XVI
Sunday at San José. — The Big Trees. — The Fruit Farm at Gilroy. — Hotel del Monte. — The Ramble on the Beach. — The Eighteen-Mile Drive. — Dolce far Niente.
We stayed at San José over Sunday, and attended church morning and evening, furnishing from our number the preacher for both services. The church had a good choir of men and boys, surpliced, which was, very sensibly, placed near the organ in one of the transepts. A much better arrangement this is than putting all in the compass of a small chancel. To have choristers close up to the altar is not a commendable use, though very general. The structural choir of a cathedral gives ample room for singers and worshippers, with dignified and clear space about the chancel proper. The ordinary parish church, in its whole extent, should be treated as if it were just such a structural choir, with the singers well among the people in raised seats, for the prominence of their office and the better effect of the music.
We had time on Monday to take another stroll among the roses and palm trees of San José, and then the car "Lucania" in the forenoon took all our party, except one, to Santa Cruz, for an excursion to the Big Trees, about ten miles from there. All this I missed. From the leaves of the diary of one of the party I quote the impression of the trip:
"When we reached Santa Cruz we found a four-horse stage and a carriage awaiting us, into which we got, and were driven back into the woods about ten miles, along a road that wound round with a deep cañon on one side, at the bottom of which ran a river. We finally forded this river, and went into deeper woods, where we found the 'big trees.' They were a grand sight, these solemn old trees, said to be four thousand years old, some of them towering up three hundred feet or so, and sixty and ninety feet in circumference. We all got into one, and our party of thirteen had plenty of room left for several more people. This tree was called after General Frémont, who lived in it while surveying in this region. Before that, it was occupied by a trapper, whose children were born in it. There are sixty acres of these trees which have been preserved from the ruthless greed that is rapidly destroying those priceless giants of the ages."
It was a regret to me that I could not have seen the mystery of those venerable trees, but I had a duty to perform in visiting some relatives residing near Gilroy. It gave me a nearer impression of the Santa Clara Valley and its life. My visit was to a fruit ranch entirely given over to the growth of prunes. The part of the great plain where I was, is cut up into small farms, and these are tended, usually, by the members of the family. The work is limited and light. After the trees are planted, nature, pretty much, does all the rest. When the fruit is ripe is the time of most applied and constant labor. Then, under the shadows of the live-oaks, the whole family attend to the curing of the fruit, which has to be dipped in lye and dried in the open air. It is a pretty and pastoral occupation; and with a horse, and a cow, and some poultry, an easy and comfortable life can be had. It lacks, however, the robust discipline of legitimate farming, with its varied enterprises, and constant changes of crops, of times and seasons. It is a lotos kind of existence, and when I heard of the meeting of reading circles, and of whist clubs, in which regular accounts of rubbers were kept, all through the winter, I knew that leisure was ample and life easy.
While in Gilroy I saw the little Episcopal church, and enjoyed the happy pride of the old English gentleman, who for more than thirty years, had been senior warden, and had seen Breck and the other California pioneers who labored arduously for the Church in early days. I understood that Breck had planted the two eucalyptus trees which guarded the entrance porch of the little building, trees which have now grown up to be quite large and imposing.
Leaving Gilroy, I awaited our Santa Cruz party at a junction somewhere, and joined them for our run to the Hotel del Monte, and Monterey.
As in all Santa Clara Valley, our way was through fruits, and flowers, and rich vegetation, until at last, we were once more at anchor, in the grounds of the Hotel del Monte.
After tea we wandered out in the twilight through the umbrageous woods, and found that we were separated from the ocean only by a fringe of trees and shrubs, and some sand dunes, over which we had an exciting climb.
The lonely walk, with the roar of the breakers in our ears, and their white foam breaking upon the beach, was a charming close for our day, whether we had seen the solemnity of the giant sequoia, or the humbler conditions of rural life on a ranch.
Stunted cedars in contorted shapes, battered and twisted by storms, began to look more weird in the gathering gloom, but before the light had quite faded out, we had filled our hands with bunches of a pale pink flower, like a morning-glory, with which the sands were dotted. The little fragile flower clung tenaciously to the shifting ground in which it grew, and gathered from all its hopelessness of surroundings, a vigorous life, much of tender beauty, and a fragrance which was refreshing. Nature always shows us how to make the best possible use of any environment whatever. Here, in sands which shifted, amid storms which blew, in utter humility and loneliness, the flower developed firmness, beauty, and fragrance, and gave evidence of constant vigor and of useful life.
