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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:53:33 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:53:33 -0700 |
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diff --git a/30320-h/30320-h.htm b/30320-h/30320-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dc0dc46 --- /dev/null +++ b/30320-h/30320-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3934 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Trail Tales, by James David Gillilan.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; text-indent: 0; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + + blockquote {display: block; margin: .75em 5%; font-size: 100%;} + h1 {font-size:2.2em;margin-bottom:30px;margin-top:20px;} + h1,h2,h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + h2 {font-size:1.5em;} + h3 {font-size:1.2em;} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + + .caption {font-size: 90%; text-align:center;} + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; width: auto;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + .fnanchor {font-size: .8em; text-decoration: none;} + .footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + .footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + hr.fn {width:3em; text-align:left; margin-left: 0; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; height:1px; border: none; border-bottom: 1px solid black;} + hr.toprule {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + p.center {text-align: center !important;} + p.cg {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-align: left; width: 101%;} + p.ralign {text-align: right !important;} + span.indent10 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 4.0em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent2 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 0.8em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent25 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 10.0em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent28 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 11.2em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent29 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 11.6em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent34 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 13.6em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent38 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 15.2em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent4 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 1.6em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent6 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 2.4em; display: block; float: left;} + span.indent8 {margin: 0; padding:0; text-indent:0; width: 3.2em; display: block; float: left;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + td.chalgn {text-align:right; margin-top:0; padding-right:1em;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30320 ***</div> + +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/f0001-image.jpg' alt='' title='' width='389' height='653' /><br /> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h1>TRAIL TALES</h1> +<p class='tp' >BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;'>JAMES DAVID GILLILAN</p> + +<div style='margin:60px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/f0002-image.jpg' /> +</div> + +<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;'>THE ABINGDON PRESS</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:20px;'>NEW YORK CINCINNATI</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' >Copyright, 1915, by<br />JAMES DAVID GILLILAN</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:20px;margin-bottom:20px;'>DEDICATED AFFECTIONATELY<br /> +TO MY MOTHER,<br /> +TO MY WIFE;<br /> +LIKEWISE TO<br /> +THE PREACHERS OF<br /> +UTAH MISSION<br /> +AND<br /> +IDAHO ANNUAL CONFERENCE</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Preface</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#PREFACE'>9</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>God’s Minister</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#GODS_MINISTER'>11</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Western Trail</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_WESTERN_TRAIL'>13</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Long Trail</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_LONG_TRAIL'>19</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Desert</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_DESERT'>31</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Sagebrush</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#SAGEBRUSH'>39</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Iron Trail</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_IRON_TRAIL'>47</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> A Railroad Saint in Idaho</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#A_RAILROAD_SAINT_IN_IDAHO'>49</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> An Unusual Kindness</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#AN_UNUSUAL_KINDNESS'>59</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Indians of the Trail</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#INDIANS_OF_THE_TRAIL'>63</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> Introductory Words</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#INTRODUCTORY_WORDS'>65</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> Pocatello, the Chief</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#POCATELLO_THE_CHIEF'>67</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> The Babyless Mother</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_BABYLESS_MOTHER'>72</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> Mary Muskrat</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#MARY_MUSKRAT'>76</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> Bad Ben</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#BAD_BEN'>79</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> A Three-Cornered Sermon</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#A_THREECORNERED_SERMON'>82</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> Three Years After</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THREE_YEARS_AFTER'>87</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> Chief Joseph and His Lost Wallowa</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHIEF_JOSEPH_AND_HIS_LOST_WALLOWA'>92</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> The White Man’s Book</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_WHITE_MANS_BOOK'>96</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Lights and Sidelights</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#LIGHTS_AND_SIDELIGHTS'>99</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Stagecoach</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_STAGECOACH'>107</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Among the Hills</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#AMONG_THE_HILLS'>117</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> The Mother Deer</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_MOTHER_DEER'>119</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> The Shepherd</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_SHEPHERD'>121</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> The Feathered Drummer</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_FEATHERED_DRUMMER'>122</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Mormondom</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#MORMONDOM'>123</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> The Trail of the Mormon</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_TRAIL_OF_THE_MORMON'>125</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> Some Mormon Beliefs</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#SOME_MORMON_BELIEFS'>131</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> Weber Tom, Ute Polygamist</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#WEBER_TOM_UTE_POLYGAMIST'>138</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'> Polygamy of To-Day</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#POLYGAMY_OF_TODAY'>145</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Great Salt Lake</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#GREAT_SALT_LAKE'>149</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>Argonaut Sam’s Tale</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#ARGONAUT_SAMS_TALE'>157</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Wraith of the Blizzard</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_WRAITH_OF_THE_BLIZZARD'>167</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span class='smcap'>The Great Northwest</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#THE_GREAT_NORTHWEST'>175</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<col style='width:75%;' /> +<col style='width:25%;' /> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>J. D. Gillilan</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>Chief Joseph, Nez Perce Indian</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>64</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>Wallowa Lake</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>94</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span class='smcap'>End of the Trail</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>183</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='PREFACE' id='PREFACE'></a> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> +</div> +<p>In his young manhood the writer of +these sketches came up into this realm of +widest vision, clearest skies, sweetest waters, +and happiest people to engraft the green +twig of his life upon the activities of the +mountaineers of the thrilling West.</p> +<p>At that time the vast plains and the barren +valleys were silvered over with the +ubiquitous sage through which crept lazily +and aimlessly the many unharnessed arroyo-making +streams waiting only the appearance +of their master, man. Under his scientific, +skilled, and economic guidance these +wild waters, lassoed, tamed, and set to +work, taking the place of clouds where there +are none, were soon to cause the gray +garden of nature to become goldened by the +well-nigh illimitable acres of grain and other +home-making products.</p> +<p>The West has an abundant variety of +life of a sort most intensely human. Life, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +always so earnest in Anglo-Saxon lands, +seems to have accentuated individuality +here in a wondrous and contagious degree.</p> +<p>These few stories, culled from the répertoire +of an active life of more than thirty +years, are samples of personal experiences, +and are taken almost at random from +mining camp, frontier town and settlement, +public and private life.</p> +<p>As a minister the writer has had wide +and varied opportunities in all the Northwest, +but more especially in Utah, Oregon, +and Idaho. Many a man much more modest +has far excelled him in life experiences, +but some of them have never told.</p> +<p>This little handful of goldenrod is affectionately +dedicated to them of the Trails.</p> +<p class='ralign'>THE AUTHOR.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +<a name='GODS_MINISTER' id='GODS_MINISTER'></a> +<h2>GOD’S MINISTER</h2> +</div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='center cg'><i>Dedicated to the Mountain Ministers</i></p> +<p class='cg'><br /> +As terrace upon terrace<br /> +Rise the mountains o’er the humbler hills<br /> +And stretch away to dizzy heights<br /> +To meet heaven’s own pure blue;<br /> +From thence to steal those soft and filmy clouds<br /> +With which to wrap their heads and shoulders––<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>Bare of other cloak––<br /> +Transforming them to rains and snows<br /> +To bless this elsewise desert world:<br /> +<br /> +So, he who stands God’s minister ’mong men,<br /> +High reaches out above all earthly things<br /> +And comes in contact with the thoughts of God;<br /> +Conveys them down in blessings to mankind––<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>Richest of blessings,<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>Holiest fruit of heaven––<br /> +Plucked fresh from off the Tree of Life<br /> +That springs hard by the Lamb’s white throne,<br /> +And bears the plenteous leaves which grow<br /> +<span class='indent8'> </span>To heal the wounded nations.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span></div> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='THE_WESTERN_TRAIL' id='THE_WESTERN_TRAIL'></a> +<h2>THE WESTERN TRAIL</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span></div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>And step by step since time began<br /> +I see the steady gain of man.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––Whittier.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span></div> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;font-size:1.4em;'>THE WESTERN TRAIL</p> +<p>“An overland highway to the Western +sea” was the thought variously expressed +by many men in both public and private +life among the French, English, and Americans +from very early times. In 1659 +Pierre Radisson and a companion, by way +of the Great Lakes, Fox, and “Ouisconsing” +Rivers, discovered the “east fork” of the +“Great River” and crossed to the “west +fork,” up which they went into what is +now the Dakotas, only to find it going +still “interminably westward.”</p> +<p>In 1766 Carver, an Englishman, went by +the same route up the “east fork” to Saint +Anthony Falls; thence he traveled to Canada, +to learn from the Assiniboin Indians +the existence of the “Shining Mountains” +and that beyond them was the “Oregan,” +which went to the salt sea.</p> +<p>As early as 1783 Thomas Jefferson wrote +to George Rogers Clark to tell him he understood +the English had subscribed a very +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +large sum of money for exploration of the +country west of the Mississippi, and as far +as California. He even expressed himself as +being desirous of forming a party of Americans +to make the trip.</p> +<p>Twenty years later, under the direction of +<i>President</i> Thomas Jefferson, General Clark +was made a member of the Lewis and +Clark Expedition, which went up the “great +river” and ultimately crossed through Montana +and Idaho to the Columbia (Oregan?) +and the “salt sea.”</p> +<p>Zebulon Pike was turned back by the +imperious Rocky Mountains in 1806. A +few years later Captain Bonneville braved +the plains, the plateaus, the mountain +passes, and the deserts, and saw the Columbia. +Then continuous migrations finally +fixed the overland highway known from +ocean to ocean as the Oregon Trail.</p> +<p>The Mormons followed this national road +when they trekked to the valley of Salt +Lake in 1847––a dolorous path to many.</p> +<p>Because the Oregon Trail was nature’s +way, man and commerce made it their +way. Road sites are not like city sites––made +to order; they are discovered. For +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +that reason the pioneer railway transcontinental +also followed this trail. The Union +Pacific marks with iron what so many of +the emigrants marked with their tears and +their graves. From the mouth of the +Platte to the heart of the Rocky Mountains +and beyond is a continuous cemetery +of nameless tombs.</p> +<p>The next few pages will give some +sketches of fact depicting scenes of sunlight +and shadow that fell on this highway +in days not so very long agone.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='THE_LONG_TRAIL' id='THE_LONG_TRAIL'></a> +<h2>THE LONG TRAIL</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span></div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>Those mighty pyramids of stone<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>That wedge-like pierce the desert airs,<br /> +When nearer seen and better known<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Are but gigantic flights of stairs.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Longfellow</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span></div> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;font-size:1.4em;'>THE LONG TRAIL</p> +<p>The Old Overland Trail from the Missouri +River to the Willamette is a distance +of nearly two thousand miles. Before Jason +Lee and Marcus Whitman sanctioned its +use for the migrating myriads of Americans +seeking the shores of the sunset sea, trappers +and adventurers, good and bad, had +mapped out a general route over the wind-whipped +passes, where the storm stands +sentinel and guards the granite ways among +the rough Rocky Mountains. They had +followed the falls-filled Snake and the +calmer Columbia, which plow for a thousand +miles or more among basaltic bastions +buttressing the mountain sides, or through +the lava lands where cavernous chasms +yawn and abysmal depths echo back the +sullen roar of the raging rapids.</p> +<p>In the early forties of the nineteenth +century restless spirits from Missouri and +eastward began to filter through the fingertips +of the beckoning mountains of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +West and locate in the land where storms +seldom come and where the extremes of +heat and cold are unknown––Willamette +Valley, Oregon.</p> +<p>In these early days, a farmer, whom we +shall name Johnson, with wife and son, +hoping to better conditions and prolong life, +thus sought the goal toward the setting sun. +Starting when the sturdy spring was enlivening +all nature, they left the malarial +marshes of the Mississippi Valley, where +quinine and whisky for “fevernagur” were +to be had at every crossroads store, and in a +couple of weeks found themselves west of +the muddy Missouri, where the herds of +humped bison grazed as yet unafraid among +the rolling, well-wooded hills of eastern +Kansas.</p> +<p>Barring a few common hindrances, they +went well and reached the higher and +hotter plains in midsummer; they were out +of the sight of hills and trees––just one +weary, eternal, unchangeable vista day +after day. Mrs. Johnson had not been +well, and after a few weeks that promised +more for the future than they fulfilled, she +began gradually to lose strength.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span></div> +<p>But she was made of the uncomplaining +material pioneers are wrought of, the ones +who so lived, loved, and labored that the +hard-earned sweets of civilization grew to +highest perfection about their graves, and +proved the most enduring monument to +their memory. She never murmured other +than to ask occasionally: “Father, how +much farther? Isn’t it a wonderfully long +way to Oregon?”</p> +<p>“Just over that next range of hills, I +think, from what the trappers told me,” +was the reply, after they had come to the +toes of the foothills that terminate the +long-lying limbs of the giant Rockies. But +he did not know the stealth of the mountains +nor the fantastic pranks the cañony +ranges can play upon the stranger. A +snowy-haired peak, brother to Father +Time, wearing a fringe of evergreens for +his neckruff, would play hide-and-seek +with them for days, dodging behind +this eminence and hiding away back of +that hill, only to reappear apparently as +far off as ever, and sometimes in a different +direction from where he last seemed +to be.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span></div> +<p>After a few more days: “Father, how +many more miles do you think?”</p> +<p>“O, not many now, I am sure!” cheerily +and optimistically would come the answer.