Solitary Place Made Glad - H. T. Davis

OLD FORT KEARNEY--NEBRASKA CITY--PLATTE RIVER--INDIANS--NEW FORT KEARNEY--WOLVES--MIDNIGHT ALARM--CHIMNEY ROCK--COURT-HOUSE ROCK--BUFFALOES--SWEET WATER--SUMMIT OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS--GREEN RIVER--BEAR RIVER--HUMBOLDT--DESERT--CARSON RIVER--SUMMIT OF THE SIERRA NEVADAS--JOURNEY ENDED.

EARNEY HILL, where we spent our first night in Nebraska, is now a part of Nebraska City. Table Creek winds along the foot of Kearney Hill. Just across this creek, and a few hundred yards to the northwest, stood Old Fort Kearney. On the 5th day of May we left the Old Fort. We were then beyond the bounds of civilization. There were no white persons residing in all the Territory of Nebraska, save a few traders and United States troops, garrisoned at different points for the defense of the emigrants. The garrison here consisted of a block-house, made of logs, with port-holes for cannon and muskets, and two rows of barracks in the shape of an angle. In 1848 this military post was abandoned by the Government, and the troops

moved to New Fort Kearney, on the Platte River, about two hundred miles west. In 1850, when we first saw the fort, the Government property was in the care of H. P. Downs. Eleven years later, when presiding elder of Nebraska City District, we became well acquainted with Mr. Downs and his family. They were then active members of the Methodist Episcopal Church in Nebraska City. When the war broke out in 1861, Colonel Hiram P. Downs assisted in raising the "Nebraska Regiment," and in August of that year he was promoted to the rank of brigadier-general.
When Nebraska City was founded and platted in 1854, the old block-house stood on Main Street, near the center of the city. Here it remained until 1886, when it was removed. Many of the old citizens strongly protested against the removal of this "old landmark." If I could have had my voice and my way in the matter, it never would have been removed, if it did stand in the center of a beautiful city of fifteen thousand inhabitants. We first saw it in 1850. We next saw it in 1860; and in 1861 we moved to Nebraska City, and for seven years, almost daily, looked upon the old garrison. And for many years afterwards, whenever we visited the city, we expected to see the "block-house"--the people's old defender. It was like looking into the face of an old familiar friend. We were sorry, and

ready to drop a tear over its departure. Lay not rude hands upon the old landmarks. Let them stand as monuments of the good they have done in the past!
What a change has taken place since 1850! The old log garrison has given way to a large and beautiful city; the grass-covered prairies to the most lovely farms, whose fields wave with luxuriant grain, and whose orchards bend under the weight of rich and luscious fruits.
From Old Fort Kearney we started west, traveling over undulating prairies and across winding streams, skirted with timber, as beautiful, it seemed to us, as any on which the eye of man ever rested. After several days' travel we struck the valley of the Great Platte River. The Platte is the largest river in Nebraska. Its head-waters rise in the mountains of Colorado and Montana, some of them being fed by the "everlasting snows." It flows east, through the central portion of the State, and empties its waters into the Missouri just above where the city of Plattsmouth now stands. It is a wide, rapid, and very shallow stream; and its valley--eight to fifteen miles wide--approximates, in fertility, the valley of the Nile. This stream has been known by two different names--" Nebraska" and "Great Platte." Nebraska is an Indian name; Great Platte is a French name. They are both of the same im-

port, signifying "broad water." It is a dangerous stream to ford, on account of the rapidity of its current and its quicksand bottom.
Descending an abrupt bluff, we struck the valley of this great stream. Here, for the first time, we met Indians. Several hundred Pawnee warriors gathered around us. They were painted, feathered, and dressed in almost every conceivable fantastic style, and armed with muskets, knives, spears, and bows and arrows. They were on the war-path against the Sioux. Being armed to the very teeth, they seemed anxious for the bloody fray. We came upon them very suddenly. Just as we descended the steep bluff into the valley, before we were aware of it, we were completely surrounded with these savages. I do not know how the other members of our company felt. I know very well how I felt, and I shall never forget the feelings I then had. At the first sight of these savage looking "red-skins," my heart, it seemed, leaped right up into my throat, and as hard as I tried, I could not possibly keep it down, and it really seemed to me I should choke, and a most strange sensation crept all over me, such as I had never felt before. It was a time that tried a man's nerve, but I did not care to have such a test repeated. There was but a handful of us compared with them, and we were wholly in their power. We knew very well they could, if they

