THE matter of the third part is made up from a series of letters written from the Mining region, while on a tour planned by the appointing power of the Church, for the purpose of exploring and temporary organization, preparatory to sending a regular supply of ministers. They appeared in one of the weekly journals of the Church. Subjoined is the second quarterly report, presenting, in part, the results of the exploration.

     APRIL of the present year, 1859, found the members of Kansas and Nebraska Conference assembled at the capital of the latter Territory, attending upon the labors of an Annual Conference session. Bishop Scott was in his place in the Conference-room and in his council, performing the duties of his office with his wonted urbanity and cheerfulness. The body of preachers present from both Territories composed a Conference respectable for numbers and strength, who had been gathered together in the brief space of five years with unit as a beginning; courteous, active, harmonious; cheered with the success of the past, and vigorously preparing for another campaign. A new, and hitherto unanticipated class of circumstances surrounded me. "The hand of God had touched me." Two lonely months of solitude and partial suspension of accustomed labor had intervened. Dependent and helpless ones at home were the objects of deep solicitude. Further district labors were declined as impracticable; and the gloomy thought of temporary retirement from the active field was haunting me as a dire necessity; unspoken as yet, awaiting Providential indications.

     A new subject of interest was engaging the attention of the Bishop and his Council, as well as of the members of the Conference generally. The golden treasures beginning to be revealed in the region of the Rocky Mountains, were
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inviting large numbers of our citizens and many of our Church members to these inhospitable and hitherto unfrequented parts. The Church, faithful to her pioneer calling, had already, through the proper authorities, said, "The Gospel must be sent there, our brethren must have the Word of life, the new community must be evangelized." A new and vast enlargement was thus to be made to our already-extended field of labor, and the cry was sounded, "Who will go for us?" but, amid the home demands for laborers and the numerous and pressing engagements of the ministers, official and private, sounded in vain, and in that silence the writer participated, little dreaming of the real future. The subject at length came up for definite action in the council; still no response. The Bishop, as if by sudden impulse, made a personal appeal to him who now occupies his camp at the base of these Alpine hights (sic). The thought flashed over my mind, "I should like to go." The recollection of past frontier scenes was called up, and the blessing of God that had followed a faith weak, though adventurous, with a desire to strike one more blow for God and the Church in the "regions beyond," ere the weapons of itinerancy were laid down. The suggestion was strongly seconded by brethren present. Strangely, it might seem, it was entertained by myself. Time was asked for reflection during the Sabbath then at hand. Some preliminaries were contingently arranged. The first hour of retirement was devoted to the subject. Conflicting claims, and calls, and ties were brought together; an effort was made to balance them; the domestic preponderated; "I can't go," was the prompt decision. Monday morning came; this decision was communicated; "Pike's Peak and Cherry Creek mission" was set down "to be supplied" from some other Conference, and its proposed incumbent received by the kindness of the appointing power a small station--rather the privilege of forming one--leaving him at liberty to conform his labors to his circumstances.

      Conference adjourned. Brethren shook hands, breathed

a prayer for each other, and separated for their distant fields of labor. Home was visited, bereft as it was of what mainly constitutes a home. Other Providential changes followed in rapid succession, which, painful as they were in themselves, nevertheless opened the way to an acceptance of the proposed work. The stream of emigration was rolling by me daily, and the desire revived to go, to spend a season on the Plains, in the mountain solitudes, and the camps of the miners. The seat of Missouri Conference, then in session, was visited, and the place was found yet unfilled by the Bishop. A proposal was made, time again taken for consideration several days, and after final adjournment, about the hour of midnight, the appointment was made out, and the requisite papers placed in my hands. The instructions of a former tour of exploration were, mutato nomine, renewed.

     At early dawn of the succeeding morning, the good Bishop took the train East. The day, with a judicious friend, was spent in the busy streets of St. Joe, examining wagons, mules, harness, etc., and nightfall found the new appointee possessed of a substantial vehicle adapted to the Plains, and four sturdy animals with suitable equipage. The next morning the whip was cracked, a clerical friend, better skilled in that species of engineering than myself, kindly taking the lines for the first hundred miles; in which time, by his careful lessons, I was so far initiated as to venture to steer the remaining twenty to my Glenwood home.

