fountains, and on the eastern are others

strongly redolent of sulphur; broad seams of coal crop out from the

northern bluffs, and about a mile distant in the opposite direction

are the Tar Springs, useful for greasing wagon-wheels and curing

galled-backed horses.

Following the valley, which was rough and broken as it well could be,

we crossed a small divide, and came upon the plain of the Bear River,

a translation of the Indian Kuiyápá. It is one of the most important

tributaries of the Great Salt Lake. Heading in the Uinta Range to

the east of Kamas Prairie,[119] it flows with a tortuous course to

the northwest, till, reaching Beer Springs, it turns sharply round

with a horseshoe bend, and sets to the southwest, falling into the

general reservoir at a bight called Bear-River Bay. According to the

mountaineers, it springs not far from the sources of the Weber River

and of the Timpanogos Water. Coal was found some years ago upon the

banks of the Bear River, and more lately near Weber River and Silver

Creek. It is the easternmost point to which Mormonism can extend

_main forte_; for fugitives from justice “over Bear River” is like

“over Jordan.” The aspect of the valley, here half a mile broad, was

prepossessing. Beyond a steep terrace, or step which compelled us all

to dismount, the clear stream, about 400 feet in width, flowed through

narrow lines of willows, cotton-wood, and large trees, which waved in

the cool refreshing western wind; grass carpeted the middle levels, and

above all rose red cliffs and buttresses of frowning rock.

[119] So called from the _Camassia esculenta_, the Pomme des

Prairies or Pomme Blanche of the Canadians, and the prairie turnip

and breadroot of the Western hunters. The Kamas Prairie is a pretty

little bit of clear and level ground near the head of the Timpanogos

River.

[ROUGH-AND-TUMBLE.--MR. MACARTHY.]

We reached the station at 5 30 P.M. The valley was dotted with the

tents of the Mormon emigrants, and we received sundry visits of

curiosity; the visitors, mostly of the sex conventionally termed

the fair, contented themselves with entering, sitting down, looking

hard, tittering to one another, and departing with Parthian glances

that had little power to hurt. From the men we heard tidings of “a

massacree” of emigrants in the north, and a defeat of Indians in the

west. Mr. Myers, the station-master, was an English Saint, who had

lately taken to himself a fifth wife, after severally divorcing the

others; his last choice was not without comeliness, but her reserve

was extreme; she could hardly be coaxed out of a “Yes, sir.” I found

Mr. Myers diligently perusing a translation of “Volney’s Ruins of

Empire;” we had a chat about the Old and the New Country, which led us

to sleeping-teme. I had here a curious instance of the effect of the

association of words, in hearing a by-stander apply to the Founder

of Christianity the “Mr.” which is the “_Kyrios_” of the West, and

is always prefixed to “Joseph Smith:” he stated that the mission of

the latter was “far ahead of” that of the former prophet, which,

by-the-by, is not the strict Mormon doctrine. My companion and his

family preferred as usual the interior of the mail-wagon, and it was

well that they did so; after a couple of hours entered Mr. Macarthy,

very drunk and “fighting mad.” He called for supper, but supper was

past and gone, so he supped upon “fids” of raw meat. Excited by this

lively food, he began a series of caprioles, which ended, as might

be expected, in a rough-and-tumble with the other three youths who

occupied the hard floor of the ranch. To Mr. Macarthy’s language on

that occasion _horresco referens_; every word was apparently English,

but so perverted, misused, and mangled, that the home reader would

hardly have distinguished it from High-Dutch: _e. g._, “I’m intire

mad as a meat-axe; now du don’t, I tell ye; say, _you_, shut up in a

winkin’, or I’ll be chawed up if I don’t run over _you_; ’can’t come

that ’ere tarnal carryin’ on over _me_,” and--_O si sic omnia!_ As no

weapons, revolvers, or bowie-knives were to the fore, I thought the

best thing was to lie still and let the storm blow over, which it did

in a quarter of an hour. Then, all serene, Mr. Macarthy called for a

pipe, excused himself ceremoniously to himself for taking the liberty

with the “Cap’s.” meerschaum solely upon the grounds that it was the

only article of the kind to be found at so late an hour, and presently

fell into a deep slumber upon a sleeping contrivance composed of a

table for the upper and a chair for the lower portion of his person.

I envied him the favors of Morpheus: the fire soon died out, the cold

wind whistled through the crannies, and the floor was knotty and uneven.

_Echo Kanyon. August 24th._

At 8 15 A.M. we were once more _en voyage_. Mr. Macarthy was very

red-eyed as he sat on the stool of penitence: what seemed to vex

him most was having lost certain newspapers directed to a friend

and committed to his private trust, a mode of insuring their safe

arrival concerning which he had the day before expressed the highest

opinion. After fording Bear River--this part of the land was quite

a grave-yard--we passed over rough ground, and, descending into a

bush, were shown on a ridge to the right a huge Stonehenge, a crown

of broken and somewhat lanceolate perpendicular conglomerates or

cemented pudding-stones called not inappropriately Needle Rocks. At

Egan’s Creek, a tributary of the Yellow Creek, the wild geraniums and

the willows flourished despite the six feet of snow which sometimes

lies in these bottoms. We then crossed Yellow Creek, a water trending

northeastward, and feeding, like those hitherto forded, Bear River: the

bottom, a fine broad meadow, was a favorite camping-ground, as the

many fire-places proved. Beyond the stream we ascended Yellow-Creek

Hill, a steep chain which divides the versant of the Bear River

eastward from that of Weber River to the west. The ascent might be

avoided, but the view from the summit is a fine panorama. The horizon

behind us is girt by a mob of hills, Bridger’s Range, silver-veined

upon a dark blue ground; nearer, mountains and rocks, cones and

hog-backs, are scattered about in admirable confusion, divided by

shaggy rollers and dark ravines, each with its own little water-course.

In front the eye runs down the long bright red line of Echo Kanyon,

and rests with astonishment upon its novel and curious features, the

sublimity of its broken and jagged peaks, divided by dark abysses, and

based upon huge piles of disjointed and scattered rock. On the right,

about half a mile north of the road, and near the head of the kanyon,

is a place that adds human interest to the scene. Cache Cave is a dark,

deep, natural tunnel in the rock, which has sheltered many a hunter

and trader from wild weather and wilder men: the wall is probably of

marl and earthy limestone, whose whiteness is set off by the ochrish

brick-red of the ravine below.