wished, kill and scalp every one of us, or take us prisoners, and put us to death by inches, with the most inhuman tortures, as they had done to many others; and we well knew that torture was their favorite amusement. And as they were on the war-path, and needed munitions of war, we knew that our provisions and teams and weapons and ammunition were a temptation to them to put us out of the way. I confess, I felt a peculiar weakness about the knees, and a strange, trembling sensation all over. However, after giving them a few articles of food, they left, passing on to the south, and we went our way rejoicing, feeling wonderfully relieved, and breathing with ease again.
Two days after this we reached New Fort Kearney, which we found situated on a lovely spot in the valley of the Great Platte. Here we found a number of United States troops quartered. The commander of the post ordered every emigrant to pass into one of the offices, where a clerk registered each name, his former residence, and destination.
From here we traveled up the Platte for days and days, with the same monotonous scenes before us, the same turbid stream, the same low range of bluffs in the distance, the same wide valley, with but here and there a lone tree or shrub to greet the eye.

The emigration was so large that year, that the grass was eaten off close to the ground, by the cattle and horses, for a great distance on both sides of the road, and we frequently had to go from one to five miles to obtain grass for our horses.
One afternoon, about three oclock (sic), we camped on the bank of the Platte River, where we could get plenty of wood and water. There was no grass, however, so brother Albert and myself took the horses back to the bluffs, some five miles away, into a deep canyon, where we found an abundance of good grass. Here we watched the horses, until it began to grow dark, when we caught them, and were about to get on and ride back to camp. While in the act of bridling them, a strange and startling sound broke, all at once, upon our ears. It came from every direction. It was the cry of a thousand hungry wolves that broke the stillness of the evening air. In an instant, and simultaneously, they seemed to leap from their hiding-places in the caves and crags and glens, and came rushing down towards us with a hideous howl that thrilled us through and through, making our hair stand on end. The noise seemed to make the very hills shake and tremble around us. My brother succeeded in getting on his horse first, and looking back and seeing me still on the ground, he cried out:

"Henry, get on quick, or you will be overtaken." I tried again and again to mount, but was so excited and frightened I failed every time. It seemed to me I never could get on my horse. After repeated trials, I at length succeeded, and we rode down the canyon as fast as horse-flesh could carry us. When we got out of the hills, and reached the open valley, it was so dark we could not even see the horses' heads before us. Egyptian darkness could not have been more dense. We looked for the camp-fire, which we expected to see; but in vain, not a single ray of light, nor a single object, could be seen in any direction. The thought then flashed upon our minds that we might not be able to find our way back to camp again, and that we should be overtaken, and fall a prey to the hungry and ferocious wolves. We rode on for some time under the deepest suspense, goading our horses forward as fast as possible, and straining our eyes to catch a glimpse of light from the camp-fire. At length we saw away in the distance a flickering light; it seemed the most perfectly beautiful of anything we had ever seen; it came to us in that dark and dangerous hour as an inspiration. We were encouraged, and urged on our horses, and were soon seated by our own camp-fire, partaking of a hearty supper, which had been prepared for us; after which we lay down to dream over our new adventure.