     A trip to the Territory followed. Rev. J. Adriance, junior preacher upon Rock Bluff mission, had been granted me as an associate. He was sought for and found in place on his work, and readily assented. A brief space was employed in "setting the house in order," and the almost inconceivable details, purchases, fittings up, etc., that go to make up a complete outfit for the Plains, embracing the entire trip, stay, and return. A day was fixed for starting.

     Meanwhile the great stampede was taking place. Multitudes in "the States," allured by the reports, had resolved
     34

to visit the place where gold could be gathered from the brooks and the sands without measure, enrich themselves at once, and through the remainder of life enjoy their otium cum dignitate. The golden vision flitted before their eyes, and obscured all else. Money was borrowed; lands were sold or mortgaged; other property sacrificed; wife and children placed upon a scanty allowance, to live upon the hope of future abundance; and fathers, brothers, and sons were en route for Pike's Peak. Banners floated, revolvers were flourished; the pick and pan were ostentatiously displayed as emblems of future and certain acquisition; and light and merry hearts sang or whistled along the westward roads.

     I will not say that the entire emigration was of this cast. Some were thoughtful, considerate, prudent men--men who, under other circumstances, might have succeeded; but the great mass were inconsiderate, rash, and reckless, with indifferent teams, poor, crazy wagons, and almost without harness. A large number of men actually harnessed themselves to hand-carts, as beasts of burden, to draw their tools, provisions, and equipage, almost a thousand miles over an uninhabited plain; some undertook the journey with wheelbarrows, while not a few hazarded the entire trip, from some of the more remote States, on foot, lugging their tent-poles and scanty supplies upon their shoulders. Such a scene is not witnessed once in a century. Ill-provided, only intent on reaching the El Dorado, and little thinking how life was to be sustained there! Add to this, that one of the articles most uniformly thought of and carefully provided was a supply of the "ardent," to serve as a substitute in all other deficiencies, and frequently gaming apparatus with which to sport over their golden acquisitions.

      It is computed that, during the months of April and May, one hundred thousand persons crossed the Missouri River. Some went nearly through, others half-way, but by far the larger number only a short distance into the Territory, encountering severe rains, snow-storms, and other

hardships and exposures. Enough, however, reached Cherry Creek to produce a heavy pressure upon the few inhabitants there. Provisions were scarce. No employment for hire. The Cherry Creek diggings were yielding unsatisfactory returns. The mountain treasures, as yet covered with snow and undiscovered--though some hardy adventurers were even then prospecting in the mountains--the great mass were indisposed to "prospect," or to labor in any way. They became restless and disorderly; accused those who had preceded them of having humbugged and deceived them by false publications and representations, and threatened violence upon all the settlers. This state of excitement was carried to its acme by the arrival of a man brought in upon one of the southern routes, in a state of insanity, who had actually eaten, in part, the carcasses of two of his own brothers, one of whom, it was supposed, he had killed for the purpose. Spaniards, Mexicans, and all were commingled. The citizens were alarmed. In the extremity Indian aid was resorted to, and made ready to be used for protection, should the emergency require it. This came to the knowledge of the lawless throng. All in a little time was quieted; the excitement subsided; the malcontents started for home, many of them begging their way, and all carrying the most doleful reports of "no gold,'' ''humbug,'' famine, murder, etc. Men were met with reports of their own death by those who averred that they themselves had done the deed, or participated in it. One saw his own grave and epitaph in several different places. Pike's Peak banners were exchanged for pictures of ''the elephant,'' and other emblems and mottoes of defeat equally significant. Party after party was turned back in succession, till eventually almost the whole mass had set their faces toward the rising sun; and even the few who had the fortitude to persevere had to haul down the Pike's Peak flag, and hang out for "California,'' to protect them from insult and injury. The vast crowd passed on, lingering awhile in groups about the crossing of the Missouri River, drinking, carousing, threatening to

burn the border towns, where they had obtained their supplies, and actually intimidating the inhabitants, till, the gas being expended, they recrossed the river and quietly returned to their homes.