[ECHO KANYON.]

Echo Kanyon has a total length of twenty-five to thirty miles, and

runs in a southeasterly direction to the Weber River. Near the head it

is from half to three quarters of a mile wide, but its irregularity

is such that no average breadth can be assigned to it. The height of

the buttresses on the right or northern side varies from 300 to 500

feet; they are denuded and water-washed by the storms that break upon

them under the influence of southerly gales; their strata here are

almost horizontal; they are inclined at an angle of 45°, and the strike

is northeast and southwest. The opposite or southern flank, being

protected from the dashing and weathering of rain and wind, is a mass

of rounded soil-clad hills, or sloping slabs of rock, earth-veiled,

and growing tussocks of grass. Between them runs the clear, swift,

bubbling stream, in a pebbly bed now hugging one, then the other side

of the chasm: it has cut its way deeply below the surface; the banks

or benches of stiff alluvium are not unfrequently twenty feet high; in

places it is partially dammed by the hand of Nature, and every where

the watery margin is of the brightest green, and overgrown with grass,

nettles, willow thickets, in which the hop is conspicuous, quaking asp,

and other taller trees. Echo Kanyon has but one fault: its sublimity

will make all similar features look tame.

We entered the kanyon in somewhat a serious frame of mind; our team

was headed by a pair of exceedingly restive mules; we had remonstrated

against the experimental driving being done upon our vile bodies,

but the reply was that the animals must be harnessed at some time.

We could not, however, but remark the wonderful picturesqueness of a

scene--of a nature which in parts seemed lately to have undergone some

grand catastrophe. The gigantic red wall on our right was divided into

distinct blocks or quarries by a multitude of minor lateral kanyons,

which, after rains, add their tribute to the main artery, and each

block was subdivided by the crumbling of the softer and the resistance

of the harder material--a clay conglomerate. The color varied in

places from white and green to yellow, but for the most part it was a

dull ochrish red, that brightened up almost to a straw tint where the

sunbeams fell slantingly upon it from the strip of blue above. All

served to set off the curious architecture of the smaller masses. A

whole Petra was there, a system of projecting prisms, pyramids, and

pagoda towers, a variety of form that enabled you to see whatever your

peculiar vanity might be--columns, porticoes, façades, and pedestals.

Twin lines of bluffs, a succession of buttresses all fretted and

honeycombed, a double row of steeples slipped from perpendicularity,

frowned at each other across the gorge. And the wondrous variety was

yet more varied by the kaleidoscopic transformation caused by change

of position: at every different point the same object bore a different

aspect.

And now, while we are dashing over the bouldered crossings; while

our naughty mules, as they tear down the short steep pitches, swing

the wheels of the mail-wagon within half a foot of the high bank’s

crumbling edge; while poor Mrs. Dana closes her eyes and clasps her

husband’s hand, and Miss May, happily unconscious of all peril, amuses

herself by perseveringly perching upon the last toe that I should have

been inclined to offer, the monotony of the risk may be relieved by

diverting our thoughts to the lessons taught by the scenery around.

[ART IN AMERICA.]

An American artist might extract from such scenery as Church Butte

and Echo Kanyon a system of architecture as original and national

as Egypt ever borrowed from her sandstone ledges, or the North of

Europe from the solemn depths of her fir forests. But Art does not at

present exist in America; as among their forefathers farther east, of

artists they have plenty, of Art nothing. We can explain the presence

of the phenomenon in England, where that grotesqueness and bizarrerie

of taste which is observable in the uneducated, and which, despite

collections and art-missions, hardly disappears in those who have

studied the purest models, is the natural growth of man’s senses and

perceptions exposed for generation after generation to the unseen,

unceasing, ever-active effect of homely objects, the desolate aspects

of the long and dreary winters, and the humidity which shrouds the

visible world with its dull gray coloring. Should any one question the

fact that Art is not yet English, let him but place himself in the

centre of the noblest site in Europe, Trafalgar Square, and own that

no city in the civilized world ever presented such a perfect sample of

barbarous incongruity, from mast-headed Nelson with his coil behind

him, the work of the Satirist’s “one man and small boy,” to the two

contemptible squirting things that throw water upon the pavement at

his feet. Mildly has the “Thunderer” described it as the “chosen home

of exquisite dullness and stilted mediocrity.” The cause above assigned

to the fact is at least reasonable. Every traveler, who, after passing

through the fruitful but unpicturesque orchard grounds lying between

La Manche and Paris, and the dull flats, with their melancholy poplar

lines, between Paris and Lyons, arrives at Avignon, and observes the

picturesqueness which every object, natural or artificial, begins to

assume, the grace and beauty which appear even in the humblest details

of scenery, must instinctively feel that he is entering the land of

Art. Not of that Art which depends for development upon the efforts of

a few exceptional individuals, but the living Art which the constant

contemplation of a glorious nature,

“That holy Virgin of the sage’s creed,”

makes part of a people’s organization and development. Art, heavenly

maid, is not easily seduced to wander far from her place of birth.

Born and cradled upon the all-lovely shores of that inland sea, so

choicely formed by Nature’s hand to become the source and centre of

mankind’s civilization, she loses health and spirits in the frigid

snowy north, while in the tropical regions--Nubia and India--her mind

is vitiated by the rank and luxuriant scenery around her. A “pretty bit

of home scenery,” with dumpy church tower--battlemented as the house of

worship ought _not_ to be--on the humble hill, red brick cottages, with

straight tiled roofs and parallelogramic casements, and dwelling-houses

all stiff-ruled lines and hard sharp angles, the straight road and the

trimmed hedgerow--such scenery, I assert, never can make an artistic

people; it can only lead, in fact, to a nation’s last phase of artistic

bathos--a Trafalgar Square.