When we reached the forks of the Platte River, our route was then up the South Fork of this stream. One night, about dusk, after traveling hard all day, we reached a point where the high bluffs came within a few rods of the river, at the mouth of a deep ravine. Here, at the mouth of this ravine, with high, abrupt, and rocky bluffs upon either side, we pitched our tents and stopped for the night. It was a gloomy, dismal looking place. On our right was the river; on our left the deep ravine; in front and in our rear rose, almost perpendicular, the frowning bluffs. It was just the right place to be overtaken and cut to pieces by Indians. We prepared supper, put out our guards, and retired to our tents to rest. Foot-sore and weary, we soon fell into a deep sleep. About midnight we were aroused from our sweet slumbers and dreams of home and loved ones by the guards, who rushed to the tents, and in a low voice said: "Indians! Indians! Get up, and get your guns, quick, quick! We hear them crossing the river on their ponies. They will be here in five minutes." Startled, frightened, and trembling like an aspen leaf, we tried to find our arms; but every thing seemed out of place. Guns, powder, balls, caps, everything was gone. The Indians, as we supposed, were just upon us, and we were without anything with which to defend ourselves. It was

a time of intense excitement. In a few moments, however, we recovered our presence of mind, found our guns and ammunition, and with everything ready, we went out to meet the foe. We could distinctly hear them slowly crossing the river. Plash! plash! plash! we heard their feet in the water. The river was near a mile wide, and it took some time for them to cross. Nearer and nearer they came. At length they reached the shore, rose upon the bank, when, lo and behold! we saw, not Indians, but a large herd of buffaloes. We laughed heartily at our scare, returned to our tents, and slept soundly till morning. The next day we crossed the South Platte where Julesburg now stands.
It may not be amiss here to give a bit of history touching the founding of this city. Julesburg derives its name from a tragic and bloodcurdling incident, such as abound in the early history of Nebraska and Kansas, as well as other Western States and Territories. Julesburg derives its name from a Frenchman named Jules Beni. In 1855 Jules Beni kept a ranch at this point. At that time the mail was carried overland from the States to California, and this was one of the stations where horses for the company were kept. A noted desperado, by the name of Alf Slade, was superintendent of the stage company, and Jules Beni had charge of the stock.

Slade was said to be the most cruel and desperate character that ever frequented the frontier, and woe betide the man who ever had an altercation with him. He could kill a man in cold blood, and with as much composure as he would sit down and take his meal. One day he got into a quarrel with Jules, and told him he would cut off his ears and wear them as a charm on his watch-chain. Slade started across the yard for his arms, and Jules, knowing the desperate character of the man he had to deal with, shot and wounded him, and then, fearing vengeance from Slade's associates, he fled to a deep canyon in the vicinity. Here he remained concealed until he prevailed on one of his associates to take charge of his cattle. He then left the frontier and went to Saint Louis. In 1860 he returned to Cottonwood Springs. Shortly afterwards, with a company of men, he started westward for his cattle, which were then near Fort Laramie. He had only got a short distance on his way back, when he was overtaken by Slade, with a number of his men. "Slade immediately shot Jules and wounded him, then cut off the poor Frenchman's ears, and finally put him to death by slow and cruel tortures of the knife. After drying the ears of poor Jules, the monster attached them to his watch-chain, where he wore them as a fulfillment of his terrible threat, and as a warning to all who dared oppose him." Some
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years afterwards Slade came to a violent death. "His cold-blooded murders and desperate deeds became too terrible to be borne, even by men whose lives had long become inured to scenes of bloodshed, and he was hanged, as he deserved to be, by a vigilance committee." * Whenever we think of Julesburg, we think of the terrible tragedy connected with its early history.
From where Julesburg now stands, we crossed over to the North Platte. Shortly after reaching the valley of this stream, we came in sight of Chimney Rock. The atmosphere is so pure and clear that objects seem much nearer than they really are, and on this account we were often greatly deceived in the distance between us and certain objects in full view. Chimney Rock seemed at first sight not more than ten miles away, when in reality it was more than fifty miles away. When we first came in sight of it, we were traveling almost due west, and this lone column seemed to rise up out of the prairie away to the southwest. We traveled a whole day before we came directly opposite to it, and then traveled nearly two days before it faded entirely from our view. Chimney Rock is a pillar, resting on a solid rock foundation, and rising to so great a height in the air, that it may be seen for nearly a

*History of Nebraska (Western Historical Company), p. 533.