     Such was the state of things intervening between my appointment and start. The stampede was then passing by me. An entire stop was put to the spirit of emigration. I even failed, by one, to make up my own intended company. Of course, the anxiety of friends was aroused with reference to our enterprise. "Will he go?" was the inquiry made of others, and occasionally of myself. The reply was, "I shall start, the Lord willing, and not turn back till I see and know a cause." Little opposition or remonstrance was directly made to myself, but now and then I could hear it indirectly. And even when silent, I thought I could see written in the expression of countenance, ''folly," ' rashness,'' "utterly useless." A half-way trip and early return were predicted. And even some of my ministerial brethren, I believe, joined in the sentiment, "Better give it up."

     Meanwhile silently went on our preparation. The day came; all were ready; my young colleague, the teamster, and myself. The load was adjusted, team harnessed; a few neighbors came together to see us off. All were assembled; "Rock of Ages" sung with an accompaniment; prayer offered; leave taken; the driver's box mounted; and nightfall found us over the Missouri River, encamped in the outskirts of the village of Plattesmouth (sic); banner out "For the Mines."

     THE second morning was bright and cheerful. An early breakfast was taken under the roof of a clerical friend, and a little further time spent in preparation before leaving "the settlements." In due time we were off, all in good condition, bade adieu to civilization, and fairly committed ourselves to the "Plains." Plattesmouth, the point at which we crossed, is some two miles below the mouth of the Great Platte, or Nebraska River.

     The road, for the first hundred miles, bears off from the river, making a tortuous course in compliance with the "divides" or separating ridges, and avoiding the gulches and ravines. Thirty miles of travel brings us to Salt Creek, a stream of perhaps one hundred feet wide, crossed upon a toll bridge, the largest stream on this route from the Missouri to the mines, and the only toll or ferriage. A few miles east of this point we intersect the road from Nebraska City, and fall into the great line of travel. Thus far are scattering settlements on the banks of small streams, some fine-looking lands, and in some places a tolerable supply of timber. Salt -Creek is the terminus of white settlement. Upon the banks of this stream, it is said, gold has been found; but probably more reliance is to be placed upon the salt springs found higher up, which will, it is supposed, one day be worked with profit, and supply the country with that indispensable. The water of the creek is so strongly impregnated as to be unfit for drinking when low. On the bank of this stream, during the excitement of last Spring, was found the body of Mr. Carpenter, from our neighboring town of Tabor, Iowa, and his mule, both

shot and thrown into a slough. Here we learned that the Pawnee Indians were attempting to stampede teams at night, with a view to stealing them. From this point we guarded our team, under arms, all through every night of our outward trip, less, however, from apprehension of Indian depredations than of white. Here, for the first, we take in water and fuel, the latter for sixty miles, and pass through a timberless region to Elm Creek, a small stream, noted only as the great rendezvous of the malcontent emigrants, and the point from which many reversed their course. Here it was that they held their tumultuous meetings and concocted their plans of threatened vengeance upon the border towns. It is familiarly known as "the Turn Table," or "Elephant City." A few have remained, done some breaking, and are making efforts at a permanent settlement. It is a fine spot, minus timber. We are now in the valley of the Great Platte; about ten miles further on, our road strikes the river, and never leaves it again more than a few miles, till we reach Cherry Creek. About forty miles further, brings us to the site of an old Pawnee village. Nothing of interest remains to be seen except a lone grave, probably of some chief or noted brave, surrounded by pony-skulls, placed circularly with great precision. These seem to have been sacredly regarded by travelers, and left uninterruptedly in their position. Passed, near this place, two companies of United States Artillery from Fort Kearney, bound for Minnesota, and subsequently a detachment of Cavalry, en route for Nebraska City, to guard Government teams out. Why the necessity of a military escort, we did not learn. From this point to Fort Kearney, the road continues in the bottom, now touching the river and then winding off to the bluffs, a distance of from three to five miles. At a few points the bluffs touch the river.