The Anglo-Americans have other excuses, but not this. Their broad

lands teem with varied beauties of the highest order, which it would

be tedious to enumerate. They have used, for instance, the Indian corn

for the acanthus in their details of architecture--why can not they

try a higher flight? Man may not, we readily grant, expect to be a

great poet because Niagara is a great cataract; yet the presence of

such objects must quicken the imagination of the civilized as of the

savage race that preceded him. It is true that in America the class

that can devote itself exclusively to the cultivation and the study of

refinement and art is still, comparatively speaking, small; that the

care of politics, the culture of science, mechanical and theoretic,

and the pursuit of cash, have at present more hold upon the national

mind than what it is disposed to consider the effeminating influences

of the humanizing studies; that, moreover, the efforts of youthful

genius in the body corporate, as in the individual, are invariably

imitative, leading through the progressive degrees of reflection and

reproduction to originality. But, valid as they are, these reasons

will not long justify such freaks as the Americo-Grecian capitol at

Richmond, a barn with the tritest of all exordiums, a portico which

is original in one point only, viz., that it wants the portico’s only

justification--steps; or the various domes originally borrowed from

that bulb which has been demolished at Washington, scattered over the

country, and suggesting the idea that the shape has been borrowed from

the butt end of a sliced cucumber. Better far the warehouses of Boston,

with their monoliths and frontages of rough Quincy granite; they, at

least, are unpretending, and of native growth: no bad test of the

native mind.

[ECHO STATION.--AN EXPERIMENT.]

After a total of eighteen miles we passed Echo Station, a half-built

ranch, flanked by well-piled haystacks for future mules. The ravine

narrowed as we advanced to a mere gorge, and the meanderings of the

stream contracted the road and raised the banks to a more perilous

height. A thicker vegetation occupied the bottom, wild roses and

dwarfish oaks contending for the mastery of the ground. About four

miles from the station we were shown a defile where the Latter-Day

Saints, in 1857, headed by General D. H. Wells, now the third member

of the Presidency, had prepared modern Caudine Forks for the attacking

army of the United States. Little breastworks of loose stones, very

like the “sangahs” of the Affghan Ghauts, had been thrown up where the

precipices commanded the road, and there were four or five remains of

dams intended to raise the water above the height of the soldiers’

ammunition pouches. The situation did not appear to me well chosen.

Although the fortified side of the bluff could not be crowned on

account of deep chasms that separated the various blocks, the southern

acclivities might have been occupied by sharpshooters so effectually

that the fire from the breastworks would soon have been silenced;

moreover, the defenders would have risked being taken in rear by a

party creeping through the chapparal[120] in the sole of the kanyon.

Mr. Macarthy related a characteristic trait concerning two warriors of

the Nauvoo Legion. Unaccustomed to perpendicular fire, one proposed

that his comrade should stand upon the crest of the precipice and see

if the bullet reached him or not; the comrade, thinking the request

highly reasonable, complied with it, and received a yäger-ball through

his forehead.

[120] The Spanish “chapparal” means a low oak copse. The word has

been naturalized in Texas and New Mexico, and applied to the dense

and bushy undergrowth, chiefly of briers and thorns, disposed in

patches from a thicket of a hundred yards to the whole flank of a

mountain range (especially in the Mexican Tierra Caliente), and so

closely entwined that nothing larger than a wolf can force a way

through it.

Traces of beaver were frequent in the torrent-bed; the “broad-tailed

animal” is now molested by the Indians rather than by the whites. On

this stage magpies and ravens were unusually numerous; foxes slunk

away from us, and on one of the highest bluffs a coyote stood as on

a pedestal; as near Baffin Sea, these craggy peaks are their favorite

howling-places during the severe snowy winters. We longed for a

thunder-storm: flashing lightnings, roaring thunders, stormy winds,

and dashing rains--in fact, a tornado--would be the fittest setting

for such a picture, so wild, so sublime as Echo Kanyon. But we longed

in vain. The day was persistently beautiful, calm and mild as a May

forenoon in the Grecian Archipelago. We were also disappointed in

our natural desire to hold some converse with the nymph who had lent

her name to the ravine--the reverberation is said to be remarkably

fine--but the temper of our animals would not have endured it, and the

place was not one that admitted experiments. Rain had lately fallen,

as we saw from the mud-puddles in the upper course of the kanyon, and

the road was in places pitted with drops which were not frequent enough

to allay the choking dust. A fresh yet familiar feature now appeared.

The dews, whose existence we had forgotten on the prairies, were cold

and clammy in the early mornings; the moist air, condensed by contact

with the cooler substances on the surface of the ground, stood in

large drops upon the leaves and grasses. As we advanced the bed of the

ravine began to open out, the angle of descent became more obtuse; a

stretch of level ground appeared in front, where for some hours the

windings of the kanyon had walled us in, and at 2 30 P.M. we debouched

upon the Weber-River Station. It lies at the very mouth of the ravine,

almost under the shadow of lofty red bluffs, called “The Obelisks;” and

the green and sunny landscape, contrasting with the sterile grandeur

behind, is exceedingly pleasing.

After the emotions of the drive, a little rest was by no means

unpleasant. The station was tolerably comfortable, and the welcome

addition of potatoes and onions to our usual fare was not to

be despised. The tenants of the ranch were Mormons, civil and

communicative. They complained sadly of the furious rain-storms, which

the funnel-like gorge brings down upon them, and the cold draughts from

five feet deep of snow which pour down upon the milder valley.

[BAUCHMIN’S CREEK.--CARSON-HOUSE STATION.]

At 4 30 we resumed our journey along the plain of the Weber or Webber

River. It is second in importance only to the Bear River: it heads near

the latter, and, flowing in a devious course toward the northwest,

falls into the Great Salt Lake a few miles south of its sister stream,

and nearly opposite Frémont’s Island. The valley resembles that

described in yesterday’s diary; it is, however, narrower, and the steep

borders, which, if water-washed, would be red like the kanyon rocks,

are well clothed with grass and herbages. In some places the land is

defended by snake-fences in zigzags,[121] to oppose the depredations of

emigrants’ cattle upon the wheat, barley, and stunted straggling corn

within. After fording the river and crossing the bottom, we ascended

steep banks, passed over a spring of salt water five miles from the

station, and halted for a few minutes to exchange news with the

mail-wagon that had left Great Salt Lake City this (Friday) morning.