We had two full, glorious days at Del Monte, and they were hours of utter enjoyment. The hotel and its well-kept and extensive grounds were enough for a week, at the least, of intense pleasure. The site is a promontory of sand dunes, covered with pine and other native forest trees. The surrounding waters, the yellow sands, the clear, delicious air, the equable climate, the illimitable ocean—these were the raw material for the exquisite result, which one sees at Del Monte.
In the immediate neighborhood of the hotel the landscape gardener has done his best. There, one hundred sixty acres of well-kept grounds feast the eye. Irrigation brings the life-giving current to the sandy soil, and, while we look almost, the turf is green and velvety, the flowers bloom, and the fruits appear.
Nothing can be more bewitching than the winding drives to the hotel. Great forest glades intercept the view, and give impression of still greater distance; or, a vista opens before one, and the huge pines tower up, their naked trunks wreathed closely to their topmost branches, with ivy and other creeping plants.
Wherever one looks there is evidence of intelligent care. One sees it in the rich flower-beds, models of good taste; in the arboretum; in the cactus garden; in the Maze; in the unexpected groups of cultivated plants, where the enclosed garden joins on to the outlying wild. And, in this wild itself, what beauty does one find! The great ocean, the cliffs, the sea-lions, the Chinese shell-gatherers; the winding drive of eighteen miles, by ocean, through rich land, and through the wild-wood, winding back again to the hotel, and all its graceful beauty and luxury. The place has all the sumptuousness of an English ducal palace standing on its ancestral grounds, with the added charm here, of space, and vastness, and that the whole place belongs to every eye which sees it—that is, if the hand can dip into the pocket and pay the necessary bills. But even without this, it does seem to belong to everybody in a certain true sense. The American hotel of every class, has about it a generous air of freedom for all, which is most remarkable.
We were independent of the place in our own well-appointed car, and yet how freely all was at our bestowal; the corridors, the music, the reading and reception rooms, and all the magic perfection of the gardens. All was free as air, and we could wander at will, by the lovely lake, or in the charming gardens, or in the splendid hotel, without let or hindrance.
Here is a place where one might enjoy a thorough good rest, lapped in soft airs, close to the throbbing bosom of mother earth, within sight and sound of the sea, and housed in a hostelry which on every side speaks of comfort and refinement. There is no gaud or glitter, but ever the suggestion of home and all that home means.
On one of our days there we took the eighteen-mile drive which I have incidentally mentioned above. It brought us through the old town of Monterey, a little sleepy place, with many relics yet in it, of the days of '49. Houses still remain, of which the bricks, or iron plates, used in their construction, were brought from Liverpool or Australia, or other points, when upon the shores of Monterey the fierce tide of adventure dashed high, made eager for effort by the thirst for gold.
During our stay at Monterey we—that is, some of us—passed hours on hours strolling on the sands, and reclining in utter abandon on the shore. It was, to the full, the unutterable delight of an entirely irresponsible existence, which took no thought of time, not even of its flight, and luxuriated in the clear, pure air, the dashing breakers at our feet, and the blue heavens above.
There was little of minute attraction upon the beach. It seemed as if all was on too huge a scale for mere minor attractions. There were no rocks to sit upon, but a whale's huge skull, half buried in the sand, made a good enough seat, and débris of that colossal character was all about us.
But it mattered not. The very place itself, and the great Pacific, stretching off westward to the Orient, gave scope enough for the wings of our imagination, and we had present pleasure also, as we lay, in complete idleness, prone upon the warm sands.
The declining sun, however, warned us to retrace our steps once more to the "Lucania," where all the pleasures of home awaited us, and the varied experience of our day gave us conversation until bedtime.
But before that hour, we were on our way back once more to San José, where, the next day, we spent some hours renewing our former pleasant experiences, even with greater zest. Our ladies, who went out for a walk, came back laden with gifts of flowers from hospitable friends, the acquaintances of the moment; and, as we started from San José for Oakland, our car looked like a bower of roses, laden with perfume.
XVII
Oakland Ferry-house and Pier. — The Russian Church. — Off Eastward. — Crossing the Mountains. — Hydraulic Mining. — Stop at Reno. — Nevada Deserts. — Ogden. — The Playing Indian.
As we turned our backs on San José, we began to feel that we were heading for home, and were descending from romance and flowers, to the more commonplace conditions of existence. I question if it would be good for us to lead too long, the ideal and refined Bohemian life, such as a well-appointed car, and no care, affords.
It was with a sort of shock, that, after hours of travel, through smiling plain and upland, we found ourselves in the prosaic environment of Oakland.