hundred miles away. It reminds one of Cleopatra's needle and the obelisks of Egypt. For ages around it the wild storms have swept; for generations it has looked upon the buffalo ranging with delight over the grassy prairies. Within its view many a bloody Indian battle has doubtless been fought, and many an Indian town has arisen, flourished, and passed away. It has watched the centuries come and go, and many wonderful scenes have transpired under its gaze, and still it stands in all its solitary loneliness.
Shortly after Chimney Rock faded from sight, Court-house Rock rose in view. Court-house Rock was about the same distance as Chimney Rock from the road, although it seemed very much nearer. It is several acres square, rising to an immense height, and looking very much like a massive court-house, standing alone on the dreary prairie, hence the name. The stone of both Chimney and Court-house Rock is soft, and they are rapidly yielding to the gnawing tooth of time.
The valley of the Platte, in the spring and early part of the summer, was the grazing ground for the buffaloes. The grass came earlier in this valley than on the bluffs and uplands, hence immense droves of buffalo congregated along this stream. It is hard for any one now to imagine the vast numbers that gathered along this great valley. We have seen the valley literally black

with them for miles and miles in almost every direction. I am perfectly safe in saying I have seen in one herd many millions. And this scene was repeated day after day as we traveled up this river. A buffalo stampede was a most terrible and dangerous thing. A frightened drove of these wild animals running at full speed swept everything before them; and woe betide the horses and cattle of the emigrants that happened to be in their path; they were swallowed up in the herd, carried away, and perhaps never seen or heard from again. Many emigrants lost their teams in this way. The noise of a drove of buffaloes on a stampede was like the continuous roll of distant thunder. The only safety for a train of emigrants, on the approach of a drove of buffaloes coming at full speed, was to drive the wagons into a circle, make a strong corral putting all the cattle and horses on the inside. The buffaloes, however, much more rapidly than the Indians, are becoming extinct. When we crossed the plains, forty years ago, it was not known how many buffaloes there were. There were many, many millions. The Great Platte Valley was alive with them, and the bluffs and prairies, north and south, for hundreds of miles, were covered with these shaggy cattle of the Plains.
Twenty years ago, according to the authority of the Smithsonian Institute of Washington,

there were only eight millions of buffaloes roaming over the plains and mountains of the Far West. To-day there are but a few hundred. There never has been such an extermination of any large quadruped; it could not have been more successful if especially planned. Had the buffalo been a wild animal, doing immense damage to person and property, he could not have been hunted down and uselessly and wantonly slaughtered with more avidity. Only eighty-five head of wild buffaloes now remain; three hundred and four are alive in captivity, and about two hundred are under the protection of the Government in Yellowstone Park. It is said that there are about five hundred and fifty head in the British possessions, north of Montana. There is a remote possibility that the stock may be perpetuated, and a small number kept alive in the Yellowstone Park and different zoological gardens. But the wild buffalo has lost his place, and has become a rarity in the animal kingdom. The work of extermination has been carried on principally for the hides. Regular buffalo-killing parties were organized, and the animals hunted down and shot. Their hides would be taken off, and sold at the nearest post-trader's for seventy-five cents or a dollar. The war of extermination was waged vigorously and most effectively, and it was thought for a long time that it was impossible ever to ex-

tinguish the stock. It has only been a few years since the danger of the species becoming extinct forced itself upon those who are interested. in natural history, and since then there has been a scramble to obtain specimens for zoological parks and menageries. The Government has also recognized the importance of perpetuating. the species, and it has secured a number and placed them in the Yellowstone Park for safe keeping and the perpetuation of the. stock. It is deplorable that the Government did not take steps long ago to stop the wholesale slaughter of these noble animals.
We followed the North Platte until we reached Fort Laramie. Here we found a number of United States troops stationed. From this point we crossed over the "Black Hills," and, after several days' travel over a very rough and rugged road, struck the Sweet Water. This we found to be a most beautiful stream, and its waters as delightful as its name indicates. The Sweet Water winds its way down a most beautiful valley, which we found covered with heavy, tender, and most nutritious grass. This thrifty and tender grass our horses ate with a relish, which did us good to behold. Soon after reaching this stream we came to Independence Rock, which stands near the bank of the river, overlooking the whole surrounding country. Independence Rock is a great