Followed a rough and rugged tract of land apparently very trying to the

way-worn cattle; many deaths had taken place at this point, and the

dead lay well preserved as the monks of St. Bernard. After a succession

of chuck-holes, rises, and falls, we fell into the valley of Bauchmin’s

Creek. It is a picturesque hollow; at the head is a gateway of red

clay, through which the stream passes; the sides also are red, and as

the glow and glory of the departing day lingered upon the heights, even

artemisia put on airs of bloom and beauty, blushing in contrast with

the sharp metallic green of the quaking asp and the duller verdure of

the elder (_Alnus viridis_). As the evening closed in, the bottom-land

became more broken, the path less certain, and the vegetation thicker:

the light of the moon, already diminished by the narrowness of the

valley, seemed almost to be absorbed by the dark masses of copse and

bush. We were not sorry to make, at 7 45 P.M., the “Carson-House

Station” at Bauchmin’s Fork--the traveling had been fast, seven miles

an hour--where we found a log hut, a roaring fire, two civil Mormon

lads, and some few “fixins” in the way of food. We sat for a time

talking about matters of local importance, the number of emigrants,

and horse-thieves, the prospects of the road, and the lay of the land.

Bauchmin’s Fork, we learned, is a branch of East Kanyon Creek, itself

a tributary of the Weber River;[122] from the station an Indian trail

leads over the mountains to Provo City. I slept comfortably enough upon

the boards of an inner room, not, however, without some apprehensions

of accidentally offending a certain skunk (_Mephitis mephitica_),

which was in the habit of making regular nocturnal visits. I heard its

puppy-like bark during the night, but escaped what otherwise might have

happened.

[121] This is the simplest of all fences, and therefore much used

in the West. Tree-trunks are felled, and either used whole or split

into rails; they are then disposed in a long serrated line, each

resting upon another at both ends, like the fingers of a man’s right

hand extended and inserted between the corresponding fingers of the

left. The zigzag is not a picturesque object: in absolute beauty it

is inferior even to our English trimmed hedgerow; but it is very

economical, it saves space, it is easily and readily made, it can

always serve for fuel, and, therefore, is to be respected, despite

the homeliness of its appearance.

[122] In Captain Stansbury’s map, Bauchmin’s Fork is a direct

influent, and one of the largest, too, of the Weber River.

And why, naturally asks the reader, did you not shut the door? Because

there was none.

_The End--Hurrah! August 25th._

To-day we are to pass over the Wasach,[123] the last and highest chain

of the mountain mass between Fort Bridger and the Great Salt Lake

Valley, and--by the aid of St. James of Compostella, who is, I believe,

bound over to be the patron of pilgrims in general--to arrive at our

destination, New Hierosolyma, or Jerusalem, alias Zion on the tops of

the mountains, the future city of Christ, where the Lord is to reign

over the Saints, as a temporal king, in power and great glory.

[123] The word is generally written _Wasatch_ or _Wahsatch_. In the

latter the _h_ is, as usual, _de trop_; and in both the _t_, though

necessary in French, is totally uncalled for in English.

So we girt our loins, and started, after a cup of tea and a biscuit,

at 7 A.M., under the good guidance of Mr. Macarthy, who, after a

whiskyless night, looked forward not less than ourselves to the run

in. Following the course of Bauchmin’s Creek, we completed the total

number of fordings to thirteen in eight miles. The next two miles were

along the bed of a water-course, a complete fiumara, through a bush

full of tribulus, which accompanied us to the end of the journey.

Presently the ground became rougher and steeper: we alighted, and set

our beasts manfully against “Big Mountain,” which lies about four miles

from the station. The road bordered upon the wide arroyo, a tumbled

bed of block and boulder, with water in places oozing and trickling

from the clay walls, from the sandy soil, and from beneath the heaps of

rock--living fountains these, most grateful to the parched traveler.

The synclinal slopes of the chasm were grandly wooded with hemlocks,

firs, balsam-pines, and other varieties of abies, some tapering up to

the height of ninety feet, with an admirable regularity of form, color,

and foliage. The varied hues of the quaking asp were there; the beech,

the dwarf oak, and a thicket of elders and wild roses; while over

all the warm autumnal tints already mingled with the bright green of

summer. The ascent became more and more rugged: this steep pitch, at

the end of a thousand miles of hard work and semi-starvation, causes

the death of many a wretched animal, and we remarked that the bodies

are not inodorous among the mountains as on the prairies. In the most

fatiguing part we saw a hand-cart halted, while the owners, a man, a

woman, and a boy, took breath. We exchanged a few consolatory words

with them and hurried on. The only animal seen on the line, except the

grasshopper, whose creaking wings gave forth an ominous note, was the

pretty little chirping squirrel. The trees, however, in places bore the

marks of huge talons, which were easily distinguished as the sign of

bears. The grizzly does not climb except when young: this was probably

the common brown variety. At half way the gorge opened out, assuming

more the appearance of a valley; and in places, for a few rods, were

dwarf stretches of almost level ground. Toward the Pass-summit the rise

is sharpest: here we again descended from the wagon, which the four

mules had work enough to draw, and the total length of its eastern rise

was five miles. Big Mountain lies eighteen miles from the city. The top

is a narrow crest, suddenly forming an acute based upon an obtuse angle.

From that eyrie, 8000 feet above sea level, the weary pilgrim first

sights his shrine, the object of his long wanderings, hardships, and

perils, the Happy Valley of the Great Salt Lake. The western horizon,

when visible, is bounded by a broken wall of light blue mountain, the

Oquirrh, whose northernmost bluff buttresses the southern end of the

lake, and whose eastern flank sinks in steps and terraces into a river

basin, yellow with the sunlit golden corn, and somewhat pink with its

carpeting of heath-like moss. In the foreground a semicircular sweep

of hill-top and an inverted arch of rocky wall shuts out all but a few

spans of the valley. These heights are rough with a shaggy forest, in

some places black-green, in others of brownish-red, in others of the

lightest ash-color, based upon a ruddy soil; while a few silvery veins

of snow still streak the bare gray rocky flanks of the loftiest peak.

[BIG KANYON CREEK.--THE DANITE.]