</p> +<p>As they climbed, and climbed, and +climbed, the ripening service-berry, blackened +by weeks of attention by the unclouded +sun, and the pine-hen and the +speckled beauties from the noisy trout-streams, +added to their comforts, and for a +little while appeared to enliven the tired +and fading woman. A frosty night or two, +a peak newly whitened with early snow, +put an invigorating thrill and pulse into +the blood of the man and the boy, but she +crept just a little nearer to the camp fire +of evenings and found herself more and +more languid in responding to the call of +the day that returned all too soon for her. +At last, rolling out on the Wahsatch side +of the continental backbone, they encountered +very warm but shortening days, while +the nights grew chillier. Having passed to +the north of Salt Lake by the trail so well +and faithfully marked by Mr. Ezra Meeker in +recent years, they began to realize that they +were with the waters that flow to the west.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span></div> +<p>One evening, after the tin plates, iron +forks and knives, and the pewter spoons +had been washed and returned to their box, +and as they were getting ready for their +nightly rest, Mrs. Johnson said, wearily: +“Father, it just seems to me I would be +glad if I never would waken again. It +seems I would enjoy never again hearing the +everlasting squeech, squeech of the wheels +in the sand, and see the sun go down day +after day so red and so far away over those +new mountains. O, I am so tired!”</p> +<p>“Never mind, mother, we are not far +from our new home now;” and moving +over to her side as she sat leaning against +the wagon-tongue, the man slipped his own +tired arm about her shoulders and let her +rest against him, for he was indeed weary, +and the trail <i>was</i> wonderfully long.</p> +<p>The following morning he purposely lay +still just a little longer than was his custom, +although he was most prudently desirous of +making as much speed as he could while +the weather continued so good; he knew +the rains might soon set in and make +travel over unmade roads much worse than +it already was.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span></div> +<p>When he arose he noiselessly crept +away from her side and quietly called the +boy to go and bring up the horses and the +cow, cautioning him to take off the horse-bell +and carry it so as not to arouse the +mother when he came to camp. Quietly +as possible he made the fire and prepared +their breakfast of fare that was daily becoming +scantier. Then, when all was ready, +he tiptoed through the sand to where she +lay under the spreading arms of a little +desert juniper, such as are occasionally +found in the deserts, and where she had +said the night before she wished she could +sleep forever. She looked so calm and +restful he hesitated to wake her; it seemed +like robbery to take from her one moment +of the longed-for and hard-earned rest. +Yet it was time they were on their road, and +the day was fine; so after a few minutes he +called, gently, “Mother, you’re getting a +nice rest, aren’t you?”</p> +<p>She did not stir. He then stooped to +kiss the languid lips––they were cold. She +was dead. They had been seeking a home +by the shores of the sunset sea; she had +found the sunrise land.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></div> +<p>It is a sad, solemn, and sacred thing to be +with our dead, but to be alone, hundreds of +miles from the face of any friend, in such +an hour, is an experience few ever have to +meet. Pioneer-like, the father scans the +horizon, locating all the prominent features +of the landscape. He makes a rude map, +not forgetting the juniper. As best he can +he prepares the body for the burying. And +such a burying! No lumber with which to +make even a rough box; nothing but their +daily clothing and nightly bedding was to +be had. The unlined grave was more than +usually forbidding. The desert demon had +trailed that brave body and was now swallowing +it up. They made the grave by the +juniper where she last slept, and, sorrowing, +the father and the son went on, firm in the +resolve that the loved one should not +always lie in a desert grave.</p> +<p>Forty years later a man past middle-age, +riding a horse and leading another, to +whose packsaddle was fastened a box, went +slowly along that old trail in Southern +Idaho, now almost obliterated by many-footed +Progress. He was scanning the hills +and consulting a piece of age-yellowed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +paper, broken at all its ancient creases. It +was the son obeying the dying request of +the old father––going to find, if possible, +the spot where the tired mother went to +sleep so long ago, and bring all that remained +to rest by his side.</p> +<p>It was no easy task. Fertile fields, whose +irrigated areas now presented billowy +breasts of ripening grain; mighty ditches +like younger and better-behaved rivers; a +railway following the general direction of +the old trail; ranch-houses and fat haystacks +indenting the sky-line once so bare +of all except clumps of sagebrush––these +all conspired to make the task next to +impossible.</p> +<p>Man may scratch the hillsides, but cannot +mar the majesty of the mountains; +they were unchanged. The map he carried +was the one his father made on the +spot more than a generation before. It +had been well made and the specifications +were minute. After a long while, carefully +measuring and comparing, he found the +spot to him so sacred. The juniper tree, +so rare in that section, had not been disturbed +by the new owner of the land, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +as the precious burden, secured at last, was +borne away, it still stood on guard––as if +lonely now. Like father, like son. Both +were faithfully bound by the strongest tie +in the universe––love!</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +<a name='THE_DESERT' id='THE_DESERT'></a> +<h2>THE DESERT</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span></div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,<br /> +And waste its sweetness on the desert air.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Gray</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>As geographers, Sosius, crowd into the edges of<br /> +their maps parts of the world which they do not<br /> +know about, adding notes in the margin to the<br /> +effect that beyond this lies nothing but sandy<br /> +deserts full of wild beasts, and unapproachable<br /> +bogs.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Plutarch</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span></div> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;font-size:1.4em;'>THE DESERT</p> +<p>Much of the Old Overland Trail lay +across the “Great American Desert,” as it +was named in the earlier geographies. Irrigation +and progressive energy have made +these wastes in many instances literally to +“blossom as the rose”; but until that was +done these stretches were weary enough.</p> +<p>He who knows only the desert of the +geography naturally conceives it an absolutely +forsaken and empty region where +nothing but dust-storms are born unattended +and die “without benefit of the +clergy.” But the desert has character and +is as variable as many another creature.</p> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;'>THE SAND STORM</p> +<p>An experience in an actual sand storm is +food upon which the reminiscent may ruminate +many a day, being much more pleasant +in memory than in the making. First come +the scurrying outriders, lithe and limber +whisking gusts, dancing and whirling like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +Moslem dervishes, coyly brushing the traveler +or boldly flinging fierce fistfuls of dirt +into his eyes; then off with a swish of invisible +skirts––vanishing possibly in the +same direction whence they came. They +go leaving him wiping his astonished eyes +disgustedly, for the act was so sudden and +tragic as to excite tears. Before he is aware +of it other and stronger gusts duplicate the +dastardly deed of the first wingless wizard +of the plains, and the hapless voyager is +left gasping. Almost immediately there are +to be seen the regular “desert devils,” as +they are called, bringing a dozen or more +whirling columns of yellow silt rapidly +through the air, each pirouetting on one +foot, assuming meanwhile all sorts of fantastic +shapes.</p> +<p>Now for the fierce onset. Like blasts of +a blizzard, the shrapnel of the desert is +hurled into eyes, face, ears, and nostrils; +little rivers pour down the back and fill +every discoverable wrinkle and cranny of +the clothing with their gritty load.</p> +<p>If in summer, buttoning the clothing is +suffocation, and the perspiration soon makes +one a mass of grime; if in winter, it is +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +not so unbearable, for a comfortable fencing +can be made against the sand and the +cold.</p> +<p>The whole landscape is obliterated by and +by, and the trails are so often drift-filled +that unless one is himself accustomed to +such methods of travel or has an experienced +plainsman as his driver and guide, there is +danger of becoming lost, or so out of the +way that night may overtake him and +compel a waterless camp for himself and +team.</p> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;'>TWILIGHT AND DAWN</p> +<p>But to see the morning slip off its night +clothes and step out into daylight, or +watch day don her night-wraps and snuggle +down into twilight on the quiet sand-ocean! +In summer it is a scene of splendor, often +coming after a day or an evening of sandy +wrath.</p> +<p>At early dawn, lining the eastern horizon, +are the soft pencils of bashful day over-topping +the jagged sawteeth of the yet +sleeping mountains, fifty or more miles +away. A faint hinting of the lightening of +the sky only deepens the blackness of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +snow-streaked peaks. The cowardly coyote’s +yelp comes more and more faintly, +the burrowing owl’s “to-whit, to-whoo” +falls dying on the moveless air, and the +white sparrow of the sagebrush starts up +as if to catch the early worm he is almost +sure not to find. The loping jack rabbit +slips softly to his greasewood shelter and +the prairie dog bounces barking from his +snake-infested haunt, noisily preparing for +his day’s digging and foraging.</p> +<p>The stubborn mountains begin to let the +sun’s forerunning rays glide between them; +the sky, now old gold, is fast transforming +into kaleidoscopic crimsons and other reds, +while the swift arms of the day-painter are +reaching from between the peaks of the +precipitous crags and dyeing the scales of +the mackerel sky with hues and tints the +rainbow would covet.</p> +<p>In the opposite direction a morning +mirage inverts an image of a stretch of +trees along the far-away river and blends +them top to top till they seem greenish-black +columns supporting the dun clouds +of the west, while the belated moon peers +through the half-unreal corridors. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span></p> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;'>SUNSET</p> +<p>The sunset is far more gorgeous; it often +reaches grandeur. Let it be a winter evening. +A suggestion of storm has been playing +threats. The western hills have reached +up their time-toughened arms and carried +the burnt-out lantern of day to bed, tucking +him away in gold-lace tapestry and +rose-tinted down. Then the blue, black, +and brown clouds change quickly to purple, +pink, and red by turns, and the opaline sky +itself forms a background for the dissolving +community of interlacing filaments +of priceless filigree, till in time too full of +interest to compute by measure, the whole +heavens are aflame with a riotous orgy of +color, a prodigality of shifting scene, making +one think of the descriptions essayed by +the writer of the Apocalypse.</p> +<p>We think of Moses who wished to see +God “face to face,” but was told he would +be permitted to behold only the “dying +away of his glory.” No wonder the man +who was forty years in the wilderness before +that grand exode, and forty more +through the unsurveyed deserts, was enabled +to write the majestic prose-poems +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +that have lived unaltered through all these +thousands of critical years! He was in +the region where inspiration is dispensed +with hands of infinite wealth. God is the +dispenser. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='SAGEBRUSH' id='SAGEBRUSH'></a> +<h2>SAGEBRUSH</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>This is the forest primeval.––<i>Longfellow</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>The continuous woods where rolls the Oregon.––<i>Bryant</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span></div> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;font-size:1.4em;'>SAGEBRUSH</p> +<p>Frequently within these pages mention +has been made of the commonest of all our +native plants on the Trail––sagebrush. Botanically, +it is, <i>Artemisia tridentata</i>. The +new Standard Dictionary defines sagebrush +as “any one of the various shrubby species +of Artemisia, of the aster family, growing +on the elevated plains of the Western +United States, especially <i>Artemisia tridentata</i>, +very abundant from Montana to Colorado +and westward.” The leaf ends in +three points; hence the adjective tridentata––the +three-toothed artemisia.</p> +<p>There are several varieties of sagebrush, +and a person not well acquainted with the +desert might easily mistake one for the +other. There are the white sage, a good +forage plant for sheep, and the yellow sage, +which, when properly taken, can be made +useful for cattle. Then there is the common +variety, the sort named above. This +is not to be mistaken for the prickly greasewood +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +which infests the more alkaline regions; +nor the rabbit-brush with its blossom +so like the goldenrod, but with a very disagreeable +odor. No man who knows will +ever buy land where the greasewood grows +thickly; it is unproductive because of the +large percentage of alkali. But the ancient-looking +sage is a pretty sure indication of +fertility of soil. Mother Nature is sometimes +hard pushed to find dresses for all +her poorer areas; of course the better portions +of the land east or west, north or +south, care for their clothes better than do +these arid stretches and the clothing is a +richer vegetation.</p> +<p>This ever-gray, little hunger-pinched +pygmy among trees looks about as much +like an oak as does a diminutive monkey +like a grown man.</p> +<p>A peculiarity of this individual in treedom +is that it keeps its ash-colored leaf +until it has a new set to put on in the +spring, so that all winter long it presents +the same color as it does in the summertime. +Its bark is loose and shaggy, being +shed rapidly, and gives one the thought of +the old grape vine; hanging in bunches, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +bole has always a ragged appearance. It +is truly the dry-land plant, always found +where the alkali or water is not too abundant; +but in favored spots where there is +only a little dampness and not too much +fierceness of the summer heat it grows +eight or ten feet high, making a body +large enough for fence posts. This is extraordinary, +for usually these Liliputian +forests do not attain a height of more than +four feet, and often much less. So diminutive +are these solemn woods that the +ordinary gang-plow can walk right through +them, turning the shrubbery under like tall +grass, although every tree is perfect, just +like the dwarf creations produced by the +resourceful Japanese.</p> +<p>The seed of this tiny tree grows on stiff, +upright filaments like the broom-corn +straws. These stems are very bitter and +are often used by the range-riders on long +rides or roundups to excite the flow of +saliva when thirst overtakes them too far +from water. Because of its bitterness it is +often called wormwood.</p> +<p>Not many uses have been found for the +wood of these primeval forests. In many +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +sections the people have nothing but sagebrush +for firewood. The whole tree is +used, special stoves, or heaters, being made +to accommodate the whole plant. It is +gathered in the following manner: Two +immense T-rails of railroad iron are laid +side by side, one inverted, and securely +fastened together; to the ends of these are +hitched two teams of horses or mules, which +pulling parallel to each other, are driven +into the standing fairy forests and the +swaths of fallen timber show the track of +this unnatural storm. Its roots have such +slight hold on the soil that it easily falls. +Wagons and pitchforks follow, and the +whole of the felling is hauled untrimmed to +the home for hand-axing if too large; and +it is all burned, top and root. There is so +much vegetable oil in this queer plant that +it makes a fine and very quick fire, green or +dry.</p> +<p>After a summer rain there is no aromatic +perfume surpassing that of the odor of +sagebrush filling the newly washed air. +The mountaineer who has had to make a +trip East gladly opens his window, as his +train pushes back into the habitat of these +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +aromatic shrubs, to get an early whiff of +the health-laden, sage-sweetened atmosphere +of the beloved Westland and homeland.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='THE_IRON_TRAIL' id='THE_IRON_TRAIL'></a> +<h2>THE IRON TRAIL</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span></div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>There are hermit souls that live withdrawn<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>In their houses of self-content;<br /> +There are souls like stars that dwell apart<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>In their fellowless firmament.<br /> +There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Where highways never ran.<br /> +But, let me live by the side of the road<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>And be a friend to man.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––Sam Walter Foss.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='A_RAILROAD_SAINT_IN_IDAHO' id='A_RAILROAD_SAINT_IN_IDAHO'></a> +<h2>A RAILROAD SAINT IN IDAHO</h2> +</div> +<p>The “railroad saint” was a locomotive +engineer. His life was ever an open book, +yet while careful and almost severe in his +personal religious habits, he did not criticize +the manners of his associates. He +simply let his well kept searchlight shine.</p> +<p>Though born in Ohio, his boy life was +spent mainly in Nebraska, when it was +just emerging from the ragged swaddlings +of rough frontierdom; and during his young +manhood he lived in Wyoming, at the time +when men “carried the law in their hip-pockets,” +as he graphically expressed it.</p> +<p>Early becoming an employee of the +Union Pacific, he was a permanent portion +of its westward intermountain extension, +and he did his life’s work among the scenic +cliffs and clefts of the picturesque crags +and corrugated cañons of the wrinkled +ridges in the Rocky and the Wahsatch +ranges. Opportunities for literary education +were very limited to one so engaged, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +and little more than what was absolutely +necessary to the railmen did he receive. +But he was not ignorant by any means. +In later years he read extendedly and with +careful discrimination. He had a poet’s +soul, but was not visionary.</p> +<p>His mother had been a careful and sensible +Christian. The indelible impress she +left upon him was like to that given by +Jochebed to her son Moses. He never +wholly escaped from her hallowed influence, +although he descended into vicious living +and became a notorious and blatant blasphemer, +sceptic, and drunkard.