Our car was run out to the end of a pier, which stretched for miles, it seemed, into the bay. The vast expanse of water about us, the great city away off across the bay, and the frail-looking, but yet perfectly safe, piling on which our car had place, gave a tone of empty loneliness to everything, and we could not but feel gloomy.
We were becoming fastidious. We wanted "roses, roses all the way," and absolutely were oblivious to the energy which had created this huge pier, crowned with the really splendid ferry-house, and a ferry-house is no uninteresting thing. How little do we think that the whole ferry business in the United States, especially in great centres such as New York, presents the most distinctively American thing we have; the very triumph of common sense and directness of means to the proposed end.
We availed ourselves of the splendid ferry here at Oakland, for a little run once more in San Francisco. My errand was to try and hunt up the Russo-Greek church, and see something of it. I got to the place, and saw the exterior of what was once a magnificent residence, but now a decayed mansion in an unfashionable part of the city. It was given an ecclesiastical effect by being topped with several melon-shaped domes of zinc, brightly painted; these, and the pale blue on walls and doors and windows, gave quite the effect of Russia. My visit, however, was fruitless. The fathers were all out, and a servitor in attendance opened the door, only a few inches, for a cautious parley. That glimpse showed me some rather rich paintings in the interior of the dwelling, but I had to rush back to our car without waiting for the return of the fathers, or the view of the church, which, I am sure, they would be glad to show me.
Once off from Oakland, we were indeed on the home-stretch, but we had the mountains to climb, and much more to see.
We passed through Sacramento, the capital of the State, merely giving it a glance, as we journeyed on into the glory of the mountains.
But of these mountains, how shall we speak! It was all a grand crescendo of magnificence, until the snowsheds, erected over the tracks, shut out the splendor of the scenery from our view. But even the glimpses through the chinks were worth looking at. We saw far beneath us the silver shield of a lonely and lovely lake, where in spirit we went. We saw, too, the glory of sunset tints upon the frozen peaks of distant heights. We saw, too, the great lines of the mountain-sides, in successive sweeps, pine-clad and lovely, but gigantic in their vast and repeated lines. The whole ride through those sheds was tantalizing and yet interesting. It certainly was a daring thing to conceive a protection from the winter's snow, of such extent; and to keep it all in repair, ever watched, and tended, must be an enormous task. It was a splendid sensation to climb those mountains on our iron horse, but yet one would fain see them better, and loiter a little among the camps and mining towns, and know more of the life.
My attention was aroused to the fearful effects of hydraulic mining as we journeyed on ever upward. Here and there, one could see the fearful work which ensued from such methods. The whole face of a mountain would be torn off bare, and the valley beneath filled in with refuse, to the depth of three hundred feet. It all looked like a great wound on the venerable mountains, while the river-beds in the valleys were choked, and distorted from their channels.
A brakeman who was showing me a pocketful of nuggets and specimens, laughed me to scorn when I bemoaned the scarred and tortured look of the hills in sight. "What," said he, "are mountains good for but to get such stuff as that out of them?" as he tossed up a fragment of gold in the air, and caught it on his open and greedy hand. But, after all, how much more important mountains are as mountains, than mere gold-bearing protuberances, and how much more precious rivers are as life-givers to man and beast, rather than gold-bearers in their shifting sands.
We were glad to know that legislative enactments have been made upon such mining processes, and that certain restrictions and limitations are in force, to protect nature against wasteful greed, and the reckless spoliation and destruction of mountain-side and valley stream.
After our climb up the mountain, towards evening we found ourselves at Reno. A wait for supper is made here (we were, of course, independent of such wayside places), during which we stretched our legs on the platform, looking at the many odd-looking people in view.
A freakish notion got into me to be odd also, so, just to astonish the natives, I donned my Japanese kimino, made of camel's-hair cloth of light buff hue, reaching down to my heels. With this on, I dared one of our ladies to walk with me, offering her my arm. This she did, with a good grace, and we certainly were the observed, if not the admired, of all observers.
Some of our party followed us at a little distance to gather up the remarks. "Here comes Brigham Young, I guess," was one of them; another was, "That's Pope Leo, ain't it?" and yet another was, "No, it's Bishop Sommers." But in the midst of the fun, of which of course I seemed to be oblivious, my eye caught the grave face of a simon-pure Jap, in American dress, standing by, with eyes, as wide open as he could get them, evidently mystified at my appearance. He could vouch certainly for the genuineness of the kimino, but thetout ensemblewas too much for him. I felt really sorry for the poor little Japanese, he looked so lonesome, all alone in the crowd. Possibly he might have felt badly that his possible brother countryman did not stop and speak with him!