After a few minutes’ delay to stand and gaze, we resumed the footpath

way, while the mail-wagon, with wheels rough-locked, descended what

appeared to be an impracticable slope. The summit of the Pass was

well-nigh cleared of timber; the woodman’s song informed us that the

evil work was still going on, and that we are nearly approaching a

large settlement. Thus stripped of their protecting fringes, the

mountains are exposed to the heat of summer, that sends forth countless

swarms of devastating crickets, grasshoppers, and blue-worms; and to

the wintry cold, that piles up, four to six feet high--the mountain-men

speak of thirty and forty--the snows drifted by the unbroken force

of the winds. The Pass from November to February can be traversed by

nothing heavier than “sleighs,” and during the snow-storms even these

are stopped. Falling into the gorge of Big Kanyon Creek, after a total

of twelve hard miles from Bauchmin’s Fork, we reached at 11 30 the

station that bears the name of the water near which it is built. We

were received by the wife of the proprietor, who was absent at the time

of our arrival; and half stifled by the thick dust and the sun, which

had raised the glass to 103°, we enjoyed copious draughts--_tant soit

peu_ qualified--of the cool but rather hard water that trickled down

the hill into a trough by the house side. Presently the station-master,

springing from his light “sulky,” entered, and was formally introduced

to us by Mr. Macarthy as Mr. Ephe Hanks. I had often heard of this

individual as one of the old triumvirate of Mormon desperadoes, the

other two being Orrin Porter Rockwell and Bill Hickman--as the leader

of the dreaded Danite band, and, in short, as a model ruffian. The ear

often teaches the eye to form its pictures: I had eliminated a kind of

mental sketch of those assassin faces which one sees on the Apennines

and Pyrenees, and was struck by what met the eye of sense. The “vile

villain,” as he has been called by anti-Mormon writers, who verily do

not try to _ménager_ their epithets, was a middle-sized, light-haired,

good-looking man, with regular features, a pleasant and humorous

countenance, and the manly manner of his early sailor life, touched

with the rough cordiality of the mountaineer. “Frank as a bear-hunter”

is a proverb in these lands. He had, like the rest of the triumvirate,

and like most men (Anglo-Americans) of desperate courage and fiery,

excitable temper, a clear, pale blue eye, verging upon gray, and

looking as if it wanted nothing better than to light up, together with

a cool and quiet glance that seemed to shun neither friend nor foe.

The terrible Ephe began with a facetious allusion to all our new

dangers under the roof of a Danite, to which, in similar strain, I

made answer that Danite or Damnite was pretty much the same to me.

After dining, we proceeded to make trial of the air-cane, to which he

took, as I could see by the way he handled it, and by the nod with

which he acknowledged the observation, “almighty convenient sometimes

not to make a noise, Mister,” a great fancy. He asked me whether I

had a mind to “have a slap” at his namesake,[124] an offer which was

gratefully accepted, under the promise that “cuffy” should previously

be marked down so as to save a long ride and a troublesome trudge over

the mountains. His battery of “killb’ars” was heavy and in good order,

so that on this score there would have been no trouble, and the only

tool he bade me bring was a Colt’s revolver, dragoon size. He told me

that he was likely to be in England next year, when he had set the “ole

woman” to her work. I suppose my look was somewhat puzzled, for Mrs.

Dana graciously explained that every Western wife, even when still, as

Mrs. Ephe was, in her teens, commands that venerable title, venerable,

though somehow not generally coveted.

[124] “Ole Ephraim” is the mountain-man’s _sobriquet_ for the grizzly

bear.

From Big Kanyon Creek Station to the city, the driver “reckoned,” was

a distance of seventeen miles. We waited till the bright and glaring

day had somewhat burned itself out; at noon heavy clouds came up from

the south and southwest, casting a grateful shade and shedding a few

drops of rain. After taking friendly leave of the “Danite” chief--whose

cordiality of manner had prepossessed me strongly in his favor--we

entered the mail-wagon, and prepared ourselves for the finale over the

westernmost ridge of the stern Wasach.

[Illustration:

H. Adlard, sc.

London, Longman & C^{o}.

GREAT SALT LAKE CITY SURVEYS.

_All the blocks contain 8 lots of 1¹⁄₄ acre each = 10 acres._

_All the streets are 8 rods wide, including side walks. 20 feet each._

_The lots number from the South East corner N^{o}. 1._

_Plot A was laid off in 1847 contains 135 blocks.

B „ ------ „ 48 „ 63 „

C „ ------ „ 49 „ 24 „ occupied.

D the lots have 4 blocks and contain 2¹⁄₂ acres._

_South of this plot are the five acre lots._

_The West boundry is the River Jordan._

_North of this plot are the Warm Springs._

_North East of plot B is the Cemetery._

_The City is divided into 20 Wards under 20 Bishops._

_PLATTED FOR CAP. RICHARD F. BURTON.

BY

THOMAS BULLOCK.

G. S. L. CITY _UTAH_

SEPT. 20. 1860._]

[A TICKLISH ROAD.]

After two miles of comparatively level ground we came to the foot of

“Little Mountain,” and descended from the wagon to relieve the poor

devils of mules. The near slope was much shorter, but also it was

steeper far than “Big Mountain.” The counterslope was easier, though by

no means pleasant to contemplate with the chance of an accident to the

brake, which in all inconvenient places would part with the protecting

shoe-sole. Beyond the eastern foot, which was ten miles distant from

our destination, we were miserably bumped and jolted over the broken

ground at the head of Big Kanyon. Down this pass, whose name is a

translation of the Yuta name Obitkokichi, a turbulent little mountain

stream tumbles over its boulder-bed, girt with the usual sunflower,

vines of wild hops, red and white willows, cotton-wood, quaking asp,

and various bushes near its cool watery margin, and upon the easier

slopes of the ravine, with the shin or dwarf oak (_Quercus nana_),

mountain mahogany, balsam, and other firs, pines, and cedars. The road

was a narrow shelf along the broader of the two spaces between the

stream and the rock, and frequent fordings were rendered necessary by

the capricious wanderings of the torrent. I could not but think how

horrid must have been its appearance when the stout-hearted Mormon

pioneers first ventured to thread the defile, breaking their way

through the dense bush, creeping and clinging like flies to the sides

of the hills. Even now accidents often occur; here, as in Echo Kanyon,

we saw in more than one place unmistakable signs of upsets in the shape

of broken spokes and yoke-bows. At one of the most ticklish turns

Macarthy kindly pointed out a little precipice where four of the mail

passengers fell and broke their necks, a pure invention on his part, I

believe, which fortunately, at that moment, did not reach Mrs. Dana’s

ears. He also entertained us with many a tale, of which the hero was

the redoubtable Hanks: how he had slain a buffalo bull single-handed

with a bowie-knife; and how, on one occasion, when refused hospitality

by his Lamanite brethren, he had sworn to have the whole village to

himself, and had redeemed his vow by reappearing _in cuerpo_, with

gestures so maniacal that the sulky Indians all fled, declaring him to

be “bad medicine.” The stories had at least local coloring.