bowlder, if my memory serves me right, covering thirteen acres, and over one hundred feet high. At one place, on the west side, this rock could, with some difficulty, be scaled. The ascent was quite steep, yet by dint of effort a man could climb to the top. We clambered up to the summit of this wonderful bowlder, and gazed with delight upon the romantic scenery which, spread in every direction before us. After remaining for a short time, having taken in the magnificent view, we saw a large snake crawling up out of one of the crevices of the rock; in a little while another one made his appearance. As we had no desire whatever to see any more, never having had any peculiar love for the serpentine race, we made our descent much quicker than we had made our ascent, and left the snakes in full possession.
Just beyond this and in full view was Devil's Gap. This is an opening about thirty feet wide, through a mountain of solid rock. Through this opening the Sweet Water rushes at the rate of some fifty miles an hour. The walls on both sides are perpendicular, and two hundred feet high. This opening looks very much like a work of art, as though it had been made by human hands to form a channel for the beautiful river. This marvelous channel was cut through this mountain of solid rock not by human but divine hands. In this gap, on one side of the stream,.

near the surface of the water, is a shelf of rock, and over this mountain, near the precipice, was a precipitous foot-path. Up this path, and over this rough mountain, many emigrants traveled on foot. We preferred to go with our teams some distance to the south-east, where there was a good wagon road, rather than to attempt to scale the dangerous mountain on foot. The year previous a man passed up this path to the summit, and, looking down into the stream two hundred feet below him, became dizzy and fell into the awful chasm, his body striking the rocky shelf below. His friends could not possibly recover his body, for the waters rush through the narrow and rocky channel like the dashing waters of a raging cataract. I did not see them; but others who did, said the skull and bones of the poor man were distinctly visible from the top of the precipice.
Up this stream we traveled until we reached the summit of the Rocky Mountains; but so gradual was the ascent that we were not aware we were on the summit until we saw a small rivulet flowing to the west. We reached this point Saturday afternoon, July 3, 1850. Here, in this bleak and desolate place, some twelve thousand feet above the level of the sea, we camped and remained over Sabbath, celebrating the Fourth of July, at an altitude far above any on which we had ever been before. The wind blew

a stiff gale; the weather was cold, and it snowed at intervals during the whole day.. We found some very good bunch-grass for our horses, and to keep ourselves warm, and while away the time, we cut sage-brush, and kept a good fire going by the side of a great rock, which served as a shelter from the fierce wind. To the right and left of us, as far as the eye could extend, rose mountain-peak above mountain-peak in solitary grandeur, crowned with eternal snow. The scene, though sublime, was at the same time a dreary and desolate one. While one enjoys such scenes for a little while, they soon become monotonous, and one longs for a more genial clime and more pleasant objects on which to gaze. From the summit of these everlasting hills we began to descend slowly to the west. We soon reached Green River, a deep and rapid stream, but not very wide. There was neither bridge nor ferry, and the water was too deep to ford; so we made a ferryboat of a wagon-box, took our wagons to pieces, ferried them over one after another with our plunder, and swam with our hoses across the river. Then we put together our wagons, reloaded our traps, and after a hard day's work in getting across, started again on our way rejoicing. The next river of importance was Bear River. From here our journey was uneventful until we reached the Humboldt River. And of all the
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streams we ever saw or read of, this is the most loathsome. From its head-waters to its mouth--a distance of three hundred miles--where it sinks away in the sand, there is not a single redeeming trait. It is repulsive, and only repulsive, from one end to the other. The Humboldt River runs through a valley of alkali, and the waters of this stream, as well as the springs and rivulets that flow into it, are all strongly impregnated with this poison. And yet, for two weeks, we had to wash in these waters, cook with them, and even drink them. They had a peculiarly sickening and slippery taste that we remember distinctly, though forty years have passed since we drank them. The dust in the roads was like light-colored ashes and as fine as flour, and from one to six inches deep. The great clouds of this dust and the sweltering heat, at times, almost completely overcame us. We breathed the alkali, and ate the alkali, and drank the alkali, and lay down in the alkali, until our whole systems were completely saturated with the loathsome minerals.
Twice a day we had to swim this stream, cut grass and float it over for our horses, as there was no grass on the, side of the river we traveled.
The Humboldt is a rapid stream and full of dangerous whirlpools. In these, many a poor traveler has lost his life. A man might be ever so good a swimmer, yet, if he got in one of these,