      Up to Fort Kearney the soil of the valley is good, and nothing to prevent a profitable settlement save the want of timber. Platte River is spread out over a space of about a mile in width, shallow and rapid, wholly unfit for naviga-

tion, except as it has afforded to some of the Pike's Peakers a transit, at its present high stage, in light-made crafts, hastily constructed, frequently requiring to be hauled off from the shoals, and occasionally drowning a luckless passenger in some unexpected depth, washed out by its rapid current. But let none henceforth pronounce the Great Platte a "worthless stream," as many have done, and the writer among them; but he takes it all back and would fain apologize to the noble river. God has made nothing in vain. No man who has once followed up its windings, traversed the beautiful natural highway opened up its valley, equal to one of our Eastern turnpikes, linking together the two halves of our continent, and drank of its sweet and wholesome waters, a constant supply for the whole route, can call it useless. This river, with its two branches, probably affords on its banks more continuous miles of good natural highway than any other stream in the known world, thus indicating, from the hand of Providence, a route for the great railroad connection with the Pacific, whenever our National Legislature shall find time to attend to a matter of so small concern. The monotony of the scenery for some hundreds of miles is greatly relieved by the thousands of beautiful islands that crowd its bosom, covered with timber varying in size and character, but generally small. Considerable cedar is found, but neither in dimensions nor quantity for railroad construction, as has been alleged. From these islands fuel is obtained by emigrants, scarcely any being found upon the mainland. Occasionally a good spring of water is met with, and still more rarely a small running brook. Water is easily obtained by digging a few feet, and in many places it abounds in sloughs. But this is said to be strongly impregnated with alkali, productive of sickness, and often fatal to stock; hence the more prudent and cautions confine themselves to the waters of the Platte, keeping the water cask well filled for an emergency. The water is palatable, increasing in coldness as you approach the mountains. It contains glittering particles, said

to be mica or isinglass stone, but which my unpracticed eye would not distinguish from gold dust, thus alluring on the future miner with golden hopes.

     Fort Kearney is situated in the open plain, a short distance from the Platte River, about two hundred miles from its junction with the Missouri. There is nothing bold or commanding in its position, as with our military posts generally. Such sites are not to be found on the Plains, the bald bluffs being unsightly and ill-adapted. The buildings are inferior to those at most of our posts on the Western frontier, though no doubt erected at great expense, from the great cost of transporting materials. Uncle Sam's operations are all expensive, and none perhaps more so than in the military department.

     We still meet from ten to twenty wagons per day of returning miners, looking sadly cowed, and seeming almost offended when they learn our destination. They appear to regard it as a virtual impeachment of their judgment or fortitude, if not indeed of their veracity, supposing us, too, to be in search of gold. Some sigh, and wish us "better luck" than they had. Others pass with a slight contemptuous remark or a significant curl of the lip, which seems to say, "What simpletons!" To those "heading for the mines" we generally explain our object and seek to pave our way; to the retreating body we make few explanations. For some days past we have seen antelopes in considerable numbers, but their wariness renders it difficult to get a shot.

     A little incident occurred at Fort Kearney illustrative of the doggedly-obstinate manner in which some seem disposed to resist all evidence of Western discoveries, however well attested, equal at least to the antipodal credulity of the worst humbugged Pike's Peakers. Desirous of obtaining in my progress every possible item of reliable information, I have taken occasion to converse with intelligent men, as I have met them In conversation with some army officers, as I took them to be, on the way, I was advised to call on Major ----, commanding officer at the Fort. Finding my