[EMIGRATION KANYON.]

In due time, emerging from the gates, and portals, and deep serrations

of the upper course, we descended into a lower level: here Big, now

called Emigration Kanyon, gradually bulges out, and its steep slopes of

grass and fern, shrubbery and stunted brush, fall imperceptibly into

the plain. The valley presently lay full before our sight. At this

place the pilgrim emigrants, like the hajjis of Mecca and Jerusalem,

give vent to the emotions long pent up within their bosoms by sobs

and tears, laughter and congratulations, psalms and hysterics. It is

indeed no wonder that the children dance, that strong men cheer and

shout, and that nervous women, broken with fatigue and hope deferred,

scream and faint; that the ignorant should fondly believe that the

“Spirit of God pervades the very atmosphere,” and that Zion on the tops

of the mountains is nearer heaven than other parts of earth. In good

sooth, though uninfluenced by religious fervor--beyond the natural

satisfaction of seeing a bran-new Holy City--even I could not, after

nineteen days in a mail-wagon, gaze upon the scene without emotion.

The sublime and the beautiful were in present contrast. Switzerland and

Italy lay side by side. The magnificent scenery of the past mountains

and ravines still floated before the retina, as emerging from the

gloomy depths of the Golden Pass--the mouth of Emigration Kanyon is

more poetically so called--we came suddenly in view of the Holy Valley

of the West.

The hour was about 6 P.M.; the atmosphere was touched with a dreamy

haze, as it generally is in the vicinity of the lake; a little bank of

rose-colored clouds, edged with flames of purple and gold, floated in

the upper air, while the mellow radiance of an American autumn, that

bright interlude between the extremes of heat and cold, diffused its

mild soft lustre over the face of earth.

The sun, whose slanting rays shone full in our eyes, was setting in a

flood of heavenly light behind the bold, jagged outline of “Antelope

Island,” which, though distant twenty miles to the northwest, hardly

appeared to be ten. At its feet, and then bounding the far horizon,

lay, like a band of burnished silver, the Great Salt Lake, that still

innocent Dead Sea. Southwestward also, and equally deceptive as regards

distance, rose the boundary of the valley plain, the Oquirrh Range,

sharply silhouetted by a sweep of sunshine over its summits, against

the depths of an evening sky, in that direction so pure, so clear,

that vision, one might fancy, could penetrate behind the curtain into

regions beyond the confines of man’s ken. In the brilliant reflected

light, which softened off into a glow of delicate pink, we could

distinguish the lines of Brigham’s, Coon’s, and other kanyons, which

water has traced through the wooded flanks of the Oquirrh down to

the shadows already purpling the misty benches at their base. Three

distinct and several shades, light azure, blue, and brown-blue,

graduated the distances, which extended at least thirty miles.

The undulating valley-plain between us and the Oquirrh Range is 12·15

miles broad, and markedly concave, dipping in the centre like the

section of a tunnel, and swelling at both edges into bench-lands, which

mark the ancient bed of the lake. In some parts the valley was green;

in others, where the sun shot its oblique beams, it was of a tawny

yellowish-red, like the sands of the Arabian desert, with scatters of

trees, where the Jordan of the West rolls its opaline wave through

pasture-lands of dried grass dotted with flocks and herds, and fields

of ripening yellow corn. Every thing bears the impress of handiwork,

from the bleak benches behind to what was once a barren valley in

front. Truly the Mormon prophecy had been fulfilled: already the

howling wilderness--in which twelve years ago a few miserable savages,

the half-naked Digger Indians, gathered their grass-seed, grasshoppers,

and black crickets to keep life and soul together, and awoke with their

war-cries the echo of the mountains, and the bear, the wolf, and the

fox prowled over the site of a now populous city--“has blossomed like

the rose.”

This valley--this lovely panorama of green, and azure, and gold--this

land, fresh, as it were, from the hands of God, is apparently girt on

all sides by hills: the highest peaks, raised 7000 to 8000 feet above

the plain of their bases, show by gulches veined with lines of snow

that even in this season winter frowns upon the last smile of summer.

Advancing, we exchanged the rough cahues and the frequent fords of

the ravine for a broad smooth highway, spanning the easternmost

valley-bench--a terrace that drops like a Titanic step from the midst

of the surrounding mountains to the level of the present valley-plain.

From a distance--the mouth of Emigration Kanyon is about 4·30 miles

from the city--Zion, which is not on a hill, but, on the contrary,

lies almost in the lowest part of the river-plain, is completely hid

from sight, as if no such thing existed. Mr. Macarthy, on application,

pointed out the notabilia of the scene.

[MOUNTAIN POINT.]

Northward, curls of vapor ascending from a gleaming sheet--the Lake

of the Hot Springs--set in a bezel of emerald green, and bordered

by another lake-bench upon which the glooms of evening were rapidly

gathering, hung like a veil of gauze around the waist of the mountains.

Southward for twenty-five miles stretched the length of the valley,

with the little river winding its way like a silver thread in a brocade

of green and gold. The view in this direction was closed by “Mountain

Point,” another formation of terraced range, which forms the water-gate

of Jordan, and which conceals and separates the fresh water that feeds

the Salt Lake--the Sea of Tiberias from the Dead Sea.

[THE HAPPY VALLEY.]

As we descend the Wasach Mountains, we could look back and enjoy the

view of the eastern wall of the Happy Valley. A little to the north

of Emigration Kanyon, and about one mile nearer the settlement, is

the Red Butte, a deep ravine, whose quarried sides show mottlings of

the light ferruginous sandstone which was chosen for building the

Temple wall.[125] A little beyond it lies the single City of the Dead,

decently removed three miles from the habitations of the living, and

farther to the north is City-Creek Kanyon, which supplies the Saints

with water for drinking and for irrigation. Southeast of Emigration

Kanyon are other ravines, Parley’s, Mill Creek, Great Cotton-wood, and

Little Cotton-wood, deep lines winding down the timbered flanks of the

mountains, and thrown into relief by the darker and more misty shading

of the farther flank-wall.