</p> +<p>Once when attending a national convention +of railway engineers in an Eastern city +he noticed a little flower boy vainly attempting +to dispose of his roses. Our +engineer (who always had a feeling for the +“other fellow”) paid the lad for all he had +left and directed him to carry them to the +hotel where the delegates were stopping, +and give them to the ladies in the parlor. +This act was repeated on successive days. +It attracted attention finally, and one of +the delegates asked him if he were a Christian. +Characteristically he blurted out: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +“Do you see anything about me that indicates +it? If so, I will take it off at once. +Why do you ask such a question?”</p> +<p>“Because,” said the questioner, “your +kindness to that pale-faced little flower +boy makes people think you are.”</p> +<p>“Nothing at all queer about that,” was +the quick reply. “Common humanity +should dictate such deeds. If I myself +wanted a favor, I’d not go to any Christian +for it; I’d rather tackle a bartender or a +gambler.”</p> +<p>“Well, Dr. T–––, of the Methodist +Church, has heard of you,” remarked his +questioner, “and he says he would like to +meet you for an hour or so before you +leave the city.”</p> +<p>“But I’ve no desire to meet any preacher, +though if it will afford the gentleman any +pleasure, I will gladly do it for that reason +and no other. What do you suppose he +wants?”</p> +<p>The intermediary arranged a time of +meeting, and after introducing the men, +left the “eagle eye” in the pleasant study +of the minister, a pastor of the Methodist +Episcopal Church, South. After a few +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +minutes of easy conversation, the minister +abruptly cut all Gordian knots and said: +“Mr.–––, are you a Christian?”</p> +<p>“No, sir, not so you can notice it.”</p> +<p>“Why are you not?”</p> +<p>“Why should I be?”</p> +<p>“It gives to every one who embraces true +religion a better, broader, worthier view +and conception of life.”</p> +<p>“Wherein, mister?”</p> +<p>“It puts purpose into his life and interprets +the end to which he is tending.”</p> +<p>Then came up from the keen intellect-quiver +of our Rocky Mountain engineman +all the stock phrases, replies, and arguments +of Voltaire, Rousseau, Ingersoll, and +others whose writings he knew perfectly.</p> +<p>With Christian and cultivated patience +the minister listened and then said with +captivating and sympathetic tenderness: +“But, my dear sir, that is all speculation +on the part of those scholarly and eloquent +men whom you quote so accurately. They +know no better. The religion of Jesus is +not speculation; it is practical knowledge. +Would not you, sir, like to know personally +as to its truth?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span></div> +<p>“Yes, but how can I?”</p> +<p>His foot had been taken in the snare of +the wise trapper.</p> +<p>Said the preacher: “You can; and this +is the way. As you leave this city for +your return to the West, get a cheap New +Testament; indeed, here is a copy; please +accept it. Tear it in two in the middle, +retaining only the four Gospels––Matthew, +Mark, Luke, and John. Read them; you +will by yourself and by this means find +the way to perfect knowledge.”</p> +<p>He of the throttle, hungry for the deepest +knowledge, did as directed and advised.</p> +<p>Back to his cab and engine he went, +under the deepest conviction. Yet he declared +that he needed no extraneous assistance +to be as good as any Christian; +Jesus he considered a superfluity, and said +so. The negative influences of the atheistic +authors yet warped him. He said: “I dare +any of you to watch me. I can and will be +as upright as any Christian on earth.” +But after a short time of exemplary conduct, +he would wake up some morning only +to discover to his hearty disgust that he +had been on an extended period of dissipation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +Later he would attempt another +straightening-up and try to “be good” +without the necessary becoming so, only to +fall again and harder than before.</p> +<p>Once, after such humiliating debauch, he +entered a saloon which contained the only +barber shop in the village, the railway +division point where he had his “layovers” +for regular rest. He sat down for +his daily shave. It was the morning after +pay-day among the employees, and, as he +stated it to the writer, “everybody, even +the barber, had been drunk.” Cigar stumps, +empty bottles, cards, and other plentiful +signs of the previous night’s carousals covered +the floor with bacchanalian litter. +Lying there, eyes shut, an Armageddon was +taking place on the stage of his perturbed +soul. His story is this:</p> +<p>“While lying there that morning a voice +said to me, ‘You are not a square-dealer.’ +I opened my eyes on the barber, only to see +a bloated face with impassive and mute +lips; he had said nothing, I could easily see. +I closed my eyes again, only to hear, ‘You +do not treat me as you would a gentleman.’ +I now knew that the voice was that of an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +unseen person, and I replied mentally but +really. ‘Who are you, and what do you +want?’ ‘I am Jesus, whom you deny without +having known, and condemn without +having attempted to prove. You have +been saying all the while you can succeed +without my assistance, and you know you +have failed every time. All I want is a +chance in your life that I may prove myself +to you.’ Then I replied, ‘If this is what +you want, just come in and we will talk it +over.’ He then came in never to go out +again. I went to my little shack-room +and, locking the door, took out of a little +old hair-covered trunk a Bible my mother +had given me; it had lain there for thirty +long years untouched. I opened it and +read a while and then got down on my +knees to pray. What I said was about +like this: ‘Lord, if it is really the Lord +who was talking to me (I have my doubts), +you know I am a man of my word, and you +can trust me. I want to make you a +proposition: I’ll do the square thing by +you if you’ll do the same by me. +Amen!’”</p> +<p>“This,” said he, “was the beginning of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +the struggle for rest to my soul; and I +found it.”</p> +<p>An incident leading to his immediate, +possibly ultimate safety, was a conversation +in a saloon. It does not always +transpire that we are benefited by the act +of the talebearer, but in this case it was +highly salutary. One of his engineer friends, +drinking at the bar, said: “Never fear +about H–––. He will soon get over all +this and be along with us as usual.”</p> +<p>Hearing it, he became very righteously +indignant and said: “By the grace of God, +never! I’ll go up to the church my wife +attends and join with her, and when they +know I am a church member they’ll let +me alone.” He did so at once. He was +saved. He lived for many years, always +happy, always helpful, and without fear +he ascended the snowy hills of old age, +with their enveloping mists.</p> +<p>Afflicted with a creeping paralysis, he +lingered long, ever cheerful, and interested +in his friends, to whom he sent many messages. +To his brothers of the Odd Fellows +he sent this message: “Boys, I’ll not see +you any more. I am just like a boy at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +Christmas Eve, who with stocking hung up, +is anxious for daylight. The shadows have +come over me. My stocking is hung up +by the Father’s fireplace and I am almost +impatient for the morning. I haven’t the +remotest idea what I will get, but I am +sure it will be something good.” A few +days before his translation he was visited +by one of his old-time railway associates, +who said to him: “H–––, you are now up +against the real thing, according to your +belief; and it looks to us the same, just as +if you would have to go some one of these +days. How does it seem? What is it +like?”</p> +<p>Looking at the questioner lovingly, the +dying man said, “Charley, you’ve worked +for the railway company a long time, and +never had many promotions, have you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, about twenty years––and no promotions.”</p> +<p>“Well, Charley, suppose there’d come to +you to-day a wire from headquarters saying +there’s a big promotion waiting for you on +your arrival, and at the same time a pass +for your free transportation. How do +you think that would seem to you?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></div> +<p>“My soul, but that’d be fine,” said he.</p> +<p>“Well, Charley, that’s just my case exactly,” +said the radiant man. “I’ve been +working for God and his company for about +that same length of time and never had +much promotion so far as I could see, and +now I have a summons direct from the +glory land telling me there’s a big advancement +for me, and it sounds mighty +good.”</p> +<p>He was dressed for the wedding, the +Christmas morning, or whatever awaited +him, and was anxious that the couriers of +the King should come. When the moment +came the old engineer’s headlight was undimmed, +the switch signals showed green, +and when he called for the last board at +the home station the signal came back: +“All’s well; come on in.”</p> +<p>He had received his coveted promotion.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +<a name='AN_UNUSUAL_KINDNESS' id='AN_UNUSUAL_KINDNESS'></a> +<h2>AN UNUSUAL KINDNESS</h2> +</div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>That best portion of a good man’s life––<br /> +His little, nameless, unremembered acts<br /> +Of kindness and of love.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––Wordsworth.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The Methodist locomotive engineer had +died joyful. “I am so glad to go,” he +said. “I am like a boy when there’s a +circus in town; I’ve got the price, and my +baggage is checked clear through.”</p> +<p>I was holding a memorial service for him +in his old home town, and at the close a +big, broad-shouldered man came forward to +the altar rail and quietly said, “You did +not know that man.”</p> +<p>The remark startled me a little, for I +had been acquainted with him for many +years; in fact, had once been his pastor.</p> +<p>“I thought I did,” replied I.</p> +<p>“No, you never really knew him,” was +the insistent rejoinder; “let me tell you +something about him. Years ago I was +not living as I ought, and I had all sorts of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +trouble. My wife was very sick, and we +were living in a bit of a shack back here a +little way where she finally died. I was +down and out. The fellows wanted to be +good to me, and they were––in their way +of thinking––but it did me no good. They +would say, ‘Come, brace up, old fellow, +have a drink and forget your troubles.’ +But there are some troubles drink will not +drown; mine was one of them.</p> +<p>“One night our friend came up to my +shack, and having visited a while he said: +‘Old man, you’re up against it hard, ain’t +you?’ I replied, ‘Yes, I am, just up to the +limit.’ ‘Well, let’s pray about it.’ I told +him I didn’t believe in prayer. ‘All right,’ +said he, ‘I do, and I’ll pray any way.’ You +should have heard the prayer he made. It +was about like this: ‘God, here’s my friend, +Charley; he’s in an awful fix. We’ll have +to do something for him. I’ve done all I +can; now, it’s up to you to see him through. +Amen.’</p> +<p>“Then he arose from his knees and, +handing me his check book, he said, ‘My +wife and I ain’t got much, only a couple o’ +thousand in the bank; but here’s this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +check book all signed up; take it and use +it all if you need it, and God bless you!’</p> +<p>“But,” added the narrator of the story, +“I couldn’t use money like that.”</p> +<p>The tears were fast falling over his +bronzed cheeks as he told with tenderness +the story, and as I looked into his eyes I +knew that through knowledge of the dead +engineer’s kingly kindness had come to him +the knowledge of the new life.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +<a name='INDIANS_OF_THE_TRAIL' id='INDIANS_OF_THE_TRAIL'></a> +<h2>INDIANS OF THE TRAIL</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span></div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>Man’s inhumanity to man<br /> +Makes countless thousands mourn.<br /> +––<i>Burns</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/p0064a-insert.jpg' alt='' title='' width='332' height='497' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +CHIEF JOSEPH, NEZ PERCE INDIAN<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +<a name='INTRODUCTORY_WORDS' id='INTRODUCTORY_WORDS'></a> +<h2>INTRODUCTORY WORDS</h2> +</div> +<p>Indian character is human character because +the Indian is human. Being human +he is susceptible to all human teaching and +experiences. None yields more readily to +love and kindness.</p> +<p>Few can speak of the Indian with absolute +propriety, for very few know him. +To the mind of most Americans, I venture +to say, the very name “Indian” suggests +scalpings, massacres, outrages of all kinds +and an interminable list of kindred horrors; +all too true. But it must be remembered +that the Indian presented to his first discoverers +a race most tractable, tenderhearted, +and responsive to kindness. He +was indeed the child of the plain, but a +loving child.</p> +<p>The chevaliers both of Spanish and English +blood taught him in the most practical +manner the varied refinements of deceit, +treachery, and cruelty. He was an apt +scholar, and the devotee of social heredity, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +which has here so striking an example, +cannot curse the redman if the sins of the +fathers are meted out to succeeding generations.</p> +<p>Under definite heads I am giving some +very brief sketches of living, down-to-date +aborigines, such as have come under my +own observation in Utah and Idaho.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +<a name='POCATELLO_THE_CHIEF' id='POCATELLO_THE_CHIEF'></a> +<h2>POCATELLO, THE CHIEF</h2> +</div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>The nodding horror of whose shady brows<br /> +Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Milton</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Fort Hall Reservation, until 1902, embraced +a large territory of which Pocatello +was the center. These Idaho red people +are the remnants of the once powerful +tribes of the Bannocks and Shoshones, +which ranged from the Blue Mountains in +Oregon to the backbone of the Rocky +Mountains. The compressing processes +used by the aggressive white people have +encircled, curtailed, and squeezed their +borders so that now they are centered at +Fort Hall, half way between Pocatello and +Blackfoot. Here the government has a +school for them, and the Protestant Episcopal +Church a mission.</p> +<p>Pocatello is named for a wily old chief +of that name, who became an outlaw to +be reckoned with. He once led a cavalcade +of his sanguinary followers against the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +newly made non-Mormon town of Corinne, +Utah; but a Mormon who had been notified +of the proposed massacre, by a coreligionist, +likewise told a friend among the Gentiles, +and a precautionary counter plan was formulated. +Nothing more came of it than +an evening visit from Brigham Young and +his staff, who, as reported, pronounced and +prophesied an awful and exterminating +curse upon the town and people. However, +because of the warning, his curses +went elsewhere.</p> +<p>Until recently there lived in the region +of the city of Pocatello an old squaw-man +(white man with an Indian wife). His +home was within the borders of the reservation, +and he had been there since before +the time when the boundary line between +the United States and England (Canada) +was settled. The old man was called +“Doc,” and once when visiting him I said, +“Tell me about old Pocatello, Doc, and +what became of him.”</p> +<p>The old man, half reclining on the pile +of household debris in one corner of his +shanty, permitted me to sit by the door––for +there were no chairs in the place. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +four corners were occupied as follows: in +one were his saddle and accouterments for +range work; in another the accumulation of +rags and blankets on which he slept (for he +lived alone now, the wife being dead); in +another was his little stove, and the last +held the door where I sat. The air was +fresher there, I thought. The veteran of +eighty or more years, bronzed by the +winds and roughened by the sweeping +sands of the desert, lighted his pipe and +said: “It war in the days o’ them freighters +who operated ’tween Corinne an’ Virginny +City when Alder Gulch was a-goin’ chock +full o’ business. The Forwardin’ Company +hed a mighty big lot o’ rollin’ stock an’ +hosses to keep the traffic up. The hull +kentry was Injun from put-ni’ Corinne to +that there Montanny town. The Bear +Rivers an’ the Fort Hall tribes, the Bannocks +an’ the Blackfeet uste to make life +anything but a Fourth-o’-July picnic fer +them fellers an’ their drivers. Right h’yur +was the natterelest campin’ place fer the +Company, or, ruther, a natterel spot fer +the stage-station, where they could git the +stock fresh an’ new an’ go on, as they hed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +to do, night an’ day, so’s to keep business +a-movin’, ye see. Fer ’twas a mighty long +rout fer passengers.</p> +<p>“Now, Pocatello an’ his bunch o’ red +devils got into the habit o’ runnin’ off the +stock, an’ sometimes the Company’d haf to +wait half a day to git enough teams to go +on north; or to wait till the fagged ones’d +git a little rest an’ then push on wi’ the +same ones. Mr. Salisbury, of Salt Lake, +was the head o’ the Forwardin’ Company, +an’ he an’ his people got mighty all-fired +tired o’ that sort o’ business. Hosses was +dear them days, but Injuns was cheap; so +he told a lot o’ us’ns he’d like tarnation +well if this sort o’ thing’d stop kind o’ +sudden like; an’ we planned it might be +done jist that way too.</p> +<p>“We kind o’ laid low, an’ nothin’ happened +fer quite a while; but one night a +fine bunch o’ hosses was run off jist when +they’s a big lot o’ treasure goin’ over the +line, an’ the management was sure mad. +They told us ’uns agin somethin’ had to be +done, an’ despert quick this time. So we +got busy. We begun to round ol’ Pocatello +up, an’ he seemed to smell a rat or somethin’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +wuss, an’ started up Pocatello Crick +yander, that there cañon, see? He went +almighty fast too when he got started; so +did we, now I tell you, an’ we jist kep’ +a-foller’n’, an’ foller’n’, an’ foller’n’, we did––a +hull lot ov us––an’––an’––an’ Pocatello +never come back.”</p> +<p>Then the old squaw-man tapped the +ashes from his pipe, and rising said, “Well, +I guess I’ll cinch up the cayuse an’ ride +some this a’ternoon.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +<a name='THE_BABYLESS_MOTHER' id='THE_BABYLESS_MOTHER'></a> +<h2>THE BABYLESS MOTHER</h2> +</div> +<blockquote> +<p>Rachel weeping for her children, and would not +be comforted, because they are not.––<i>Saint Matthew</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>One of the many signs that the Indian is +human is his slowness to learn. Ever since +1492 the whiter man has been trying to force +some supposedly useful things into the mind +of him of the darker skin. One of these is +that he of the blanket has no rights that he +of the dress coat is bound to respect. The +Indian rises in practical debate to this +question. His arguments are not words, +but the rifle and the scalping-knife. The +whiter man demurs when he receives +his justice dished up to him in redskin +style.</p> +<p>It is unreasonable to the Indian that the +white man should take from him his hunting +grounds and limit his access to the very +streams whence his people for ages uncountable +filled their pantries for the winter. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +He has learned to his disgust (without +place for repentance) that equivalents are +equivocations, and that the little baubles +the fathers of the tribes had for their +broad acres were mostly worthless. The +civilized trick of procuring the mystic sign +manual known as signature had fastened on +them the gyves of perpetual poverty.