self accidentally near the Major, I introduced myself, stated my objects, and inquired for the latest items of information from the mining district. A pompous, military swell was put on, and the Major, instead of answering my question, commenced giving his "opinions from the first"--"A grand humbug"--"An extenuation [pardon his English, he came up from the ranks] of the Kansas swindle"--"Designed to act upon the Presidential election of 1860 "--with more of the same sort. I inquired if Mr. Greeley had passed on by that route. "Didn't know; probably he had; Greeley was one of the movers in the Kansas swindle; likely to be out on that business." Politely dissenting from some of the Major's opinions, and questioning some of his geographical facts, I bade him "good-by." Let not this be taken as a specimen of the intelligence and urbanity of our military men. It has been my lot to visit nearly all of the military posts upon our Western frontier, and no where have I met a more bland, gentlemanly, and courteous class of men than our army officers. But there are exceptions.
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     FORT KEARNEY is passed. We are now about two hundred miles out upon the Plains, still wending our way up the Great Platte. Twelve miles east of the Fort we intersected the military road from Leavenworth and St. Joe; and from that point to the crossing, about a hundred miles, we are upon the Great Salt Lake thoroughfare, crowded with Government teams, emigrants to California, Oregon--few to this place this year--Salt Lake, the mines and other parts, frequently with large herds of cattle. It is difficult for one who has not witnessed it, to conceive the bustle and excitement now found upon the Plains. One of the most imposing spectacles is a Government train, composed of twenty-six large, heavy-freighted wagons, with six yokes of oxen each, and attendant conductors, extra hands, loose oxen, mules, etc. Seen at a distance on the Plains it presents the appearance of a village and line of houses. Two or three times in twenty-four hours they go into coralle, a circle formed by the wagons, turn the teams loose to graze, under the care of a herdsman, while the men prepare and take their meals. Into this circle the cattle are driven to receive the yokes again. A train in motion will usually occupy half a mile of road, and they are almost constantly in sight. It is something of a feat to pass one when traveling in the same direction, and requires considerable time, from our being thrown out of the beaten road. This immense business is principally in the hands of Majors & Russell, the one of Nebraska City, the other of Leavenworth, the two great depots of Government stores.

     The buffalo range is now fairly entered. Carcasses were

occasionally seen below the Fort; now the road is literally lined with them, producing a disagreeable stench, and frightening our team. They are seen in herds of thousands. Now they are crossing the river in crowds from north to south, and are easily killed, as they come fatigued out of the water. I know not why they should have disappeared at our approach, unless it be that a large train of emigrant wagons--Mormons I suppose--has been passing up on the other side of the river opposite us, and has probably intercepted them. So it is, we have made the entire trip without seeing one live buffalo. A party just in advance of us killed nine one morning, and we came up in time to share the flesh. On this part of the route the "buffalo chips" are largely used for fuel in preparing food; but not by us.

     Along here we first meet with that singular institution, known as "dog towns," which continue to be found all the way up. I had read Mr. Gregg's description of them in his lively work on the "Commerce of the Prairies," but always made some allowance for his imagination. I found his picture not overdrawn. The town covers a space of some acres, more or less. The habitations are prepared by burrowing holes in the earth, with a little hillock thrown up at the entrance of each, upon which the diminutive quadruped seats himself near the entrance of his domicile, and barks most fiercely at the passing intruder, taking care to retreat speedily into his burrow if hostile demonstrations are made. Their habits are gregarious; but what is most singular is, that they have associates quite different from themselves in character. A small species of owl is an almost uniform companion and fellow-lodger. Rattlesnakes, too, abound among them, whether tolerated in their communities as friends, or mere loafers, forcibly quartering

themselves for predatory purposes, I have not been able to learn. So it is, we were cautioned on this account against camping in their vicinity, but generally forgot the admonition. A lady in a train we met with, was induced by some men to try the experiment of making broth of one they had killed, but described it as rather a repulsive offering to the palate. Rattlesnakes are found all the way. Our men often leaped from the wagon, and gave evidence of the inveterate enmity of the races by summary destruction, but I believe I have myself deprived nothing of life on the way, save an occasional musketo.