[125] At first a canal was dug through the bench to bring this

material: the gray granite now used for the Temple is transported in

carts from the southern part of the valley.

The “Twin Peaks,” the highest points of the Wasach Mountains, are the

first to be powdered over with the autumnal snow. When a black nimbus

throws out these piles, with their tilted-up rock strata, jagged edges,

black flanks, rugged brows, and bald heads gilt by a gleam of sunset,

the whole stands boldly out with that phase of sublimity of which the

sense of immensity is the principal element. Even in the clearest of

weather they are rarely free from a fleecy cloud, the condensation of

cold and humid air rolling up the heights and vanishing only to be

renewed.

The bench-land then attracted our attention. The soil is poor,

sprinkled with thin grass, in places showing a suspicious whiteness,

with few flowers, and chiefly producing a salsolaceous plant like the

English samphire. In many places lay long rows of bare circlets, like

deserted tent-floors; they proved to be ant-hills, on which light

ginger-colored swarms were working hard to throw up the sand and gravel

that every where in this valley underlie the surface. The eastern

valley-bench, upon whose western declivity the city lies, may be traced

on a clear day along the base of the mountains for a distance of twenty

miles: its average breadth is about eight miles.

After advancing about 1·50 mile over the bench ground, the city by

slow degrees broke upon our sight. It showed, one may readily believe,

to special advantage after the succession of Indian lodges, Canadian

ranchos, and log-hut mail-stations of the prairies and the mountains.

The site has been admirably chosen for drainage and irrigation--so

well, indeed, that a “Deus ex machinâ” must be brought to account for

it.[126] About two miles north, and overlooking the settlements from

a height of 400 feet, a detached cone, called Ensign Peak or Ensign

Mount, rises at the end of a chain which, projected westward from the

main range of the heights, overhangs and shelters the northeastern

corner of the valley. Upon this “big toe of the Wasach range,” as

it is called by a local writer, the spirit of the martyred prophet,

Mr. Joseph Smith, appeared to his successor, Mr. Brigham Young, and

pointed out to him the position of the New Temple, which, after Zion

had “got up into the high mountain,” was to console the Saints for

the loss of Nauvoo the Beautiful. The city--it is about two miles

broad--runs parallel with the right bank of the Jordan, which forms its

western limit. It is twelve to fifteen miles distant from the western

range, ten from the debouchure of the river, and eight to nine from

the nearest point of the lake--a respectful distance, which is not

the least of the position’s merits. It occupies the rolling brow of a

slight decline at the western base of the Wasach--in fact, the lower,

but not the lowest level of the eastern valley-bench; it has thus a

compound slope from north to south, on the line of its water supplies,

and from east to west, thus enabling it to drain off into the river.

[126] I have frequently heard this legend from Gentiles, never from

Mormons; yet even the Saints own that as early as 1842 visions of the

mountains and kanyons, the valley and the lake, were revealed to Mr.

Joseph Smith, jun., who declared it privily to the disciples whom

he loved. Thus Messrs. O. Pratt and E. Snow, apostles, were enabled

to recognize the Promised Land, as, the first of the pioneers, they

issued from the ravines of the Wasach. Of course the Gentiles declare

that the exodists hit upon the valley by the purest chance. The

spot is becoming classical: here Judge and Apostle Phelps preached

his “Sermon on the Mount,” which, anti-Mormons say, was a curious

contrast to the first discourse so named.

The city revealed itself, as we approached, from behind its screen, the

inclined terraces of the upper table-land, and at last it lay stretched

before us as upon a map. At a little distance the aspect was somewhat

Oriental, and in some points it reminded me of modern Athens without

the Acropolis. None of the buildings, except the Prophet’s house,

were whitewashed. The material--the thick, sun-dried adobe, common

to all parts of the Eastern world[127]--was of a dull leaden blue,

deepened by the atmosphere to a gray, like the shingles of the roofs.

The number of gardens and compounds--each tenement within the walls

originally received 1·50 square acre, and those outside from five to

ten acres, according to their distance--the dark clumps and lines of

bitter cotton-wood, locust, or acacia, poplars and fruit-trees, apples,

peaches, and vines--how lovely they appeared, after the baldness of

the prairies!--and, finally, the fields of long-eared maize and sweet

sorghum strengthened the similarity to an Asiatic rather than to an

American settlement. The differences presently became as salient. The

farm-houses, with their stacks and stock, strongly suggested the Old

Country. Moreover, domes and minarets--even churches and steeples--were

wholly wanting, an omission that somewhat surprised me. The only

building conspicuous from afar was the block occupied by the present

Head of the Church. The court-house, with its tinned Muscovian dome,

at the west end of the city; the arsenal, a barn-like structure, on a

bench below the Jebel Nur of the valley--Ensign Peak; and a saw-mill,

built beyond the southern boundary, were the next in importance.

[127] The very word is Spanish, derived from the Arabic ‏ألطوب‎

meaning “the brick;” it is known throughout the West, and is written

_adobies_, and pronounced _dobies_.

[BULWARKS OF ZION.]

On our way we passed the vestiges of an old moat, from which was taken

the earth for the bulwarks of Zion. A Romulian wall, of puddle, mud,

clay, and pebbles, six miles--others say 2600 acres--in length, twelve

feet high, six feet broad at the base, and two and three quarters

at the top, with embrasures five to six feet above the ground, and

semi-bastions at half musket range, was decided, in 1853-54, to be

necessary, as a defense against the Lamanites, whose name in the vulgar

is Yuta Indians. Gentiles declare that the bulwarks were erected

because the people wanting work were likely to “strike” faith, and

that the amount of labor expended upon this folly would have irrigated

as many thousand acres. Anti-Mormons have, of course, detected in the

proceeding treacherous and treasonable intentions. Parenthetically,

I must here warn the reader that in Great Salt Lake City there are

three distinct opinions concerning, three several reasons for, and

three diametrically different accounts of, every thing that happens,

viz., that of the Mormons, which is invariably one-sided; that of

the Gentiles, which is sometimes fair and just; and that of the

anti-Mormons, which is always prejudiced and violent. A glance will

show that this much-talked-of fortification is utterly harmless; it is

commanded in half a dozen places; it could not keep out half a dozen

sappers for a quarter of an hour; and now, as it has done its work, its

foundations are allowed to become salt, and to crumble away.