he was sure to be drawn under and drowned. We saw new-made graves all along this river; and on the head-board of almost every grave was the sad word, "Drowned." Along the pathway of life the whirlpools of sin are numerous, and many a man, who thought himself strong to resist evil of every kind, in an unguarded moment has been drawn in and lost. "Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall."
After a number of days of weary and painful travel, we reached the mouth of this river, which we found to be an anomaly. This stream does not empty its waters into any other body of water, as other streams do, but sinks away in the sand, at the edge of a sandy desert, seventy-five miles in width. The waters of this river at its mouth spread out over a spongy marsh, some fifteen miles wide and thirty miles long. Through this spongy, sandy soil, the waters of the Humboldt sink away.
At this point we camped, rested twenty-four hours, and made preparation for crossing the desert. At five o'clock in the afternoon we broke camp, left the valley, and ascending a low range of hills, realized we were on the desolate, dangerous, and sandy desert. We did not stop from the time we broke camp until we reached the other side. We traveled all night, and the next day, at three o'clock, reached Carson River.

This sandy desert, from the mouth of the Humboldt to the Carson River--a distance of seventy-five miles--was literally strewn with wagons, goods, and the bodies of horses, mules, and oxen. Horses and mules would lie down and die in their harness while hitched to their wagons, and whole teams of oxen, from two to six yoke, would lie down and die in their yokes. Others would wander away a short distance from the road, as if in search of water, but overcome with heat, would soon give up in despair, and sink down to die at the hands of this most terrible of all tyrants--thirst.
If these carcasses had been placed together in a row, we could have walked on dead animals from one side of the desert to the other. But not only did we see scattered upon the burning sands of this desert, wagons, goods, clothing, and plunder of almost every kind, and the carcasses of horses, mules, and oxen; but, ever and anon, a sandy mound marked the resting-place of some poor emigrant, who had fallen a victim to the ravages of thirst or disease. On this desert our last horse gave out, and my brother and I had to leave him to die. Tears unbidden stole down our cheeks as we said good-bye to faithful Dick. He had done all he could for us. He could go no further. He was worn out. The last, sad look of the faithful horse we remember still. Mr.

Wesley thinks all animals will be resurrected. We think they ought to be, and rewarded for their works and sufferings here. If they are, faithful Dick will have a rich reward.
Our provisions, too, were gone; so we each took a couple of blankets, rolled them up, put them on our shoulders--as the soldier carries his knapsack--and trudged away on foot. After traveling all night, the next morning the sun rose clear and bright, and as he climbed the heavens, the heat became more and more intense, and the sands beneath our feet hotter and hotter. Stretching away in every direction, as far as the eye could extend, was a vast, sandy plain, and the heat arising from this sandy plain was like the heat from a burning furnace. About noon our water gave out. We quickened our steps, knowing well that no time could be lost without endangering our lives. On and on, we pressed our weary way, growing more and more fatigued, and our thirst becoming more and more severe. I never shall forget that day. How every nerve was taxed to its utmost! How our eager eyes were strained, time and again, to catch a glimpse of the trees skirting the river whose waters were to slake our thirst, and whose green banks were to furnish rest for our weary bodies! I never shall forget the fear and anxiety we felt as the hours passed slowly away. Many of our com-