</p> +<p>In addition to this, the nation demanded +they should send their children to the +white man’s school in the far, far away +Eastern land, where they could not see +them and from which so many of the red-faced +lads and lassies returned with that +dread disease, pulmonary tuberculosis. But +they were only Indians, and what rights +had they? When boys and girls were not +promptly surrendered, the soldiers were +sent to chase them down. It would not +seem good to us to have big, brawny +Indians on horseback give chase to our +children, and catch and tie them like so +many hogs, to be carted off to a land +unknown to us; but then these are only +Indians. That makes all the difference +imaginable.</p> +<p>Some years ago the Fort Hall Indians +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +went on their usual trip to the edge of +Yellowstone Park––Jackson’s Hole––for the +purpose of laying in their annual supply of +elk and bear meat. The government had +forbidden this, yet they went, with their +indispensable paraphernalia and camp +equipage, taking the squaws (and papooses, +of course) to dress and care for whatever +of provision fell into their hands.</p> +<p>When it was discovered that the Indians +had gone in the face of the prohibitory +order the soldiers were sent to drive them +out. Such racing and chasing! “Wild +horse, wild Indian, wild horseman,” as +Washington Irving puts it. Every man +and woman for himself now. Papooses +were slung on the saddle-horns of their +mothers’ horses, a loop being fastened to +the back of the board to which every little +copperfaced tike was strapped. In one of +the hard flights through the thickly fallen +and storm-twisted pines, firs, and chaparral +a mother, pressed too hard by the soldiers +and cavalry, lost her baby.</p> +<p>Her tribal friends ventured back after all +was safe, and with an Indian’s trail-finding +tact hunted high and low, far and wide, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +but no trace was ever found of the wee +baby.</p> +<p>“But, then, what mattered it? It was +nothing but an Indian baby, and its mother +only an Indian squaw! Who cares for a +squaw any way?”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +<a name='MARY_MUSKRAT' id='MARY_MUSKRAT'></a> +<h2>MARY MUSKRAT</h2> +</div> +<blockquote> +<p>Now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; and +the greatest of these is love.––<i>Saint Paul</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>When the “teacher” first went among +the Indians at Fort Hall her reception +was neither cordial nor cold, for she was +not received at all. She had not been invited +and she was not welcome. For the +first eighteen months after reaching the fort +she could often hear in the nighttime the +movement of a moccasin, as some tired +Indian spy changed his cramped position, +for she was religiously watched and irreligiously +suspected. They could not understand +why she, an unmarried white woman, +should leave her home and spend time +among them.</p> +<p>The braves strode by her in sullen silence, +eloquently impressing their contumelious +hauteur. The no less stolid squaws, who +observe everything and see nothing, disdainfully +covered their faces with their +blankets or looked in silence in the opposite +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +direction when the teacher met them or +lifted the tent-flap.</p> +<p>After a long time she won her way with +some of the wee ones, and thus touched +the hearts of the mothers, through whom +she made a road broad and wide into the +affections of the tribe. They trusted her +with the secrets of the people, and she was +at home in every teepee in the reservation. +Gathering the girls together, she taught +them the beautiful words of the Bible, and +for many years she lived, loved, and labored +there.</p> +<p>Mary Muskrat was one of the Bannock +girls in the mission school. The little +shrinking, more-than-half-wild papoose of +the desert had been toilsomely but surely +trained by the teacher, that bravest of +little women.</p> +<p>Pulmonary consumption is the bane of +the civilized Indians. It carries them off +in multitudes. Despite their outdoor living, +it seems that few, if any, ever recover from +an attack. The dread disease had fastened +itself upon Mary and she was sick unto +death. Her little shack was no fit place +for a living person, and here was one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +dying. Frequent visits from her teacher +afforded the dying maiden her only relief. +Once, after watching her through a severe +paroxysm of coughing, it seemed that life +had gone completely. Removing the +squalid bunch of rags which served as a +pillow, and lowering the head, the devoted +teacher stood watching the supposed lifeless +form. But she saw the lips moving, and, +bending low, she heard the dying girl whisper, +“What time I am afraid I will trust in +Thee.” Continuing, she breathed out, “The +Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.... +Yea, though I walk through the valley +and the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” +Pausing, while the heart of the white +woman was praising God for his goodness +to the dusky child, Mary opened her beautiful +eyes, and, seeing her protectress and +benefactress standing there, said, “O, dear +teacher, the Lord is my shepherd.”</p> +<p>Then the Shepherd came and took her +to dwell in the house of the Lord forever.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +<a name='BAD_BEN' id='BAD_BEN'></a> +<h2>BAD BEN</h2> +</div> +<blockquote> +<p>A little child shall lead them.––<i>Isaiah</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Ben’s daughter, Mary<a name='FNanchor_0001' id='FNanchor_0001'></a><a href='#Footnote_0001' class='fnanchor'>[1]</a>, was the delight +of the old man’s heart. She had been +taken most unwillingly, so far as both +were concerned, and placed in one of the +Eastern schools for Indian youths. Ben +had objected strenuously, but the stronger +arm prevailed.</p> +<p>The teacher at the mission had never in +all her many years in that place felt fear +until after Mary was taken away. When +the father would come to the school to +ask for news of her, he had his face painted +black, indicating madness or war––“bad +heart” he called it. The little woman who +had won the hearts of the people did not +know what the enraged man might do or +when he would do it. Once, after many +such terrifying visits, he volunteered the +information that he was making him a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +house and a farm “all same witee man.” +He had built it of some railroad ties he had +found and had begun to cultivate a garden +and cut some wild hay. “Me makee heap +good wikiup, all same witee man; Mary +he all same witee squaw, by ’um by.”</p> +<p>The white plague is the only disease the +Indian fears or calls sickness. Once, when +Ben went to the school where a dozen or so +other happy-faced little girls were being +taught and prepared for the Eastern school, +Miss F––– was obliged to tell him Mary +was sick. For a while his savagery was +apparently renewed. He became wild again. +His visits increased in frequency, and all +the time the teacher was in mental torture, +for he seemed to feel that the white woman +was in some manner connected with his +child’s going away and her present condition.</p> +<p>The dread day came when she must tell +the loving father that there was now no +hope for his “lil’ gal,” as he affectionately +called her. Then another more dreaded day +rolled round, and the last story must be +told: Mary had died. She would be buried +in the far east. Poor old father! He could +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +not even see her then. How could he be +made to understand?</p> +<p>The only solution of the problem was the +holding of a memorial service for her. One +of the Pocatello pastors went up to hold +such a service at the Agency and Ben was +present. He was told that if he lived with +his heart clean, “no have bad heart,” he +would see his Mary again. No one could +tell to what extent this message found place +in his mind until later. One day he was +seen approaching the mission school slowly +and apparently sorrowful. Miss F––– met +him at the door. On entering he said, “O, +Miss F–––, bad Injun no liky me have hay, +no liky me have wikiup all same witee man. +Bad Injun burn me up; all me wikiup, all +me hay, all me everyt’ing. But me no +have bad heart [that means, “I do not hate +them”], me no have bad heart, Miss F–––; +me no have bad heart; me want see my lil’ +gal some day.”</p> +<p>So the lonesome man went away to his +one-time home to try to live among the +unchristian and unprogressive Indians without +having any hatred toward them, for he +wanted to meet his Mary.</p> +<hr class='fn' /> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0001' id='Footnote_0001'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0001'><span class='label'>[1]</span></a> +<p>Mary is a very frequent name among the Bannocks of Fort Hall.</p> +</div> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +<a name='A_THREECORNERED_SERMON' id='A_THREECORNERED_SERMON'></a> +<h2>A THREE-CORNERED SERMON</h2> +</div> +<blockquote> +<p>So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my +mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it +shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall +prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.––<i>Isaiah</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>Thy word, Almighty Lord,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Where’er it enters in<br /> +Is sharper than a two-edged sword<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>To slay the man of sin.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Montgomery</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>A peculiar wireless telegraphy has ever +been in vogue among the aborigines of +many lands. The interior tribes of Africa +have it and use it to perfection. The +plains Indians and those of the mountains +know its use, and messages are sent which +cause much wonderment to the white man.</p> +<p>In 1899 the ghost-dancing was in progress +among all the Indians of the United States. +All Indiandom was excited to the highest +degree. Disturbances among them were +watched and feared by the government. +The Bannocks and Shoshones of Fort Hall +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +were nerved to a high tension and quickly +athrill to any new movement. Hearing that +an unusual interest was being displayed +among the Nez Perces of the north, a +committee of the Fort Hall men was sent +to ascertain what it was. It proved to be +a revival of religion conducted by the +Presbyterians. The committee was composed +of heathens, but they saw, were +conquered, and came home reporting it +was good, and requested that there be +similar meetings held among them. It was +so planned and arranged. A Nez Perce +Presbyterian minister was to be their visitant +evangelist.</p> +<p>The various Protestant churches in Pocatello +had been by turns supplying preaching +to the people of Fort Hall’s tribes, and to +the whites who were the residents at Ross +Fork, the seat of the Agency. On the +particular evening when the special meetings +were to begin it was the turn of the +writer to preach. The Rev. James Hays, +a full-blood Nez Perce, was there as evangelist. +But he could not speak a word of +the Bannock-Shoshone mixed jargonized +dialect. He had been educated in English +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +and could understand me so as to interpret, +rather translate into Nez Perce, but who +could reach the people to whom we had +the message? There was present a renegade +fellow, Pat Tyhee (big Pat, or chief Pat), +<i>not an Irishman</i>. He was a Shoshone who +years before had gone to live among the +Nez Perces and had married a woman of +them. He could interpret Hays, but could +he be trusted? He was a very heathenish +heathen. The missionary teacher, Miss +Frost, consulted with Mr. Hays and myself +as to the wisdom of asking Pat to play +interpreter for the momentous occasion; +after fervently praying we concluded to +take the risk and trust to God’s leading. +Pat, the heathen, was chosen. It was a +queer audience. There were some whites, +some Indians. It was odd to see Gun, the +Agency policeman, there with his only +prisoner. There were Billy George, the +tribal judge; and Hubert Tetoby, the assistant +blacksmith, as well as others of +local importance. To add to the excitement +of the evening, it was the night before +ration day at the Agency, when all the +Indians from the entire Reservation were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +present––fifteen hundred of them––for their +share. It was a wild time––the raw +blanketed man was there for a Saturnalia. +He knew no law but his desires. The +unprotected young woman had no security +from him. Indeed, while we were gathering +in the mission house for this service, I +noticed a slight stirring at my feet, and +looked, and there was Mary, a young +widow, who had scuttled in silent as a +partridge and was snuggling down on the +floor just back of my feet, successful in +getting away from some red Lothario who +had pursued her to the door.</p> +<p>The service began. I preached from the +words of Martha to Mary, “The Master is +come and is calling for thee.” It was an +attempt to show that Jesus needs us as +living agents to work with him. Mr. Hays, +I suppose, and always have believed, translated +to Pat in Nez Perce what I said. +Pat in turn interpreted to the assembled +band of mixed Indians. To be sure, I +understood not a thing either said: but +when I looked at the earnest, love-ridden, +and sweat-covered face of the yearning Nez +Perce, I believed that what he was saying +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +was all I said and more. And Pat––he was +a sight! Had his hands been tied, I really +believed he could not have expressed himself +at all. He is about six feet six in his moccasins, +and those long arms accompanied +the lengthy guttural expressions in an intensely +effective manner. At the close of +the three-cornered sermon the question was +asked, “How many of you from this time +forward are willing to follow Jesus and be +known as his assistants?” Among the most +prominent and enthusiastic replies that +came were those of Hubert Tetoby, Billy +George, <i>and Pat Tyhee, the heathen interpreter</i>. +Looking me straight in the eyes, +swerving neither to the one side nor the +other, these madly-in-earnest men of the +mountains held their hands up high as +they could reach them. And in six weeks +from that date there was a Presbyterian +church there composed of sixty-five members, +of whom only one, the teacher, Miss +Frost, was white; and Pat Tyhee was +made one of the elders. There had been +no Christians there at all before those +meetings. It was an Indian Pentecost.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +<a name='THREE_YEARS_AFTER' id='THREE_YEARS_AFTER'></a> +<h2>THREE YEARS AFTER</h2> +</div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>Father of all! in every age,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>In every clime adored,<br /> +By saint, by savage, and by sage,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Jehovah, Jove, or Lord.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Alexander Pope</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Some hypercritical person, and possibly +some sincere soul, may ask: “Did such +revival do any permanent good? Does not +the so-near savage easily backslide?” To +this may be given this partial reply: It +depends somewhat on the sort of white +folks there are in the immediate vicinity. +As elsewhere stated in these pages, the pale +face has been the great undoer of the +red man. “Civilization” in some garbs is +worse than savagery. The white skin has +been the password for some awful systems +of debauchery among the aborigines of +America. An Indian speaker, and chief of +police of one of the Indian reservations of +Oregon, said at the Second World’s Christian +Citizenship Conference in Portland, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +1913: “Before the white man came the +Indian had no jails or locks on their doors. +The white man brought whisky; there is +now need of both jails and locks.”</p> +<p>About three years after the meeting at +Fort Hall, where the three-cornered sermon +was delivered, Mr. Roosevelt made a visit +to the West. Major A. F. Caldwell, Agent +of Indian Affairs at Fort Hall, told the +fourteen hundred red natives that if they +would turn out in their handsomest manner, +he would give them all a “big eat” +after the visit. Promptly on the day designated +the famous rough rider and the +desert riders were in evidence, the latter +in abundance. They went far out along +the railway to meet the train, and then +galloped their wiry, pintoed ponies along +by the side of the car, performing many +feats of daring horsemanship, throwing +themselves from the flying bronchos and +remounting without a pause, and other +stunts which they invented. After the +“pageant had fled” the expectant and +hungry Indians were herded into a large +vacant lot in Pocatello, where all sorts of +provisions had been collected for the feast. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +I was anxious to see them, and so were +many other equally bold and possibly a +wee bit impolite people, for when they +had assembled a great crowd of curious +white folks was there gazing.</p> +<p>The Young Men’s Christian Association +secretary and I overlooked the scene from +a hotel whose wall formed one side of the +enclosure where the long tables of loose +planks were laid. All was hurry, bustle, +and confusion, not much unlike what everyone +has witnessed at the ordinary picnic.</p> +<p>The Christians and the non-Christians +had divided as though not of the same +tribe or blood. These had their tables on +one side, those on the opposite. When all +was ready the savage part of the divided +company fell to with vim, vigor, and haste, +just as white people often do at outdoor +dinners; but see the others! After all had +been carefully spread, odorous cans of +tempting viands opened, and everything +adjusted, the hungry horde was seated. A +low word of attention was given by some +one; every head was bowed, quiet was +absolute, and Billy George in guttural tones +said something the Lord of all could understand. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +When he was through these also +fell to with an unmistakable zest and the +day ended merrily for the Indians and +profitably for some of the onlookers.</p> +<p>This Billy George was crippled by the +bullets of some of the reservation Indians +who did not like his progressive ways. He +had lost one leg for this reason. One night, +as he was fastening up his animals, he +stooped to lift one of the bars of his corral. +Just as he raised himself, a shot that was +doubtless meant for his lowered head struck +his leg and it had to be amputated.</p> +<p>On the night of his conversion, when he +had raised his hand high as he could reach, +he in the after meeting mimicked the white +folks who had slowly and with many side-lookings +so slightly moved their hands upward. +He said, “Huh, white folks heap +scared, do this way;” and he imitated them +grotesquely.</p> +<p>Often when leaving his teepee for the hills +in order to haul his winter wood, he would +go to the home of Miss F–––, the missionary, +and tell her he was going away, +and at the same time asking her to be sure +to care for his squaw and papooses if he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +did not return; for, said he, “Bad Injun +ketchy me some day; no liky me; you savy +me liky whity man.”