     About eighty miles from the Fort is Cottonwood Springs, a trading-post and notable watering-place, with cedar wood in the bluffs. Forty miles further is O'Fallon's Bluff, a mail station and trading-post. There the supply of timber, even from the islands, fails, and we laid in wood, with the cedar obtained below, for one hundred and fifty miles, part of which we hauled three hundred, a small amount sufficing for our excellent stove. Some distance below this is the junction of North and South Platte, and we begin to ascend the latter. From an elevated point near, I am told that the timber upon the head waters of the Kansas River may be seen. As we advance, the quality of the soil deteriorates rapidly. Some lands about Kearney are being broken, and may produce tolerably, but in a little way they become sandy and sterile, timberless, and unfit for cultivation, adapted apparently to a great highway, connecting the two disjointed sections of a mighty continent, and to nothing else. Grass for teams is had in the low grounds upon the river.

      About O'Fallon's Bluff, we exchanged our Pawnees for Sioux, whose lands we had now entered. They are the deadly enemies of the Pawnees, and are more manly and warlike in appearance, and better equipped. The Pawnees dread the Sioux; their very name is a terror to them. One morning two fine-looking Sioux, well mounted and equipped, rode up to our camp, and accused, as far as we

could understand, the Pawnees with having stolen sixteen of their ponies. We learn that a party of them have lately killed some ten or twelve Pawnees. They seem to be tending toward the Pawnee lands in considerable numbers, and probably are for war. When not engaged in war or hunting, they are like other Indians, lazy and lounging. Two lusty fellows of them at one time were disposed to take liberties of this kind about our camp to rather a disagreeable extent. I bore with them for a time, and at length summarily checked them up, upon which they soon disappeared. They can only be managed by promptness and decision.

     About forty miles more brings us to the point where the great Salt Lake road crosses the South Platte. Arrived here, we found a vast throng of wagons, tents, and herds of cattle, men, women, and children, lining the banks of the river for miles on either side, while the volume of dust arising on the opposite side marked the onward course of the crowd that had already made the passage. The river being still swollen, and here, perhaps, one-third of a mile in width, we witnessed a motley scene of fording, wading, swimming, hauling out backward, etc. Wagon beds were propped up by blocks, to keep them above water, and many other expedients resorted to, often in vain; the drenching process had to be endured. A party of Pike's Peakers, coming down in a little craft, have, we learn, stopped and hired out their boat to the restless emigrants at the moderate rate of thirty dollars per day, for ferrying purposes; rather better than digging gold had proved to be to them. At the crossing are several cabins, a trading-house, etc., with good well water. Whisky abundant; terms generally posted up. Here it is "from five to eight dollars per gallon, according to quality "--that is, I suppose, with more or less strychnine--" twenty-five cents a drink." Much liquor is carried out in the form of alcohol or "high wines," as they call it, and diluted for sale.

     Our team has performed well; passing every train on the road. A single wagon only has left us behind. The team

consisted of six noble mules. The loading was in barrels, for the mountain trade about Fort Laramie, and we may guess the contents. The proprietor seemed to keep pretty well under the influence of his staple; and inwardly and outwardly there was a propelling power with which we could not compete. We are frequently applied to for liquor, and now and then for cards. My two juniors say that they are occasionally invited to drink; but this act of hospitality has not yet been tendered to me.

     Emigrants on this route, to their praise be it said, generally stop on the Sabbath. We had an interesting opportunity of preaching on the Sabbath that occurred upon this section of our journey--brother A. at one point, and myself at another. My congregation was made up from several encampments and a coralle of Government teams. One of the regulations of Majors & Russell is that their teams lie by on the Sabbath. Profanity and drunkenness are also interdicted among their employés, on pain of dismissal. They have an excellent moral code for the government of their men--one that, no doubt, contributes greatly to their pecuniary safety and success in managing so extended a concern. In this valley, also, I enjoyed an interesting season of devotion, one week-day morning, with a company of our own Church from Tennessee and Missouri, en route for Oregon. Such seasons are refreshing so far from home and social privileges. Here we take leave of the great Salt Lake road, and still keep up on the south side of the South Platte. We are now out some three hundred and fifty miles.