After leaving Reno, our way took us through Nevada, which we passed in the night. When day dawned upon us we found ourselves in desolate places, more lonely desert than anything we had yet seen. The following poem by Charlotte Perkins Stetson most vividly describes the death-like aspect of the place. It is called—
A NEVADA DESERT"An aching, blinding, barren, endless plain;Corpse-colored with white mould of alkali,Hairy with sage-brush, shiny after rain,Burnt with the sky's hot scorn, and still againSullenly burning back against the sky."Dull green, dull brown, dull purple, and dull gray,The hard earth white with ages of despair,Slow-crawling, turbid streams where dead reeds sway,Low wall of sombre mountains far away,And sickly steam of geysers on the air."
A NEVADA DESERT
A NEVADA DESERT
"An aching, blinding, barren, endless plain;Corpse-colored with white mould of alkali,Hairy with sage-brush, shiny after rain,Burnt with the sky's hot scorn, and still againSullenly burning back against the sky.
"An aching, blinding, barren, endless plain;
Corpse-colored with white mould of alkali,
Hairy with sage-brush, shiny after rain,
Burnt with the sky's hot scorn, and still again
Sullenly burning back against the sky.
"Dull green, dull brown, dull purple, and dull gray,The hard earth white with ages of despair,Slow-crawling, turbid streams where dead reeds sway,Low wall of sombre mountains far away,And sickly steam of geysers on the air."
"Dull green, dull brown, dull purple, and dull gray,
The hard earth white with ages of despair,
Slow-crawling, turbid streams where dead reeds sway,
Low wall of sombre mountains far away,
And sickly steam of geysers on the air."
In due time we reached Ogden, a busy-looking place. We did not leave our car, however, for any inspection, waiting for the short run to Salt Lake City, where we were to spend the night and the next day.
In the midst of all the car-tracks, and the many signs of commercial activity, a capering Indian, with a blanket flung round his shoulders, amused us by his childish glee and activity. He was in the exuberance of his wild freedom, among all the business and anxieties which civilization brings. What did he care for it all! He was having a good run, and, for the fun of it, was racing with a young fellow on horseback, and was making rather good time, too. I was interested in this child of the past, this offspring of wild life, as without thought or heed for anything but the present moment, he lived out his day.
In a short time we were at the city of the Mormons, seeing in the distance, as we approached it, the spectral waters of the Great Salt Lake.
XVIII
Salt Lake City. — The Governor of Utah. — The Zion Coöperative Store. — Thoughts on Mormonism. — The Semi-annual Conference. — The Eisteddfod. — The Mormon Temple. — Organ Music. — Panoramic View of Valley. — Statue of Brigham Young. — Excursion to Saltair. — Departure from Salt Lake City.
We had a full day in Salt Lake City, altogether too short a time for that interesting place, but we made the most of it and saw much.
We were favored with letters of introduction to Governor Wells, whom we found in the State House, in most democratic fashion. He seemed a perfect type of Utah, as seen at its best, cheerful and healthy, utterly unconventional. He seemed kindly by nature, and not from mere rules of etiquette. He received us in the office of the secretary of state; and, in his eagerness to arrange for some pleasure for us, in our short stay, he did not even think of asking us to be seated.
An additional carriage was soon hospitably placed at our disposal, in the kindest manner, and in it the governor himself gave us his company. We went first to the great Zion Coöperative Store, a huge establishment run by a joint-stock company, all members of the Church of the Latter-Day Saints, or Mormons, as their more familiar designation runs. Here, one could see that mixture of everyday life and religion, which is such a marked feature of the Mormon development.
Mormonism, sprung from American soil, has developed within itself the ideas of Church and State, and the limitations of individual freedom and responsibility, which one would imagine only possible under the most extreme conditions of belief in the divine right of kings, and the more positive divine right of a visible church.
There is nothing new under the sun, and the principles which we supposed America never could brook, are here seen in embryo, or in fact, by the thoughtful observer. In view of the comfort and happiness which one sees in Utah, and the mutual sympathy which the ideas I have mentioned exhibit, one is forced to pause and ask himself, May there not be an object-lesson for us in all this? May we not have thrown away from our social state, with too stern a hand, all reliance upon churchly influence, and exaggerated also that idea of personal independence, so dear to us, forgetting that the individual, in all the relations of his life, is a part of the state, a member of the body of the nation, and should be the object of its sympathy, its care, and its government, at all times and in all places?