</p> +<p>So fair of mind was he, and so humanely +progressive, that the government had chosen +him as one of the men before whom petty +cases among the tribe were taken. If he +could not solve the problems, they were +then carried to the Agent; then on up if +not there adjusted.</p> +<p>When the Presbyterian Missionary Board +assisted these Christians to build a neat +house of worship it was, and still is, known +far and near as Billy George’s Church.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +<a name='CHIEF_JOSEPH_AND_HIS_LOST_WALLOWA' id='CHIEF_JOSEPH_AND_HIS_LOST_WALLOWA'></a> +<h2>CHIEF JOSEPH AND HIS LOST WALLOWA</h2> +</div> +<blockquote> +<p>Land where my fathers died.––<i>Smith</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A Cornishman was once asked why there +were no public houses (saloons) in his town. +He replied, “Once a man by the name of +John Wesley preached here, and there have +been none since.”</p> +<p>Once a man by the name of General +O. O. Howard passed through eastern +Oregon and northern Idaho, and the country +has not been the same since. The occasion +was the uprising of the Nez Perces +Indians in 1877. Ridpath, the historian, +tells of the long chase of the red men and +the weary pursuit of “sixteen hundred +miles.” It was truly a Fabian retreat on +the part of Chief Joseph and his band, but +General Howard was dealing mercifully with +them; at a dozen places he could have given +battle, but he spared the useless slaughter, +avoiding the needless scaring of the white +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +settlers and the complement of dire scenes +and death that would necessarily follow.</p> +<p>The story of Chief Joseph is one of the +most interesting unwritten chapters in the +history of the great Northwest. The fact +of the capture of this wily Indian leader +with most of his band is well known. They +were banished from the Alpine regions of +eastern Oregon and compelled to make +their home across the marble cañon of the +Snake in the State of Idaho, far from their +loved Wallowa.</p> +<p>The valley of Wallowa (an Indian name) +is one of the most beautiful spots imaginable. +At its southern end stand pillared +peaks, eternally snow-crowned, rivaling the +finest to be seen in Switzerland. Here lies +the limpid, glassy Lake Wallowa, near the +busy town of Joseph, so named in honor of +the great chieftain. This emerald valley +nestles in the lap of the Blue Mountains, +and was from time immemorial the favorite +home of the exiled natives. When Bonneville +passed through that remote region in +the early thirties they were in the enjoyment +of that valley and the rugged recesses +of the Imnaha between Oregon and Walla +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +Walla. The famous red fish, the yank, and +others possibly peculiar to the place were +found in abundance in the lake. It was +their treasure house for finny food, and +the hovering hills furnished flesh of deer +and bear.</p> +<p>At a point in the valley twenty miles +north of the lake, Old Joseph, father of the +more famous son, lies buried; his bramble-covered +grave is to be seen by the roadside +to-day. For this reason something more +than an instinctive affection dominated the +heart of the younger man.</p> +<p>Not long before his death, accompanied +by guards, Chief Joseph was taken into the +valley on some sort of errand, and was +thus permitted to see again the enchanting +beauties of his birthplace and early home. +How hungry were his eyes as he viewed the +great opaline pool which reflected the +sinewy cedars and pointed pines; as he +looked upon the surrounding glen, the ancient +game-range, the distant dissolving +plain, the hills heightening through their +timber-covered sides up to the very sky! +His bursting heart cried out, “I have but +one thing to ask for from the White Father: +Give me this lake and the land around it, +and some few acres surrounding the grave +of my father.”</p> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/p0094a-insert.jpg' alt='' title='' width='517' height='352' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +WALLOWA LAKE<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span></div> +<p>The white man’s ax had cleared the +timber about the old man’s grave; the +white man’s plow might menace the sacred +sod above the mute dust of his honored +sire. He wished to protect that place hallowed +by love––his own father’s grave. But +his plea was denied. He was not permitted +to have what in all reason seemed his very +own.</p> +<p>He was now an old man, with eyes that +had never shed tears, a soul that was unacquainted +with fear, and a heart that had +never weakened in the presence of danger. +But at the thought that he was no more to +see his lovely Wallowa his eyes melted, his +soul sank, his heart broke.</p> +<p>Chief Joseph died near Spokane not many +years since, wailing out the one great desire +of his life, a final glimpse of the land of his +birth, the hunting ground of his manhood +and the graves of his sires.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +<a name='THE_WHITE_MANS_BOOK' id='THE_WHITE_MANS_BOOK'></a> +<h2>THE WHITE MAN’S BOOK</h2> +</div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>The book––this holy book, on every line<br /> +Mark’d with the seal of high divinity,<br /> +On every leaf bedew’d with drops of love<br /> +Divine, and with the eternal heraldry<br /> +And signature of God Almighty stampt<br /> +From first to last––this ray of sacred light,<br /> +This lamp, from off the everlasting throne,<br /> +Mercy took down, and, in the night of time<br /> +Stood, casting on the dark her gracious bow;<br /> +And evermore beseeching men, with tears<br /> +And earnest sighs, to read, believe, and live;<br /> +And many to her voice gave ear, and read,<br /> +Believed, obey’d.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Pollok.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Having heard the early explorers speak +of God, the Bible, and religion, and knowing +that on Sundays the flag was raised and +work suspended, the Indians wanted to +know more about these things, and two +chiefs, Hee-oh’ks-te-kin (Rabbit-skin Leggins) +and H’co-a-h’co-a-cotes-min (No-horns-on-his-Head) +set out to find the +white missionaries who could inform their +troubled minds. They did not reach Saint +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +Louis until 1832, where they found General +Clark, whom they had known. The messengers +were of the Nez Perce tribe. General +Clark took them to the cathedral and +showed them the pictures of the saints and +entertained them in the best and most approved +Christian style; but they were heart-hungry +and went home dissatisfied. One of +them made the following speech to the +kindly soldier, General Clark:</p> +<p>“I came to you over a trail of many +moons from the setting sun. You were the +friend of my fathers who have all gone the +long way. I came with one eye partly +opened, for more light for my people who +sit in darkness. I go back with both eyes +closed. How can I go back with both eyes +closed? How can I go back blind to my +blind people? I made my way to you with +strong arms, through many enemies and +strange lands, that I might carry much +back to them. I go back with both arms +broken and empty. The two fathers who +came with us––the braves of many winters +and wars––we leave asleep by your great +water and wigwam.<a name='FNanchor_0002' id='FNanchor_0002'></a><a href='#Footnote_0002' class='fnanchor'>[2]</a> They were tired in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +many moons, and their moccasins wore out. +My people sent me to get the white man’s +Book of heaven. You took me where you +allow your women to dance, as we do not +ours, and the Book was not there; you +showed me the images of the good spirits +and the pictures of the good land beyond, +but the Book was not among them to tell +us the way. I am going back the long, sad +trail to my people of the dark land. You +make my feet heavy with the burden of +gifts, and my moccasins will grow old in +carrying them, but the Book is not among +them. When I tell my poor, blind people, +after one more snow, in the big council, +that I did not bring the Book, no word +will be spoken by our old men or our young +braves. One by one they will rise up and +go out in silence. My people will die in +darkness, and they will go on the long +path to the other hunting grounds. No +white man will go with them and no white +man’s Book will make the way plain. I +have no more words.”</p> +<p>It was the rumor of this address that +started Jason Lee and Marcus Whitman +westward over the old Trail.</p> +<hr class='fn' /> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0002' id='Footnote_0002'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0002'><span class='label'>[2]</span></a> +<p>Four of their number had died, and only one reached home.</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +<a name='LIGHTS_AND_SIDELIGHTS' id='LIGHTS_AND_SIDELIGHTS'></a> +<h2>LIGHTS AND SIDELIGHTS</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span></div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>I love thy rocks and rills,<br /> +Thy woods and templed hills,<br /> +My heart with rapture thrills.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Smith</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span></div> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;font-size:1.4em;'>LIGHTS AND SIDELIGHTS</p> +<p>The Old Oregon Trail takes bold way +through some of the very finest scenery of +the West. These new ships of the desert, +the passenger trains, glide gracefully down +from the aerial highways of the mountain +passes into the heart of our fertile oases. +Whichever way the traveler turns he sees +something absolutely new, and often in +strange contrast with what he has just +been beholding. Stately, snow-crowned +giants of the lordly hills, fir-fringed up to +timber line, stand motherlike, or bishoplike, +crozier-cragged, shepherding the verdant +uplands and the velvety valleys whose +billowy meadows bend beneath the highland +zephyrs or fall before the scythe of +the prospering farmer. Now he beholds +the ruggedest of capacious cañons where +the rollicking rivers and rhythmic rills have +cut great gorges deep into the rocky ribs of +the tightly hugging hills. Another turn +and he sees the hearty herds transforming +themselves automatically into gold for their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +happy owners; another turn shows the lazy +rivers arising from their age-long beds and +mossy couches to climb the hot hillsides and +to toil and sweat at the command of the +lord of this world, as they irrigate his arid +acres. Yet another turn and the wrathful +river is carrying on its breast the tens of +thousands of winter-cut logs dancing like +straws on its frothy surface on their way +to the busy mills; and the turbulent +streams, their wildness tamed and harnessed, +serve the needs of man like trusted +domestic servants.</p> +<p>But this is not the way to view mountains; +it is only surface sights we get in this +manner. He who would know the beauties +of the hills must become acquainted with +them personally <i>and on foot</i>. Anyone can +enjoy the lazy luxury of the cozy precincts +of an upholstered, porter-served car. He +may travel horseback or donkey-back, if he +cares to visit only where such sure-footed +animals can go. However, when I want to +see the stately things among the unchiseled +palaces and temples where Nature pays +homage in the courts of the Divine Architect, +I dismiss all modes of conveyance, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +with well-nailed shoes, rough clothes, a +staff, and a lunch, I take the kingdom by +force. When once in, I am royally entertained; +for though coy and apparently hard +to woo, Nature is a most delightful companion +when once you are acquainted.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>The distant mountains, that uprear<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Their solid bastions to the skies,<br /> +Are crossed by pathways, that appear<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>As we to higher levels rise.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>So sang Longfellow. Bishop Warren said +that every peak tempted him as with a +beckoning finger, daring him to a climb.</p> +<p>To those who have never been nearer the +unlocked fastnesses of our eternal American +hills than by the too common means above +mentioned, the far-away cliffs of marble or +white granite, with their areas of unmeltable +snows and ices, look temptingly down +on us in August, together with the smaller +and less inspiring crags. But when we approach +them, even those nearest, how they +appear to recede––almost to run away! +The high peaks that looked as though +climbing up and peeping over the heads of +the lower ones, either jump down and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +bashfully run to hide, or the little ones +rise up to protect them. So it seems as one +approaches.</p> +<p>Entering the mountain side by way of a +yawning cañon we soon come to a sheer +precipice lying in a deep gorge with perpendicular +sides, while, leaping from the +top of the declivity high above our heads, as +if from the very zenith, a stream of crystal +water cleaves the air. It is dashed into +countless strands of silvery pearls before +it reaches the deep bed of moss spread +down to receive it, and where it lies resting +awhile for its downward journey toward +the moon-whipped ocean.</p> +<p>Ah, Longfellow! You have taught us +how to climb some mountains, but here we +have to construct our ladders, for anyone +less sure of foot than the chamois or the +mountain sheep must stay at the bottom +of the falls. Scylla and Charybdis are stationary +now, and the gaping chasm has +swallowed us upward, where we reach an +opening into a wide park, a veritable fairyland. +On the top of one of those ponderous +laminations tilted edgewise is the king of +the gnomes of the new glen. We call him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +Pharaoh. How archly he looks out over +his wide domain! His kingly cap is adorned +with a cobra ready to strike, yet out on his +ample breast floats a most royal but un-Pharonic +beard. This is one of the ways +the quondam haughty hills have of providing +entertainment for the bold questioner +and visitor.</p> +<p>The scenery is always new. High rocks, +whose rugged faces look as if their titanic +architect had been surprised and driven +away while as yet his task was not half +completed; long gaping gulches lined with +an evergreen decoration of spruce, cedar, +manzanita, and mountain mahogany, are +some of the sidelights to be found in a +day’s journey in the realms adjacent to +the Old Oregon Trail.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +<a name='THE_STAGECOACH' id='THE_STAGECOACH'></a> +<h2>THE STAGECOACH</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><span class='indent6'> </span>My high-blown pride<br /> +At length broke under me and now has left me,<br /> +Weary and old with service, to the mercy<br /> +Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Shakespeare</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<blockquote> +<p>Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens.... When +I was at home I was in a better place; but travelers +must be content.––<i>Shakespeare</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span></div> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;font-size:1.4em;'>THE STAGECOACH</p> +<p>At frequent intervals throughout the +widening West may be seen the relegated +ship of the desert standing forlorn, friendless, +forsaken. The merciless claws of +summer and the icy fangs of winter are +loosening the red paint, and the white +canvas cover and side curtains are flapping +in the winds. The tired tongue, dumb +with age and years of use, still tells tales +of hardships by the silent eloquence of its +multitude of unhealed scars.</p> +<p>This class of carryall was at once unique +and supreme. It was the one indispensable +link in the endless chain of evolution popular +and powerful, the only public agent of the +Trail and the plains until the unconquerable +initiative of the lord of the world had +time to steel a highway with trackage for +more rapid transit. What a living link was +that old overland stage! To look upon an +isolated and abandoned relic of earlier pioneerdom +is like standing at the marble monument +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +of some human pivot in the mighty +march of man’s progress. Before the bold +and bustling railway noisily elbowed its +way into the affections of travel and commerce +and pushed aside the patient wagon +of the nation-builders, the tens of thousands +of hurried travelers enjoyed (or endured) +the hospitality of its rocking thorough-braces +as they, hour by hour, day after +day, and night after night, and even week +after week in the longer journeys, sat atop +or inside this leviathan of the sand-ocean +making the most rapid trip possible and +under safe guidance.</p> +<p>Could such old hulk tell its story, could +that dried-up old tongue but begin to wag +again, what tales! First would come those +of the men too often overworked and underappreciated, +like our modern railmen, the +drivers of the stage. These, as the ancient +Jehu, were compelled to drive furiously on +occasion, in order to keep a cramped +schedule or make up for the loss of time +brought about by a breakdown, a washout, +or some Indian depredation. Few drivers +there were who did not love their work. It +came to be a saying, “Once a driver, always +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +a driver.” The coach-and-four, or more, +with booted and belted man on the throne +of the swinging chariot, made every boy +envious and created in him a desire to become +great some day too. Eagle and Dick, +Tom and Rock, Bolly and Bill understood +the snap of the whip, or its more wicked +crack, as well as they did the tension of the +line or the word of the chief charioteer, +who, with foot on the long brake-beam, +regulated the speed of the often crowded +vehicle down the precipitous places which +to the novice looked very dangerous. But +Jehu is no longer universal king. A Pharaoh +who knew him not has heartlessly and definitely +usurped some of his places.</p> +<p>In the boot of this old seaworthy craft +was hauled many a load of treasure, for the +gold-hungry prospector without sextant and +chain surveyed the fastnesses of the hills +as well as the illimitation of the prairies, +and a care-taking government made a way +to his camp to send him his mail. Express +companies joined their traffic to that of +Uncle Sam, and he of the pick and shovel +became the lodestone to popular convenience. +With many a load of treasure went +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +a man known as a messenger, who sat beside +the driver, carrying a sawed-off gun under +his coat, ready to meet the gangster or +holdup, who so often robbed both stage and +passenger.</p> +<p>In the hold of this old coach have ridden +governors, statesmen of all grades, men and +women, good and better (some bad and +worse); here were bridal tours, funeral parties, +commercial men and gamblers, miners +and prospectors, Chinamen and Indians, +pleasure-seekers and labor-hunters, officers +and convicts.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>Men of every station<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>In the eye of fame,<br /> +On a common level<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Coming to the same––</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>is the way Saxe punningly puts it; but +more of a leveler was this old coach, for +there was of necessity the forceful putting +of people of the most heterogeneous character +together in the most homogeneous +manner as the omnibus (most literal word +here), made up its hashy load at the hand +and command of the driver, whose word +was unappealable law as complete as that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +of another captain on the high seas. Prodigal, +profligate, and pure, maiden or Magdalene, +millionaire or Lazarus, all were +crowded together as the needs of the hour +and the size of the passengers demanded, +to sit elbow to elbow, side by side to the +journey’s end.