     WE have now left the great thoroughfare, and with it all that pertains to California, Oregon, Salt Lake, Laramie, Government trains, and all. We are wending our way up the valley on the south side of South Platte, over a less frequented but still plain and well-beaten track, pointing direct to Cherry Creek. All we now hear of is Pike's Peak, the mines, the mountains, the diggings; all we see are bound thither, or returning, for still the backward march is kept up at the rate of ten, twenty, thirty, forty wagons per day. The news still brightens. Gregory's diggings have been discovered; it is said they "pay." Others are prospecting in the mountains in great numbers; some claims are sold high; provisions are plenty, order good. Horace Greeley has been at the mines, and made them an encouraging speech. The homeward-bound no longer insult you, but answer all questions with civility. Still, they are desponding. They doubt, after all, whether it is not a trick of speculation; they have not been to the mountains themselves, but discredit the statements; the grounds have been "salted "--gold dust scattered to deceive; a few are making money, but it is "no place for a poor man." At all events, they have bid adieu to the miner's life and prospects, and are "bound for America," home, wife, and children. All well; better have staid there.

     I have already described the country upon our last section of road as poor, unfit for cultivation or residence. It now becomes absolutely worthless, and even repulsive in its features. It is true the road is fine, except in intervals of deep sand; the South Platte rolls majestically along with its

sweet supply, becoming daily cooler and more refreshing as we approach its sources in the mountain snows; vast plains spread out before the eye; the atmosphere is salubrious, and the sun shines brightly; but it shines upon an arid, sterile desert, producing no sustenance for man, and scarcely any for beast, save in small, isolated spots, upon the low banks of the river, approached only at the hazard of a battle with the musketoes; for we have not yet passed the boundaries of musketodom. The surface, though sandy, is hard and crusted; so rough and uneven with small tufts and protuberances as to make it difficult to drive a wagon over it till broken by travel, and absolutely impossible to find a spot on which the human frame may rest with comfort. There is a slight show of vegetation, but in kind and quantity only a mockery, except the low spots referred to. Thousands upon thousands of acres are covered with the loathsome prickly-pear; no green tree, and scarcely a shrub to relieve the eye; and, to complete the picture, the bed of every stream, save one or two, dry; a ford of deep sand, taxing the poor mules to their utmost with the draught.

     In the midst of these scenes I passed my fifty-second birthday. It was a Sabbath. I remained in camp; read, thought, prayed. My library for the Plains is not large, but select. The catalogue is as follows: Bible, Hymn-Book, Discipline, Wesley's Sermons, Mason's Self-Knowledge, my faithful companions at home and abroad. Near by was a camp of jolly Missourians, and others, keeping the Sabbath also. They had a fiddle, banjo, rattle-bones, guns, revolvers, whisky, and other requisites for "a good time, generally." In all my frontier work and intercourse, I have endeavored to keep to the maxim quoted with approbation by Mr. Wesley, and long ago copied by me among the mottoes that daily meet my eye in the old portfolio in which I now write: "Homo sum--humanum nihil a me alienum puto."

     Acting upon this principle I visited their encampment, conversed freely a few moments, passed no direct censure,

found two sick men, tendered them aid and medicine, and returned to camp. In the afternoon they sent a deputation to invite me to preach to them. I readily consented, and an hour after had--to myself at least--a comfortable season in inviting the "laboring and heavy laden" to come to Christ, felt my heart strongly drawn out in my work, found the children of pious parents, spent considerable part of the afternoon with them, they cheerfully uniting in singing the "songs of Zion in that strange land." All was orderly and quiet. We parted. I met them afterward at the mines, and they seemed to feel that they had found a friend.

     On this stretch of road we met Russell & Jones's Express, with fourteen wagons and about one hundred mules, being part of the stock which they are moving from the Smoky Hill route to this, for a supply of water, after a vain effort to establish that route.