rades sank by the wayside, and we knew not how soon we must succumb to the heat, sink down, and die upon the burning sands. About three o'clock in the afternoon, the waving trees along the desired stream rose in view. What a thrill of joy went coursing through every avenue of the soul as the beautiful scene rose before us! A few moments more and we sat down by that limpid stream, and drank and drank and drank of its clear, cold waters, until we were perfectly satisfied; then we threw our weary bodies on the green grass, beneath the shade of a large tree, and never was rest more sweet! After having slaked our thirst with these cooling waters, and rested for a little while, we went to a ranch near by, kept by a Californian, and bought some food--a few small, hard biscuits, made of flour and water--paying one dollar and a half each. These we ate with a relish; then resumed our journey. We were then three hundred miles from the mines; and from this on there were stations every few miles, where provisions could be had by paying for them. The next station we reached we bought a little flour, paying two dollars per pound, and a little bacon at the same price. With the flour and some water and salt we made pancakes, and, frying the meat, used the gravy on the cakes, and they tasted most delicious. While on the Plains and in California, however, we ate enough pan-

cakes to last a life-time. I have never had any desire for pancakes since, and do not think I ever shall. Being short of money, we only ate about one-half as much as our appetites craved. We lived on half rations from this on, until we reached the end of our journey, which we did in six days, walking fifty miles a day from the time we left the desert until we reached the mines. Having walked for the past three months we were hardened to it, and could march from daylight until dark without being much wearied. We walked faster than any of the teams on the road, passing horse, mule, and ox teams, and leaving everything behind us. Many were worse off than we. They were not only without provisions, but without money. Many ate the flesh of mules and horses that had died of overwork and starvation, and were glad to get that in order to keep them alive. Eternity alone will reveal the sufferings of many while traveling over those plains in quest of gold.
If men would do and suffer as much for God and humanity as they do for money, it would not be long until the millennial glory would break over the world.
Near the head of Carson River we struck what was called the "Big Canyon." Up this canyon the road leads toward the summit of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. This canyon we found

to be very narrow, barely wide enough for one wagon to pass. The road was very rough and rocky, and part of the way we had to travel in a little brook that came leaping and dashing down the mountain gorge. On either side rose, almost perpendicular, the rocky cliffs from one hundred to a thousand feet, with here and there a tree growing out from some crevice, and reaching up its arms as if anxious to climb up to where it could behold the rays of the beautiful sun.
On and up this gloomy defile we continued to press our way, until at length we passed out into an open space, and supposed we saw just before us the summit. A few moments afterwards, however, we reached the supposed summit; but, alas! were disappointed, for far above and beyond us rose another mountain. "That," we said, "surely must be the summit." In a few hours we reached its peak, and were again disappointed; for far away and above us rose another mountain-peak, and away beyond and above that still another. Mountains were piled on mountains until they passed up above the clouds, and bathed their snowy summits in the vaulted blue. Onward and upward we continued to climb, until we, too, passed the clouds, and at last stood upon the white crest of the most majestic mountain range on the American Continent, while the broad and beautiful California Valley for hundreds of miles

ACROSS THE PLAINS.

swept before us, and still further on the blue waters of the Pacific rolled in endless succession their mighty billows.
In ascending the Sierra Nevada Mountains, mountain-peak rises above mountain-peak. The sweep of vision widens, the sublimity and beauty of the scene deepens, the grandeur becomes more and more impressive; and when you have reached the highest peak, and everything earthly is below, you are awed and almost overwhelmed with the splendor of the scene. I never shall forget how I felt when I stood upon Sierra Nevada's snow-capped summit. To the west was the Sacramento Valley; to the east was the beautiful Nevada; to the north and to the south, as far as the eye could extend, were the rock-ribbed and snow-crowned mountains, glittering and flashing in eternal sunshine. The unfading impression of that scene has been with me for forty years.
As we stood upon this mountain-top, with the most of our journey behind us, and the end in full view, I have thought we felt a little as the ten thousand Greeks under Xenophon did, when, after traveling for twenty-three hundred miles through the midst of their enemies, suffering for food, water, and raiment, they at length ascended a mountain from which they could behold the Black Sea, on the shores of which stood a large number of Greek cities. In raptures of joy they

SOLITARY PLACES MADE GLAD

shouted, "The sea! the sea!" and the very heavens resounded with their joyful acclamations. From this lofty summit we descended, and in a short time struck Weaverville, a mining town, and the end of our long journey was reached.


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