</p> +<p>Huddled thus, they traveled unchanged +till the stage station was reached; here the +horses were exchanged for fresher ones; +the wayside inn had its tables of provisions +varying and varied as the region traversed. +If in the mountains, there were likely to +be trout, saddle of deer, steaks of bear; +but if through the sands, there was provided +bacon or other coarser fare. Usually +these crowds were joking and jolly, unless +tempered by something requiring more sobriety, +but always optimistic, for the fellow +who became grouchy the while had generally +abundant occasion to repent and +mend his ways.</p> +<p>One day, on a road not far from where +this is being written, the old coach was +toiling up a long mountainside; the driver +was drowsy and the passengers had exhausted +their newest répertoire of stories +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +and had lapsed into stillness such as often +seizes a squeezed crowd. The horses were +permitted to take their time; the dust was +deep, the sun hot, and all possible stillness +prevailed.</p> +<p>“Halt!” ordered a low voice very near +the road.</p> +<p>The driver, Tom Myers, did not understand +the command, and simply looked up, +half asleep, and said to the horses, “Gid-dap!”</p> +<p>“Halt!” came the words again, louder and +unmistakable.</p> +<p>Myers halted. Standing at the end of +an elongated bunch of pines where he had +been invisible until the heads of the horses +appeared stood the highwayman, with +menacing gun covering the head of the +driver.</p> +<p>“Throw out your treasure and mail!” +came the command.</p> +<p>“I have mail, but no treasure,” said my +friend Tom, as he afterward pointed out +the spot and told the story. “Come and +get it.”</p> +<p>The lone robber rifled the sacks, turned +the pockets of the travelers inside out, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +bade them drive on without imitating Lot’s +wife; he was never caught.</p> +<p>To be sure, this is a tame story, and +many readers doubtless can tell one more +thrilling; but this one is true.</p> +<p>The stagecoach is a thing of the past, +but we still have the hardy, dust-covered, +mud-daubed teamster, who yet must haul +the freight far back into hills where for +ages there will be no railway. To these, +Godspeed and good cheer! They live by +the Trails; they eat at the wheel; they +sleep under the wagon; they are kindly +and obliging even when their heavily belled +teams of six to fourteen or more head of +horses meet another loaded caravan in some +narrow pass where the highest engineering +ability is needed to get by in safety; and +they never leave a fellow-traveler in distress.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +<a name='AMONG_THE_HILLS' id='AMONG_THE_HILLS'></a> +<h2>AMONG THE HILLS</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>To him who in the love of Nature, holds<br /> +Communion with her visible forms, she speaks<br /> +A various language;...<br /> +<span class='indent25'> </span>The hills<br /> +Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Bryant</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>Not vainly did the early Persian make<br /> +His altar the high places and the peak<br /> +Of earth-o’ergazing mountains, and thus take<br /> +A fit and unwalled temple, there to seek<br /> +The Spirit, in whose honor shrines are weak,<br /> +Upreared of human hands.... compare<br /> +Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek<br /> +With Nature’s realm of worship.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Byron</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +<a name='THE_MOTHER_DEER' id='THE_MOTHER_DEER'></a> +<h2>THE MOTHER DEER</h2> +</div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>The ragged sky-line high in air<br /> +Sits boundary to sight<br /> +And seems to end the world;<br /> +But topping it by way well worn by braver<br /> +<span class='indent4'> </span>pioneer,<br /> +A fertile, home-filled dale is found<br /> +Where love holds warm,<br /> +And schools and churches dot the land.<br /> +But while the slow-drawn old stagecoach<br /> +With load of dust-clad travelers<br /> +Crawls over jolting, stone-filled ruts,<br /> +The puffing beasts, sweat-covered,<br /> +Winding in and out among the stately<br /> +<span class='indent4'> </span>pines<br /> +(Where friendly Nature spreads her yellow<br /> +<span class='indent4'> </span>moss<br /> +O’er bleaching arms long since deprived of<br /> +<span class='indent4'> </span>life),<br /> +May now be seen a mother deer<br /> +Half hidden ’mong the sloping boughs;<br /> +Alert, ears high, eyes wide, body so tense<br /> +And motionless. In silence all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span><br /> +The passengers admire the instinct-love<br /> +Which not affrights the spotted babe<br /> +Fast sleeping at her feet.<br /> +“There are no guns aboard!” says one.<br /> +“But if there were, how could one’s heart<br /> +Be hard enough to murder mother-love?”<br /> +Said I.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +<a name='THE_SHEPHERD' id='THE_SHEPHERD'></a> +<h2>THE SHEPHERD</h2> +</div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>The tired shepherd stands among his ewes<br /> +That with their lambs are unafraid<br /> +Of him and keen-eyed dogs;<br /> +They crouch close in about his feet<br /> +Whene’er the coyote’s cry<br /> +Or bear’s low growl<br /> +Falls tingling on the timid ear.<br /> +Himself thrusts gun to elbow-place<br /> +And peers amid the dust-dressed sage<br /> +And scented chaparral so dense,<br /> +To glimpse the fiery eyeballs<br /> +Of the prowler of the hills;<br /> +While all awatch the faithful collies stand<br /> +Prepared to fend e’en with their lives<br /> +The young and helpless not their own.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +<a name='THE_FEATHERED_DRUMMER' id='THE_FEATHERED_DRUMMER'></a> +<h2>THE FEATHERED DRUMMER</h2> +</div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>The wooded thicket holds a drum.<br /> +The air in springtime afternoons<br /> +Is filled with sharp staccato notes<br /> +Whose echoes clear reverberate<br /> +From precipice and timbered hills.<br /> +No fifer plays accompaniment;<br /> +No pageant proud or marching throng<br /> +Keeps step to this deep pulsing bass<br /> +Whose sullen solo booms afar.<br /> +<br /> +A double challenge is this gage,<br /> +A gauntlet flung for love or war;<br /> +As strutting barnyard chanticleer<br /> +Defies his neighboring lord:<br /> +So calls this crested pheasant-king<br /> +For combat or for peace.<br /> +The meek brown mate upon her nest<br /> +Feels happy and secure<br /> +While thus her lord by deed and word<br /> +Displays his woodland bravery<br /> +And guards their little home.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +<a name='MORMONDOM' id='MORMONDOM'></a> +<h2>MORMONDOM</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span></div> +<blockquote> +<p>That fellow seems to possess but one idea, and +that is the wrong one.––<i>Samuel Johnson</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote> +<p>Utah is harder than China.––<i>Bishop Wiley</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<blockquote> +<p>Utah is the hardest soil into which the Methodist +plowshare was ever set.––<i>Bishop Fowler</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +<a name='THE_TRAIL_OF_THE_MORMON' id='THE_TRAIL_OF_THE_MORMON'></a> +<h2>THE TRAIL OF THE MORMON</h2> +</div> +<p>By the Trail had gone Jason Lee, in +1834, to plant the sturdy oak of Methodism +in the Willamette Valley and the north +Pacific Coast. His task was nobly done; +the developments of to-day attest the wisdom +of the church in sending him and his +coequal coadjutors, Daniel Lee, Cyrus +Shepherd, and P. L. Edwards.</p> +<p>Over this same track went Marcus Whitman, +in 1835, to found the mission at +Waiilatpu, near the present site of Walla +Walla, and to find there the early grave of +honorable martyrdom at the hands of the +people he was attempting to save. The +call to these two intrepid equals, Lee and +Whitman, came through the visit of the +two young Indian chiefs who, immediately +after the expedition of Lewis and Clark, +had gone to Saint Louis to obtain a copy +of the “white man’s Book of heaven.” The +names of these two, as previously stated, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +were Hee-oh’ks-te-kin and H’co-a-h’co-a-cotes-min.</p> +<p>On the sixth day of April, 1830, in Kirkland, +Ohio, Joseph Smith, Jr., had organized +the body best known as the Mormon +Church. Fourteen years later he was +mercilessly, and unjustly, mobbed at Nauvoo, +Illinois, and after three more years of +drifting about from pillar to post, the +Latter-Day Saints prepared to emigrate to +upper California under the absolute domination +and guidance of Brigham Young, +who was often styled the successor to the +“Mohammed of the West,” as Joseph Smith +was sometimes called. This cult had some +queer traits. W. W. Phelps, one of their +more prominent members, thus characterized +the leaders of Mormondom: Brigham +Young, the Lion of the Lord; P. P. Pratt, +the Archer of Paradise; O. Hyde, the Olive +Branch of Israel; W. Richards, the Keeper +of the Rolls; J. Taylor, Champion of Right; +W. Smith, the Patriarchal Jacob’s Staff; W. +Woodruff, the Banner of the Gospel; G. A. +Smith, the Entablature of Truth; O. Pratt, +the Gauge of Philosophy; J. E. Page, the +Sun Dial; L. Wright, Wild Mountain Ram.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span></div> +<p>Expelled from Illinois, Iowa, and Missouri, +the trembling Saints sought less +turbulent surroundings by immersing their +all in the wild conditions both of men and +wilderness in the untamed lands of the +great West. They were not able to sustain +the physical cost of the trek of more +than a thousand miles under the hardest +of circumstances. The Trail was the home +of the Sioux, the Cheyennes, the Arapahoes, +the Otoes, Omahas, Utes, and others, who +knew neither law nor mercy. The waters +were often alkaline and deadly as Lethe. +A thousand miles afoot was the record +some had to make. They appealed to the +government, then at war with Mexico, to +permit a number of their men to enlist as +soldiers to be marched over the ancient +Santa Fe Trail, and thus be able to draw +wages on the journey. This was granted. +These recruits had little, if anything, to do, +but they are known in history as the Mormon +battalion. They went to California, +1847-49, and were present when James +Marshall discovered gold at Sutter’s Mill.</p> +<p>In 1847, July 24, Mormondom threw up +its first trenches in the valley of the Great +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +Salt Lake, as that saline body was then +known and recorded. In this salubrious +region was planted the analogy of the +harem of Mohammed, and the seraglio of +Brigham became the center of the sensual +system of the Latter-Day Saints. So +blatant was the apostle Heber Kimball that +he said he himself had enough wives to whip +the soldiers of the United States.</p> +<p>Evangelical Christianity waited almost +twenty years before an attempt was made +to plant the high standards of Christendom +in the Wahsatch Mountains. In the sixties +went the denominations in the order +here named: Congregational, Protestant +Episcopal, Methodist Episcopal; in 1871 +the Presbyterians went, and then the Baptists. +It was dark. Mighty night had beclouded +the intellect and obscured the +spiritual senses; civilized sensuality swayed +with unchecked hand the destinies of the +masses. The blinded people groped for +light in the pitchlike blackness of the new +superstition.</p> +<p>“None but Americans on guard” in such +a night! Hear the roll call. None but +tried and true Christian soldiers were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +mounted on those ramparts: Erastus Smith, +the heart-winner; Thomas Wentworth Lincoln, +the scholarly but quiet Grand Army +man, who always kept his patriotic fires +banked; George Ellis Jayne, another veteran +of the Civil War, tireless evangelist +who possibly saw more Mormons made +Christian than any other pastor of any +church in Utah; George Marshall Jeffrey, +eternally at it; Joseph Wilks, methodic, patient, +sunny; Martinus Nelson, weeping over +the straying of his Norwegians; Emil E. +Mörk, rugged and steadfast; Martin Anderson +and Samuel Hooper, both of whom died +by the Trail, falling at the “post of honor.” +Last, but not least of these to be named, +stands the energetic and “Boanergetic” +Thomas Corwin Iliff, that Buckeye stentor +and patriot, who with heart-thrilling tones +has raised millions of dollars in aiding and +in establishing hundreds and hundreds of +churches in these United States. For +thirty years he commanded the Methodist +as well as the patriotic redoubts of Utah +and bearded the “Lion of the Lord” in his +very den.</p> +<p>But there were never truer watchmen on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +the high-towered battlements of the real +Zion than the Protestant Episcopal Bishop, +Daniel S. Tuttle; the knightly Hawkes of +the Congregationalists; the truly apostolic +Baptist, Steelman; the Presbyterian leaders––who +surpasses them? See the saintly +Wishard, the polemic McNiece and McLain; +the scholarly and tireless Paden!</p> +<p>They were loyal to the core, commanding +the Christian forces as they deployed, enfiladed, +charged, marched, and stormed the +trenches of religious libertinism in the fertile +and paradisaical valleys and roomy cañons +of the Mormon state of Deseret. These +never surrendered, compromised, or retreated.</p> +<p>Glorious Brotherhood! Permit us the +honor of saluting you. Your like may +never march abreast again in any campaign! +Living, you were conquerors; dying, +you are heroes.</p> +<p>Of these above named Messrs. Hooper, +Anderson, Steelman, and McNiece have +entered the “snow-white tents” of the +other shore.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +<a name='SOME_MORMON_BELIEFS' id='SOME_MORMON_BELIEFS'></a> +<h2>SOME MORMON BELIEFS</h2> +</div> +<blockquote> +<p>His studie was but litel on the Bible.––<i>Chaucer</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>Imaginations fearfully absurd,<br /> +Hobgoblin rites, and moon-struck reveries,<br /> +Distracted creeds, and visionary dreams,<br /> +More bodiless and hideously misshapen<br /> +Than ever fancy, at the noon of night,<br /> +Playing at will, framed in the madman’s brain.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Pollok, in Course of Time</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The abode of the dead, where they remained +in full consciousness of their condition +for indefinable periods, or even for +eternity, has been the theme of many a +writer both before and after the advent of +the Saviour of men. Annihilation is repugnant +to the common intelligence. Homer +sends Ulysses, Dantelike, to the realms of +the dead, where he converses with them he +had known in life. The Stygian River, the +dumb servitor, Charon, the coin-paid fare, +are all well known in the classics of the +ancients.</p> +<p>In some later religio-philosophic studies +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +the names are different; some have tartarus, +some purgatory, some paradise. The last +is the name adopted by the Mormons.</p> +<p>The heroes of Homer seemed never to +hope for a release from the bonds of Hades. +Voluptuous Circe, the Odysseyan swine-maker, +told the hero of those tales he was +a daring one:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“... who, yet alive, have gone<br /> +Down to the abode of Pluto; twice to die<br /> +Is yours, while others die but once.”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Many well meaning minds have tried to +discover in the Bible, or otherwise reasonably +invent a second probation for the +unrepentant as an addendum to the final +resurrection of the just. Not a little has +been made of the term “spirits in prison” +(1 Pet. 3. 19, 20), and of “baptism for the +dead” (1 Cor. 15. 29). In the intensity of +zeal, or as a proselyting advertisement, the +Latter-Day Saints proclaim the possibility +of all the inhabitants of the grave (paradise) +being saved in heaven. To this end, +early in the history of the organization, +there was implanted the doctrine of preaching +to the departed and that of proxy +ministrations.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span></div> +<p>From their Articles of Faith I take these +two:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>3. We believe that through the atonement of +Christ all mankind may be saved by obedience to +the laws and ordinances of the gospel.</p> +<p>4. We believe that these ordinances are: First, +Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; second, Repentance; +third, Baptism by immersion for the remission of +sins; fourth, Laying on of hands for the gift of the +Holy Ghost.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now, since without immersion there is +no remission of sins, and since they who +are in prison (paradise) are eligible to salvation, +therefore some one must be baptized +for them and have all the other rites +of the plan likewise administered in their +name. That “all things may be done decently +and in order,” there was received a +“revelation” to the end that temples must +be built, recorders and other officials appointed, +and all the paraphernalia necessary +for the work prepared. When these +rites are consummated some elder of the +church who dies goes to the spiritual +prison house and tells the people therein +confined that these most meritorious works +have been done for them on earth; in fact, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +this is the chief reason for their going +thither. They who will believe this story +and repent of their sins are then and there +entitled to “a right to the tree of life, and +may enter in through the gates into the +city.”</p> +<p>Not only are the people redeemed from +all their sins by the pious ministrations of +the many temple-workers, who, like Samuel, +continually serve and minister therein, +but as marriage relations are to continue +throughout the endless ages of eternity, and +children are to be born forever and ever, +these dead have the hymeneal ceremony +performed “for eternity”; this act is known +as the “sealing” process. Men are here +married––by proxy––to others than the actual +living wife, sometimes with her consent, +sometimes without it. One old gentleman, +whose name is not to be mentioned, +was sealed thus for eternity to Martha +Washington and to Empress Josephine. It +sounds farcical and foolish in the extreme; +fit only to be counted as a silly joke, unworthy +the attention of a sane soul for a +minute; but it is terribly sober when it is +remembered that there are hundreds of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +thousands of innocent, honest, and unsuspecting +Mormons who really and truly believe +this to be the only road to eternal +life and exaltation.</p> +<p>Added to this is the doctrine of the deification +of men. All the true and faithful +Mormons are to become gods by and by, +and create and populate new worlds; hence +the value of polygamy; in fact, this world +is but one of the samples of this truth. +Adam is the owner and ruler of earth, and +to him we pray. He is our God. As such +he is only one in an endless procession of +such beings.</p> +<p>“There has been and there now exists an +endless procession of the Gods, stretching +back into the eternities, that had no beginning +and will have no end. Their existence +runs parallel with endless duration, +and their dominions are limitless as boundless +space.”