     We were favored with cool weather in the first half of our travel, but upon this part of the way it has been oppressively hot. The reflection upon the sands increases the intensity. I had not reposed under the shade of a single tree since I entered the Plains. While vainly trying to screen myself under the shade of the wagon, as I watched the grazing mules at noonday, I thought of Virgil's

     and then again:

     For a moment I almost envied my brethren in their shady retreats; but, thought I, they too have their peculiar trials, from which in these solitudes I am exempted. I was content and thankful.

     We are now among another tribe of Indians, the Cheyennes. They are passing down in great numbers, as if making some general removal, with women, children, and effects. Their mode of traveling was somewhat novel to me. Instead of packing all upon the backs of their ponies, they use the draft. The tent poles, ten or twenty in number,

and about fifteen feet long, neatly trimmed, are fastened near one end to the back of a pony, the other ends carefully adjusted and spread out at different angles, so as to cover considerable space as they rest upon the ground. About midway of these the baggage is placed, and the pony trails the load along, not unfrequently displaying considerable freaks in his course, driven without bridle or halter, by a squaw or boy on another pony. Sometimes, instead of baggage, a mat bed is placed on the poles, a kind of palanquin is constructed over it, and a person aged or infirm, I suppose, or a squad of papooses, ride with all the grace and spring of one of our own elliptics. They are great beggars, especially for something to eat. Unable to make themselves understood by words, they open their mouths and make signs indicative of filling them. The men, in most instances, we do not encourage, but the women and children, who stood modest and silent, and only looked their wants, we could not pass by.

     Antelopes here are abundant; their flesh affords a grateful change from the monotony of camp diet. Wolves pay us an occasional nightly visit, but a shot from the revolver, always at hand, disperses them. About one hundred miles from the Crossing brings us to Beaver Creek, a small, fresh-looking stream. On an island in the river near stands a lone tree, in the top of which is said to be placed the body of an Indian, distinguished by this mode of sepulchral honor. I approached as near as I could for the stream, but the branches intercepted my view. In thirty miles more we reach Fremont's Orchard, a beautiful spot, noted as a camping-ground. Its name is indicative of the size and shape of the trees and the appearance of the grove from a distance. Many places on the route bear the name of the distinguished mountaineer. For the last two hundred and fifty miles, I suppose all the timber in sight on the mainland would not cover one section. From this point the supply upon the river improves, though still scanty.

     A reach of forty miles brings us to old St. Vrain's Fort,

near which we spent a quiet Sabbath. I inquired its history from a white man, whom I found seated in his lodge with this two squaws and a lot of papooses. He says it was built by Colonel Bent, for trading purposes. St. Vrain became his partner, and it took his name, thus distinguishing it from two forts on the Arkansas that bear the sane name of Bent, "Old" and "New." On Monday morning we examined it. It covers an area of perhaps one hundred and fifty feet square, walls and buildings of adobe, walls from ten to fifteen feet high, sufficient to garrison two hundred men. Projections at the corners--I forget the military name--with portholes to rake the walls with a shot. Has been a place of considerable strength, now abandoned and in decay. Adobe formed from this soil resists the weather better than any I have seen elsewhere. Seven miles further is Fort Lancaster, a similar structure, but smaller and more decayed. In another seven miles is Lupin's Fort, of the same kind; this is occupied by a ranche. A few miles further up passed a cabin, saw a man plowing and some poultry feeding, reminding us that we were not quite "out of humanity's reach." We are now among the Arapahoe Indians.

     For several days we have been in sight of the Rocky Mountains, with their snow-clad summits. The first seen is Long's Peak, seventy miles distant. The view is grand and majestic. Another stretch and "Pike's Peak" is gained--rather, Cherry Creek. We are in Denver and Auraria. The cognomen of Pike's Peak is lost.

© 2003 for the NEGenWeb Project by Pam Rietsch, Ted & Carole Miller.