The road ran through the Big Field, southeast of the city, six miles

square, and laid off in five-acre lots. Presently, passing the

precincts of habitation, we entered, at a slapping pace, the second

ward, called Denmark, from its tenants, who mostly herd together. The

disposition of the settlement is like that of the nineteenth century

New-World cities--from Washington to the future metropolis of the

great Terra Australis--a system of right angles, the roads, streets,

and lanes, if they can be called so, intersecting one another. The

advantages or disadvantages of the rectangular plan have been exhausted

in argument; the new style is best suited, I believe, for the New, as

the old must, perforce, remain in the Old World. The suburbs are thinly

settled; the mass of habitations lie around and south of Temple Block.

The streets of the suburbs are mere roads, cut by deep ups and downs,

and by gutters on both sides, which, though full of pure water, have no

bridge save a plank at the _trottoirs_. In summer the thoroughfares are

dusty, in wet weather deep with viscid mud.

The houses are almost all of one pattern--a barn shape, with wings and

lean-tos, generally facing, sometimes turned endways to the street,

which gives a suburban look to the settlement; and the diminutive

casements show that window-glass is not yet made in the Valley. In the

best abodes the adobe rests upon a few courses of sandstone, which

prevent undermining by water or ground-damp, and it must always be

protected by a coping from the rain and snow. The poorer are small,

low, and hut-like; others are long single-storied buildings, somewhat

like stables, with many entrances. The best houses resemble East Indian

bungalows, with flat roofs, and low, shady verandas, well trellised,

and supported by posts or pillars. All are provided with chimneys,

and substantial doors to keep out the piercing cold. The offices are

always placed, for hygienic reasons, outside; and some have a story and

a half--the latter intended for lumber and other stores. I looked in

vain for the out-house harems, in which certain romancers concerning

things Mormon had informed me that wives are kept, like any other

stock. I presently found this but one of a multitude of delusions.

Upon the whole, the Mormon settlement was a vast improvement upon its

contemporaries in the valleys of the Mississippi and the Missouri.

[Illustration: STORES IN MAIN STREET.]

[GARDENS.]

The road through the faubourg was marked by posts and rails, which,

as we advanced toward the heart of the city, were replaced by neat

palings. The garden-plots were small, as sweet earth must be brought

down from the mountains; and the flowers were principally those of

the Old Country--the red French bean, the rose, the geranium, and

the single pink; the ground or winter cherry was common; so were

nasturtiums; and we saw tansy, but not that plant for which our

souls, well-nigh weary of hopes of juleps long deferred, chiefly

lusted--mint. The fields were large and numerous, but the Saints have

too many and various occupations to keep them, Moravian-like, neat

and trim; weeds overspread the ground; often the wild sunflower-tops

outnumbered the heads of maize. The fruit had suffered from an

unusually nipping frost in May; the peach-trees were barren; the vines

bore no produce; only a few good apples were in Mr. Brigham Young’s

garden, and the watermelons were poor, yellow, and tasteless, like the

African. On the other hand, potatoes, onions, cabbages, and cucumbers

were good and plentiful, the tomato was ripening every where, fat

full-eared wheat rose in stacks, and crops of excellent hay were

scattered about near the houses. The people came to their doors to see

the mail-coach, as if it were the “Derby dilly” of old, go by. I could

not but be struck by the modified English appearance of the colony, and

by the prodigious numbers of the white-headed children.

[THE HOTEL IN NEW ZION.]

Presently we debouched upon the main thoroughfare, the centre of

population and business, where the houses of the principal Mormon

dignitaries and the stores of the Gentile merchants combine to form the

city’s only street which can be properly so called. It is, indeed, both

street and market, for, curious to say, New Zion has not yet built for

herself a bazar or market-place. Nearly opposite the Post-office, in a

block on the eastern side, with a long veranda, supported by trimmed

and painted posts, was a two-storied, pent-roofed building, whose

sign-board, swinging to a tall, gibbet-like flag-staff, dressed for the

occasion, announced it to be the Salt Lake House, the principal, if not

the only establishment of the kind in New Zion. In the Far West, one

learns not to expect much of the hostelry;[128] I had not seen aught

so grand for many a day. Its depth is greater than its frontage, and

behind it, secured by a _porte cochère_, is a large yard for corraling

cattle. A rough-looking crowd of drivers, drivers’ friends, and idlers,

almost every man openly armed with revolver and bowie-knife, gathered

round the doorway to greet Jim, and “prospect” the “new lot;” and the

host came out to assist us in transporting our scattered effects. We

looked vainly for a bar on the ground floor; a bureau for registering

names was there, but (temperance, in public at least, being the order

of the day) the usual tempting array of bottles and decanters was

not forthcoming; up stairs we found a Gentile ballroom, a tolerably

furnished sitting-room, and bedchambers, apparently made out of a

single apartment by partitions too thin to be strictly agreeable. The

household had its deficiencies; blacking, for instance, had run out,

and servants could not be engaged till the expected arrival of the

hand-cart train. However, the proprietor, Mr. Townsend, a Mormon, from

the State of Maine--when expelled from Nauvoo, he had parted with land,

house, and furniture for $50--who had married an Englishwoman, was

in the highest degree civil and obliging, and he attended personally

to our wants, offered his wife’s services to Mrs. Dana, and put us

all in the best of humors, despite the closeness of the atmosphere,

the sadness ever attending one’s first entrance into a new place,

the swarms of “emigration flies”--so called because they appear in

September with the emigrants, and, after living for a month, die off

with the first snow--and a certain populousness of bedstead, concerning

which the less said the better. Such, gentle reader, are the results of

my first glance at Zion on the tops of the mountains, in the Holy City

of the Far West.

[128] I subjoin one of the promising sort of advertisements:

“Tom Mitchell!!! dispenses comfort to the weary (!), feeds the hungry

(!!), and cheers the gloomy (!!!), at his old, well-known stand,

thirteen miles east of Fort Des Moines. _Don’t pass by me._”

Our journey had occupied nineteen days, from the 7th to the 25th of

August, both included; and in that time we had accomplished not less

than 1136 statute miles.