<a name='FNanchor_0003' id='FNanchor_0003'></a><a href='#Footnote_0003' class='fnanchor'>[3]</a></p> +<p>Possibly the most popular hymn among +these people is the following, written by +one of the wives of Joseph Smith, Eliza R. +Snow. It is in their collection and now in +use:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span></div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='center cg'>HYMN TO FATHER AND MOTHER</p> +<p class='cg'><br /> +O my Father, thou that dwellest<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>In the high and glorious place!<br /> +When shall I regain thy presence,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>And again behold thy face?<br /> +In thy holy habitation,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Did my spirit once reside?<br /> +In my first primeval childhood,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Was I nurtured by thy side?<br /> +<br /> +For a wise and glorious purpose<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Thou hast placed me here on earth,<br /> +And withheld the recollection<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Of my former friends and birth;<br /> +Yet ofttimes a secret something<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Whispered, “You’re a stranger here”;<br /> +And I felt that I had wandered<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>From a more exalted sphere.<br /> +<br /> +I had learned to call thee Father,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Through thy Spirit from on high;<br /> +But, until the Key of Knowledge<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Was restored, I knew not why.<br /> +In the heavens are parents single?<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>No; the thought makes reason stare!<br /> +Truth is reason; truth eternal<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Tells me, I’ve a mother there.<br /> +<br /> +When I leave this frail existence,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>When I lay this mortal by,<br /> +Father, mother, may I meet you<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>In your royal court on high? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span><br /> +Then, at length, when I’ve completed<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>All you sent me forth to do,<br /> +With your mutual approbation<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Let me come and dwell with you.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr class='fn' /> +<div class='footnote'><a name='Footnote_0003' id='Footnote_0003'></a><a href='#FNanchor_0003'><span class='label'>[3]</span></a> +<p>New Witness for God, B. H. Roberts, 1895.</p> +</div> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +<a name='WEBER_TOM_UTE_POLYGAMIST' id='WEBER_TOM_UTE_POLYGAMIST'></a> +<h2>WEBER TOM, UTE POLYGAMIST</h2> +</div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutor’d mind<br /> +Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind;<br /> +His soul proud Science never taught to stray<br /> +Far as the solar walk or milky way.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Pope</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>When Mormonism was no longer compelled +to maintain the defensive it quickly +assumed the offensive. This was apparently +deemed necessary for the existence of +the system. Two kinds of preaching were +indulged in by the elders on their missions, +home and foreign. At home they declared +the beauty of the Smithian gospel, including +the doctrine of polygamy, a sweet morsel +for the blood-thirsty Utes. They were +trying by every means, Machiavellian or +otherwise, to gain the Lamanites, as Indians +were called by the Mormons, at least to an +extent which would allow them to remain +undisturbed throughout the territory of +Utah. Old Kanosh and other leaders were +immersed for the remission of their sins, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +but they were permitted to multiply unto +themselves as many squaws as they cared +for. It would take water stronger than the +common alkaline pools contained to reach +the morals of a heathen Ute.</p> +<p>Very many of the Indians thus were made +Mormons and white men were appointed as +their bishops. Brigham Young used to +make visits to them to try to instruct them +in various things. For a considerable +period he was the Superintendent of Indian +Affairs for the Territory. He was +such official at the time of the lamentable +Mountain Meadow Massacre, in 1857, and +for which crime Bishop John D. Lee suffered +death.</p> +<p>Possibly it was the influence of Mr. +Young that kept the most of the red men +from the warpath and thus saved the scattered +settlers in the earlier days when there +were so few to guard the isolated homes in +the far-away nooks and cañons of the +mountains.</p> +<p>The other sort of preaching in which the +elders indulged was that of an absolute and +unqualified denial of polygamy in Utah. +Such was the plan of the elders who went +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +to Europe. The public denial of John +Taylor, later president of the church, is +abundant evidence. When they deny polygamy +now they have the consistency of +definition to back them; to their manner of +explaining, polygamy is the act of taking +new wives; to the non-Mormon, polygamy +is the possessing of more than one wife. +For this reason we are very bold in saying +that polygamy is publicly practiced in Utah––witness +Joseph F. Smith as chief example.</p> +<p>Although we may read of it, none can +comprehend just what it means to a girl-wife, +two thousand miles away from her +parents, to be treated as an alien, in a land +under the flag of the free. This was the +case in the strictly Mormon settlements in +Utah thirty years ago. Reason only kept +the Giant Despair from the threshold of +the mind. The bravery of these women +can be compared only to the English +women of the Sepoy Rebellion days of +1857 in India, or to those of our American +sisters who accompanied their valorous +husbands to their isolated posts on the +Indian frontiers, resolved to share equally +in the dangers, and to die lingeringly and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +cruelly if necessary. Retreat and surrender +never grew in the hearts of such +women. It was so in the times that were +called the “dark days” in Utah––the time +when the government applied its functions +to the stamping out of polygamous practices, +1883 to 1893––ten terrible years for +the Mormon as well as the non-Mormon.</p> +<p>Add to this the fact that, unannounced, +a brawny, stalwart Indian might walk in +at the door. More than once has it so occurred +in our home. One day the door +was suddenly opened and in walked a +grinning brave, armed with a long knife, +and followed by his squaw; extending his +empty hand toward the far-from-home +girl-wife, alone in the house, he said, +“How-do!” In telling us of it, she said: +“I was scared to death, I thought, but I +would have shaken hands with him if I +had died in the attempt. I would not let +him know I feared him.” But this was +not Weber Tom.</p> +<p>It was in those fearsome days when the +leading men of Utah––farmers, bankers, +stockmen, church dignitaries, all sorts and +conditions of the Latter-Day Saints––were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +being arrested and haled to the courts almost +daily, that one morning there rode up +to our door the battle-scarred old warrior, +Weber Tom, chief of the Skull Valley Utes, +or Goshutes.</p> +<p>If perfection is beauty, this Indian was +most beautiful, for he was the ugliest +creature imaginable, ugly even to perfection. +One eye had been gouged out, a +knife-scar extended from his ear down +across his mouth, and he was Herculean in +physical proportions. I am a large man, +but once when I gave him an overcoat he +tried vainly to button it over his vast +frontal protuberance, looking at me and +saying, “Too short, too short.”</p> +<p>This giant chief dismounted, and, seeing +my wife standing near, reached the reins of +the bridle to her and said, “Here, squaw, +hol’ my hoss.”</p> +<p>She said, quietly, “Hold your own horse +if you want him held.”</p> +<p>Having had to accommodate himself to +the rudeness of a civilized woman, he made +other provision for his cayuse and then +asked her, “Wheh yo’man?”</p> +<p>She told him I was down in the field, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +he then proceeded to find me. He was in +the depths of trouble. He had several +squaw-wives and feared he was to be arrested +for it.</p> +<p>Now he approached me. It was dramatic; +it was high-class pantomime. It is +too bad the kinetoscope, cinematograph, or +some other moving-picture machine had not +been invented. He seemed awed by a +presence, yet so emboldened by the needs +of his case that he walked stoically to his +quest.</p> +<p>Squaring his Atlaslike shoulders, he began: +“You heap big chief. You talky this +way” (at the same time extending one +finger straight from his lips). “Mormon he +talky this way” (now extending two fingers, +to show he understood them to talk with +double tongue). “Mormon telly me sojer +men ketchy me, put me in jug [jail]; me +havy two, tree, four squaw. You heap big +chief. You telly me this way” (one finger). +Continuing, he said: “Me havy two, tree, +four squaw. Mormon he telly me, me go +jug; one my squaw he know dat, he heap +cry, <i>heap</i> cry, HEAP cry, by um by die!”</p> +<p>This was accompanied by gestures, throwing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +his body backward in imitation of the +dying woman whom fear had killed, according +to his dramatic story.</p> +<p>I told him something like this: “No, +heap big lie. You go back Skull Valley, +you stay home, no sojer ketchy you, you +be heap good Injun!” Upon this he grunted +deeply, shook hands cordially, went back to +his many-wived tents over across the creek, +and soon we saw them filing off through the +sagebrush toward their Skull Valley home, +many miles over the Onaqui range.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +<a name='POLYGAMY_OF_TODAY' id='POLYGAMY_OF_TODAY'></a> +<h2>POLYGAMY OF TO-DAY</h2> +</div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>The man that lays his hand upon a woman,<br /> +Save in the way of kindness, is a wretch<br /> +Whom ’t were gross flattery to name a coward.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>John Tobin</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>A baby was sleeping,<br /> +Its mother was weeping.<br /> +––<i>Samuel Lover</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Polygamy <i>may</i> die in Mormondom, but +has never yet done so. Cases are often +reported, and from the manner of their +finding it is a certainty that new alliances +are being formed continually between married +men and unmarried women.</p> +<p>Not long ago a very bright conversion +was made in one of the missions of an +evangelical denomination. The convert was +a young woman of more than average intelligence. +Some of her relatives had been +polygamists, but she repudiated the whole +cult and creed. For a while this decision +made it necessary for her to find other +residence than her rightful home.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span></div> +<p>Some time after she permitted herself to +be persuaded that a young man of her +acquaintance loved her more than he did +the polygamous tenet of his church––he was a +Mormon––and that he never would attempt +to woo and win another woman while she +remained his wife. She consented, and was +happy in her home life. Not for a moment +did she suspect him of double-dealing. Her +honest heart was above entertaining such +suspicion had it entered. Serenely she saw +her children growing to useful womanhood. +Not a cloud of anxiety appeared on the calm +sea of life; all was fine sailing. One day she +was making some repairs in one of her husband’s +garments when a letter fell from a +pocket. It bore the postmark of a city +where they both had relatives, and it was +quite natural that she should look into its +contents.</p> +<p>What despair and agony seized her when +she read therein the statement from the +“other woman” telling her “fond” husband +of the birth of the child!</p> +<p>The poor, heart-stricken, and hitherto +trusting wife immediately rose to the dignity +of outraged womanhood and insulted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +wifehood and compelled the polygamist to +choose at once between her and the concubine. +He did so, choosing the younger +woman and leaving her who had trusted +him too fondly.</p> +<p>This is not a tale of the ancients in Utah, +but a living, festering story of the vivid +present.</p> +<p>One way of avoiding prosecution by the +law is the surreptitious, clandestine rearing +of children, whose mothers lose no prestige +in the community; for it is well understood +“among the neighbors and friends.” “Public +polygamy has been suspended,” but the +requirement of the doctrine remains unchanged.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +<a name='GREAT_SALT_LAKE' id='GREAT_SALT_LAKE'></a> +<h2>GREAT SALT LAKE</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>So lonely ’twas that God himself<br /> +Scarce seemed there to be.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Coleridge</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><span class='indent10'> </span>This is truth the poet sings<br /> +That a sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering<br /> +<span class='indent4'> </span>happier things.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Tennyson</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span></div> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;font-size:1.4em;'>GREAT SALT LAKE</p> +<p>Many stories, weird and lurid, true and +untrue, have been told of this body of +saline water lying imposed on the breast of +the beautiful and scenic State of Utah. +Although one of the transcontinental highways +of ocean-to-ocean travel has extended +its bands of steel directly across its wide +bosom for many miles, it is still a spot +where mystery lingers.</p> +<p>Private as well as public legends are +handed down from lip to ear rather than +from page to eye. For that reason there are +tales of this wonderful salt sea to be learned +only by residing in the vicinity. Its natural +moods are unlike the ocean, and its individual +characteristics would make a book.</p> +<p>The briny pond is but a wee thing as +compared with its gigantic dimensions in +the days when its waters were sweet and +had an outlet to the north. Then its arms +spread far south into Arizona, over into +Nevada and into Idaho. It was 350 miles +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +from the northern end to the southern, and +145 miles across from east to west. The +area was 20,000 square miles. This greater +lake stood 1,000 feet higher than does the +present one, although this one is 4,280 feet +above the level of the sea. Geologists have +named the earlier one Bonneville, in honor +of the intrepid soldier-explorer whom Washington +Irving has so well fixed in American +literature.</p> +<p>By some as yet unknown cataclysm a +great break was made at the north end of +this inland ocean and its pent volume was +poured into the cañon of the Port Neuf +toward the ravenous Snake. This reduced +the level four hundred feet, but the old +beach line may still be easily noted. Gradually +this diminished body became smaller +and smaller until it reached the present +stage of desiccation.</p> +<p>So impure is this heavy liquid that after +evaporation there is a residuum of twenty-eight +pounds of solid matter in every hundred. +This is composed of salt, magnesium, +and other elements carrying three dollars of +gold to the ton; the gold is not made a +matter of trade or of industry because +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +facilities are lacking for its handling. Very +little animal life is found in this brine, and +none of vegetable; in fact, at every point +where the water touches the shore vegetation +vanishes utterly. The animal life is +that of a very small gnat which, mosquito-like, +lays its eggs on the surface of the +water. The larvæ, when driven shoreward, +collect in such quantities as to cause a +strong, unpleasant odor observable for miles +to the leeward. Myriads of seagulls here +find a dainty feast.</p> +<p>Salt Lake affords the finest and really the +only beach-bathing resort in the whole +interocean country. The bathing is attended +with little, if any, danger. In +thirty years only two persons have been +lost. These strangled before assistance +reached them. One body was found after +four years, lying in the salty sand at the +south end of the lake, whither the high +winds from the north had drifted it. All +the parts protected by the sand were perfectly +preserved and as beautiful as if +carved from Parian marble.</p> +<p>The tops of a number of sunken mountains +still protrude above the surface and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +form islands: such are Fremont, Church, +Stanbury, Carrington, and others. Some of +these are habitable, possessing fine springs +and irrigable land. Very few people live +on these islands, but some brave spirits +dare to face the semiprivations of such +isolation and stay there with their herds.</p> +<p>Doubtless, many tales of heroism and +devotion could be told of those who have +lived on these islands. One of the best +known is that of Mrs. Wenner, who, a few +years after her marriage, went with her +husband and little children to live on +Fremont Island. Her husband’s health failing, +the oversight of the herds fell largely +upon her, but she cheerily took up the +burden, the while she trained her little +ones, and was ever a true companion to +him whom she daily saw slipping away.</p> +<p>The end came on a dread and fearsome +day, while the faithful man who worked +for them was detained on the mainland by +a raging storm. The children and an incompetent +woman could give her little assistance +or consolation. There on the +lonely, storm-lashed island, with faint-whispered +words of love, the dear one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +closed his eyes forever. Tenderly she cared +for his body, and sadly she kept her vigil, +replenishing through the long night the two +watchfires intended as a signal to those on +the mainland. On the night of the second +day, the man made his dangerous way back +to the island––and with his help she laid +the loved husband in his island grave, with +no service but the tears and prayers of +those who mourned.</p> +<p>This is but one story of desolation and +sorrow––but the deep, briny waters and +the barren, forbidding shores hold in their +keeping many suggestions of mystery and +of tears.</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +<a name='ARGONAUT_SAMS_TALE' id='ARGONAUT_SAMS_TALE'></a> +<h2>ARGONAUT SAM’S TALE</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word<br /> +Would harrow up thy soul.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Shakespeare</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span></div> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;font-size:1.4em;'>ARGONAUT SAM’S TALE</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>“I panned him out over and over ag’in,<br /> +But found nary sign of color,”<br /> +Said Argonaut Sam one evening, when,<br /> +As sitting atop of a box, to some men<br /> +He was spinning a yarn of the gold-trail.<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent38'> </span>And then,<br /> +With arms set akimbo, he straightened his back<br /> +And said: “’Twuz one night in the fifties I know;<br /> +Ther’ kem up the trail frum the gulch jist below<br /> +A youngish-like feller; but steppin’ so slow<br /> +I heartily pitied him even before<br /> +I saw his pale brow and heerd the sharp hack<br /> +Of his troublesome cough, and plain enough lack<br /> +Of more’n enough power to bring to my door<br /> +That tremblin’ young body.<br /> +<br /> + +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span><br /> +<span class='indent25'> </span>“He hed a small pack––<br /> +A blanket an’ buckskin––but that wa’nt no lack<br /> +In them days when notions an’ fashions wuz slack;<br /> +When all a man needed, besides pick an’ pan,<br /> +Wuz a wallet o’ leather to tie up his dust––’R<br /> +a place to git grub-staked (that means to git trust<br /> +Till he found a good prospeck); an’ then he’d put in<br /> +His very best licks; fur in them days ’twuz sin<br /> +Fer a man strong o’ body, o’ wind an’ o’ limb<br /> +T’ hang erround loafin’ all day, ’twuz too thin.<br /> +<br /> +“Well, this puny feller hed grin’-stunlike grit,<br /> +But wuz clean tuckered out when my cabin he hit;<br /> +’N fell down a-faintin’ jist inside my door––<br /> +His eyes set ’n’ glassy––he seemed done fer, shore.<br /> +So I straightened him out, couldn’t do nothin’ more +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span><br /> +<br /> +Than to put back his hair an’ t’ dampen his brow,<br /> +An’ to feel fer his pulse––joy! I found it––slow<br /> +An’ flickery though, stoppin’ and startin’, an’ now<br /> +Gone ag’in; then it revived, but so faint, don’t you know,<br /> +That minute by minute I couldn’t hev said<br /> +Whether the feller wuz livin’ or dead.<br /> +<br /> +“All night I watched by him; an’ ’long a-to’rds light<br /> +I seed that a change hed come: so, honor bright!<br /> +I made up my mind that I’d save that young life<br /> +If it took me all summer. I’d fight<br /> +With grim death to a finish fer him.<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent34'> </span>“An’ so I begun.<br /> +I quit workin’ my claim<br /> +Where I’d git on an average (’pon my good name)<br /> +An ounce or more daily of number one gold.<br /> +An’ in them days we thought nothin’, you see,<br /> +Of layin’ by stuff fer a rainy day; we +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span><br /> +Hed plenty; the diggins wuz rich, an’ wuz thick<br /> +Scattered over the kentry. Most every crick<br /> +Hed plenty o’ gold in nuggets or dust––<br /> +An’ the man who wuz stingy hed ort to be cussed.<br /> +So I shouldered my task.<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent28'> </span>“It wuz wonderful how<br /> +The new life appeared to come back to my boy;<br /> +(Fer that’s what I called him––‘my boy’) an’ the joy<br /> +O’ perviden fer suthin’ besides my lone self<br /> +Made me happy. Y’ see, th’ experunce wuz new;<br /> +Fer I’d lived all alone ever since forty-two,<br /> +When, back in Ohio, I’d buried my wife<br /> +An’ baby. Since then I’d looked on my life<br /> +As a weary, onfriendly, detestable load.<br /> +So that’s why I lived all alone, don’t you see?<br /> +I didn’t love nothin’ and nothin’ loved me.<br /> +<br /> +“But now of young Josh––his name wuz Josh Clark––<br /> +He’d come frum ol’ York State––could sing like a lark–– +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span><br /> +Wuz finely brung up, an’ that mother o’ his,<br /> +A sister he tol’ me, an’ a girl he called Liz.<br /> +’D a give the hull earth if they only could know<br /> +If he wuz alive; but so hard-hearted, he<br /> +Would never be grateful to them nur to me.<br /> +Though I had no claim on him, yet it would seem<br /> +After all I hed done fer him, shorely some gleam<br /> +O’ thankfulness somewhere might some time be seen.<br /> +’Sides spendin’ my all I hed broken down too,<br /> +Wuz a shattered ol’ man, though but then fifty-two;<br /> +Fer I’d give up my health an’ my strength to pull through<br /> +My boy––fer I loved him, if ever men do.<br /> +But, no; it appeared that he hedn’t no heart.<br /> +Not once did he thank me, and never asked why<br /> +I nussed him to life, ’stid o’ lettin’ him die.<br /> + +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span><br /> +<br /> +“His wants wuz demands, his wishes commands,<br /> +An’ once in the dusk, as we set on the sands<br /> +Of a stream that run by, he reached with his hands<br /> +So quick an’ so blamed unexpected, you see,<br /> +Grabbed me by the hair an’ out with a knife,<br /> +An’ demanded my gold. I thought fer my life<br /> +He wuz jokin’; but no, when I seed that fierce look<br /> +Of murder an’ pillage, I knowed what I’d done;<br /> +I’d thawed out a viper upon my hearth-stun<br /> +An’ now wuz becomin’ its prey.<br /> +<br /> +<span class='indent29'> </span>“But, I’d none:<br /> +I’d spent all the surplus I hed to save him.<br /> +I’d missed all the summer an’ fall to nuss him<br /> +Who now like a tiger wuz takin’ my life.<br /> +‘Hol’ on, my dear Josh! Hol’ on, my dear boy!’<br /> +No further I got, fer his hands clutched my throat––<br /> +I squirmed myself loose, but grapplin’ my coat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span><br /> +He throwed me ag’in, now a madman, indeed.<br /> +His dirk-knife wuz raised. I said, ‘Do yer best.<br /> +I’ve give you now all that I ever possessed<br /> +But life. Take it now if you like!’ An’ he struck.<br /> +<br /> +“How long I laid there in the dark, I don’t know;<br /> +But when I kem to I wuz layin’ in bed,<br /> +An’ the people wuz talkin’ so easy an’ low,<br /> +An’ I knowed by the bandages too on my head<br /> +That I hed been nigh to the gates o’ the dead.<br /> +<br /> +“An’ ‘Where wuz Josh Clark?’ did you say? I don’t know.<br /> +He never wuz seen in the diggins below,<br /> +Ner heerd of in them parts ag’in, fer I know<br /> +He’d a-swung to the limb that come fust in the way;<br /> +Fer the boys in them days hed little to say,<br /> +But wuz mighty in doin’. So he got away. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span><br /> +<br /> +“So it seems that some people is jist so depraved<br /> +There ain’t a thing in ’em that ort to be saved.<br /> +’Twuz jist so with Josh, who I loved as a son;<br /> +He lived fer hisself an’ fer hisself alone.<br /> +’N’ ’at’s why I remarked at the fust of this yarn,<br /> +The thing ’at it’s cost me so dearly to larn––‘I panned him out over an’ over ag’in,<br /> +But found nary sign of a color.’”</p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +<a name='THE_WRAITH_OF_THE_BLIZZARD' id='THE_WRAITH_OF_THE_BLIZZARD'></a> +<h2>THE WRAITH OF THE BLIZZARD</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span></div> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>The night it was gloomy, the wind it was high;<br /> +And hollowly howling it swept through the sky.<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Southey</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>What matter how the night behaved?<br /> +What matter how the north wind raved?<br /></p> +<p class='ralign cg'>––<i>Whittier</i>.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span></div> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;font-size:1.4em;'>THE WRAITH OF THE BLIZZARD</p> +<p>We dread the unseen. Fear is always +enervating; sometimes even deadly. Who +has not fearsomely anticipated that which +never came and wasted valuable energy +and time in building bridges none are ever +to cross? The surgical patient actually suffers +more at sight of somber white-clad +nurses, and the thought of the operation, +than he does from the ordeal itself. It +may be that we subconsciously dread the +helpless state of unconsciousness into which +the anæsthetic plunges us, and hesitate at +a trip, no matter how short, into death’s +borderland, preferring to keep our own +hands as long as possible on the helm of +the ship of life.</p> +<p>I wonder why we become terror-stricken +at the thought of ghosts. The untutored +child needs only a hint to make him shy at +the dark; and a lad has to be pretty large +before he can walk far at night without +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +once in a while looking behind him, just to +be certain there is nothing following.</p> +<p>Thus spirits, spooks, bogies, wraiths, and +other uncanny apparitions are unintentional +inheritances of the race; a race that knows +little more about the impending and impinging +unseen than did the Saxon fathers +who gave us our spooky speech.</p> +<p>I once had an experience which grows in +interest as the years pass by. I had no +fear or thought of fear that night, and the +scenes of the evening were absolutely unannounced; +they entered upon the sleety +stage for whose violent acts I held no +program.</p> +<p>One afternoon I was to go to one of my +appointments, a mining town in Utah. In +order to relieve home cares I took with me +my four-year-old son, who thus would get +some novel entertainment as well. To the +buggy I hitched Jenny, the strawberry-roan +cayuse, and started for the distant point. +It was a little stormy all the way, and by +the time we had well begun the service it +had thickened so that a hard snow was +setting in. It was dead in the north and +continued with such strength that soon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +there appeared no slant to the falling +columns. By the time church was dismissed +the blizzard was on in full force, +and the roads were already so filled with +the new drifts that to return with the +buggy was hardly thinkable. I borrowed a +saddle, and leaving the little lad with +friends, started for home, where I was +under appointment to preach that evening. +My way lay in the north, in the very teeth +of the raging storm. With head tucked +down, I trusted the reins to Jenny, who +had never disappointed me in many a +mountain trip, but I had not gone far until +I found the storm was at my back. Peering +sharply through the fast falling darkness, I +discovered that the mountains were on my +left instead of on my right, as they should +have been. Jenny had turned tail to the +storm. Feeling herself unwilling to face the +arctic onset, she was retreating.</p> +<p>Only the dire necessity of the occasion +made me compel her to face the torturing +attack of the icy shafts that were hurling +themselves on us like steel points.</p> +<p>We were forced, Jenny and I, to abandon +the only road, now drift-filled, and take an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +unbroken way through the sagebrush, junipers, +buckbrush, and other tangled chaparral, +where there was no trail at all, and +farther to the right, that I might keep an +eye on the mountains and not get turned +around again. I felt the force of Cardinal +Newman’s immortal hymn,</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>... amid the encircling gloom,<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Lead thou me on!<br /> +The night is dark and I am far from home;<br /> +<span class='indent2'> </span>Lead thou me on!</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>We had not gone far until I began to +hear the sweetest music. I could not +imagine from whence it fell, as I knew +there was not a human home in all that +plain between the two settlements. Then I +heard personal conversation; in fact, the +night was full of pleasant travelers. The +awful storm seemed not to affect them in +the least. They seemed to have an open +road too, while we were plunging through +deep snowdrifts, my feet already dragging +along their tops.</p> +<p>When the first carriage load came up I +saw it was only a desert juniper. The +boreal gale sweeping through its shivering +branches made converse in the music of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +the wild, Jenny and I being the only seat-holders +in that grand opera. Soon another +caravan of belated folks drove up; but it +was only a load of hay that had been over-tipped. +Others came, but they were only +bushes or some inanimate object. There +was little life out on that perishing night.</p> +<p>After hours of fearsome and benumbing +travel, Jenny stumbled with me into the +little home town. A good feed of oats and +a warm shelter doubtless ended the story +happily for her. But for me––the ghost of +the desert and the wraith of the blizzard +had become real. They spoke to me that +night and I understood.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +<a name='THE_GREAT_NORTHWEST' id='THE_GREAT_NORTHWEST'></a> +<h2>THE GREAT NORTHWEST</h2> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span></div> +<blockquote> +<p>God had sifted three kingdoms to find the wheat +for this planting.––<i>Longfellow</i>.</p> +<p>Westward the course of empire takes its way.––<i>Berkeley</i>.</p> +<p>In the wilderness shall waters break out, and +streams in the desert. And the parched ground +shall become a pool, and the thirsty land springs +of water.––<i>Isaiah</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></div> +<p style='text-align:center; margin-top:2em;font-size:1.4em;'>THE GREAT NORTHWEST</p> +<p>Possibly there are those who find themselves +thinking that Western tales are travelers’ +tales and must be taken with “a grain +of salt.” Some also say that the man who +crosses the Missouri never is able to tell +the truth again; this is crude, I know, and +in some cases true, but they who are so +afflicted were just the same before they ever +saw the Missouri.</p> +<p>Our waterless areas were considered by +Captain Bonneville (as told by Washington +Irving) utterly barren and forever hopeless +wastes. In Astoria––chapter thirty-four––these +words are used:</p> +<p>“In this dreary desert of sand and gravel +of the Snake here and there is a thin and +scanty herbage, insufficient for the horse or +the buffalo. Indeed, these treeless wastes +between the Rocky Mountains and the Pacific +are even more desolate and barren than +the naked, upper prairies on the Atlantic +side; they present vast desert tracts that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +must ever defy cultivation, and interpose +dreary and thirsty wilds between the habitations +of man, in traversing which the +wanderer will often be in danger of perishing.”</p> +<p>So thought Captain Bonneville; so wrote +the matchless American <i>littérateur</i>, Washington +Irving, of “Sunnyside,” author and +authority, creator of The Life of George +Washington, and the Broken Heart, which +made Lord Byron weep. The doughty +Captain Benjamin L. E. Bonneville, who +died as late as 1878, obtaining leave of +absence and a furlough, endured the +pleasure of hardships common to the explorer, +and through his happy biographer +added the Trail to literature; but his +eye of vision did not see these great +stones of the commonwealth, Utah, Wyoming, +Oregon, Washington, and Idaho. +The very region so carefully pictured above +as the dreariest of deserts, a veritable +Western Sahara, is the exact location of +Idaho and a large portion of Oregon; a +region perfectly adapted to the sustenance +of immense population and intense development.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span></div> +<p>Moses understood all the wisdom of the +Egyptians. We do not, but we do know +that the biggest thing in an arid country +is the ditch. America’s triumph to date +in the twentieth century is the completion +of the Panama Ditch. The ditch is in +Idaho more valuable by far than the land, +for without it the parched soil is practically +worthless, being an area of shimmering sand, +where the ash-colored and dust-covered +sagebrush breeds the loathsome horned +toad, the rough-and-ready rattlesnake, and +the slinking, night-hunting coyote, which +preys on the lithe-limbed, loping jack rabbit.</p> +<p>The modern Western American is rapidly +learning a modified wisdom of the ancient +irrigators of Egypt, and already knows how +to drain the irrigated acres and leech +these old alluvial plains. From the days +when the frosty glacial plowman ran his +deep basaltic furrows for the majestic Snake +and other streams, these gorges of nature +had been only mossy beds over which lazily +slid the unmeasured volumes down to the +western and “bitter moon-mad sea.” Now +man, the mightiest of all magicians, has +lured the liquid serpents from their age-long +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +couches, cut them into thousands of +smaller streams, and sent them bravely +abroad on the face of the protesting desert, +drowning its death and making it to bloom +and blossom.</p> +<p>As a concrete instance of the artificial +possibilities of Idaho and contiguous regions, +I will here instance a statement made +for me by the Rev. H. W. Parker, superintendent +of Pocatello District, and resident +of Twin Falls, under date of October, 1914: +“Where ten years ago this very minute +there was not a fence nor a furrow (only +the conditions above described by Washington +Irving) there are now such municipalities +as Twin Falls, Filer, Rupert, Burley, +and others soon to be as fine. As +pastor in 1904, my first official trip to Twin +Falls was made on July 14. I found one or +two frame buildings and some tents stuck +around in the sagebrush; some streets had +been marked out, but no grading had been +done. Dust, heat, and sagebrush were the +main features of the place. In October I +preached the first sermon ever delivered by +any minister in the new village. The congregation +numbered forty-one. On February +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +5, 1905, I organized the first church +with seventeen members; on May 23, 1909, +we dedicated the present edifice at a cost +of $18,000, exclusive of the lots.</p> +<p>“To-day this church has a membership of +more than five hundred. This youngster +has turned back into the treasuries of the +denomination in regular collections more +than $3,000. The city has to-day seven +thousand people. There are between four +and five miles of asphalt-paved streets, a +perfect sewer system, and cement sidewalks +throughout the whole municipality. An investment +of $120,000 has been made in two +splendidly equipped grade school buildings, +besides a high school costing a quarter of a +million dollars. These combined schools +have an enrollment of over two thousand +pupils with a teaching force of above sixty; +the high school graduated forty-eight last +commencement. There is not a saloon in +the entire county.”</p> +<p>Surely “progress” is here spelled in large +letters.</p> +<p>Years ago, with the narrow strip along +the Atlantic in mind, Longfellow wrote, +“God had sifted three kingdoms to find +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +the wheat for this planting.” And as the +mighty empire took its course toward the +West of limitless opportunity the good God +kept the sieve running full time, so that +to-day</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'>The best of the best<br /> +Are in the Northwest.</p> +</td></tr></table> +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +<img src='images/p0182a-insert.jpg' alt='' title='' width='331' height='361' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +END OF THE TRAIL<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: 3.19 --> +<!-- timestamp: Fri Oct 23 18:48:28 -0600 2009 --> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30320 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/30320-h/images/f0001-image.jpg b/30320-h/images/f0001-image.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bb5b7a3 --- /dev/null +++ b/30320-h/images/f0001-image.jpg diff --git a/30320-h/images/f0002-image.jpg b/30320-h/images/f0002-image.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6d5025f --- /dev/null +++ b/30320-h/images/f0002-image.jpg diff --git a/30320-h/images/p0064a-insert.jpg b/30320-h/images/p0064a-insert.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..77bddfe --- /dev/null +++ b/30320-h/images/p0064a-insert.jpg diff --git a/30320-h/images/p0094a-insert.jpg b/30320-h/images/p0094a-insert.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8955719 --- /dev/null +++ b/30320-h/images/p0094a-insert.jpg diff --git a/30320-h/images/p0182a-insert.jpg b/30320-h/images/p0182a-insert.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dea0118 --- /dev/null +++ b/30320-h/images/p0182a-insert.jpg |