It was my second visit to Salt Lake, a place which has always interested me because of the social and religious problems which one sees there. In my last visit I happened casually to meet a priest of the Roman Catholic Church, and asked him offhand what he thought of things around him. He looked at me fixedly for a moment, and then said, "There is not an organization on earth that can compare to Mormonism, in its wide scope, its great grasp, and its practical application."
I am inclined to think he is right. It was my accidental privilege to be in the city, during my former visit, while the semi-annual conference of the Latter-Day Saints of Utah Valley was being held.
The huge turtle-shell Tabernacle, easily seating twelve thousand people, was filled daily. I saw the rank and file of Mormons, the sturdy agriculturists and their wives, the latter like what one remembers of Primitive Methodists, apparently utterly oblivious of all personal adornment; they were, however, crowned with a maternity of which they seemed proud, as they held their children in their arms.
At one end of the great ellipse of that Tabernacle rose up, tier on tier of church officers, grade by grade, the Seventies, the Bishops, the Angels, the Apostles, up to the tripartite headship of three Presidents, the first of which was Elder Woodruff, venerable, simple, and wise in appearance. Back of all was the great organ, and a well-trained choir of three hundred singers.
I heard a number of speeches or sermons, all offhand, and some of them rambling, but the aside excursions were usually on practical matters, or to emphasize the fact that the Latter-Day Saints were the salt of the earth, the power to lead this nation upward from its bloodshed and wrong-doing; and hints were also given, here and there, that God would yet avenge the blood of the prophet slain at Nauvoo.
The most striking speech was that made by Mr. Cannon. He looked like a well-set-up New York business man, faultlessly dressed in an Albert frock coat, with rubicund countenance and flowing mutton-chop whiskers. It was absolutely refreshing to hear him, in his clear-cut sentences, declare that he was then and there speaking under the direct inspiration of the Holy Ghost. The President, Elder Woodruff, at the conclusion of the meeting, gave his sanction to all that was said, thus sealing it as inspired, by his declaration.
A superb anthem by Gounod then floated out over that vast audience, as all remained seated, taking in the power of the music at their ease. At its close Elder Woodruff rose, and all rose with him. With a trembling voice he blessed all in the triune name of God, and the whole assembly scattered in a few moments through the surrounding doors of the Tabernacle.
The Eisteddfod of our Welsh citizens was in full blast in Salt Lake at the same time, and at night I attended the concluding concert. It was an enthusiastic occasion. There were strangers from points quite distant, and the place was packed. The acoustic qualities of the Tabernacle gave wonderful power to both organ and voices, and the effect of the whole was very fine.
While I was scanning the audience and choir with my opera-glass, one of the ushers asked me if he might look through it. Of course he could. But I noticed that he kept pretty steadily to one point in the choir. On remarking that fact to him, he laughed and said, "Yes, I was looking at my best girl; there she is, near the centre, dressed in heliotrope crêpe." I looked, too, and saw a remarkably pretty young woman. He further told me that he was a Mormon, and so was his sweetheart; that they were going to marry, and that they were both opposed to polygamy. He was a bright young fellow, and in our conversation he told me that he had been admitted to some of the higher grades in the Temple, and that there were Mormons of the lower type, who never could get inside its walls.
This leads me to speak of the strange combination of utter, naked simplicity in the ordinary worship of the Mormons, and the extreme of ritual observances which have place in the secrecy of the Temple. In the Tabernacle, when I first saw it, there was not a symbol of any kind visible, no cross, no flower, no sign. In my recent visit, however, in honor, possibly, of the new Statehood of the former Territory, the Star of Utah, draped at each side by the Stars and Stripes, appeared over the organ, and some motto, which I forget, at the other end.
The Mormon Temple is a huge structure of cut granite, brought from the neighboring mountains on canals constructed for the purpose. It is surmounted by six pinnacles of considerable height, and as seen from a distance, has a good effect. In architecture it is, however, quite nondescript, but doubtless admirably adapted for its purposes. It was thrown open to invited guests among the Gentiles, or non-Mormons, the morning before its consecration, for a few hours' private view. I have been told that the various rooms and passages were quite gorgeous and impressive in their furnishing and decorations. Since then all such visitors have been shut out, the only entrance thereto has been kept closed, and will be, as the Mormons say, until the second coming of Christ.
The great building stands in its own grounds, surrounded by flowers and shrubs, kept in beautiful order. Outsiders can approach to within eight or ten feet of the front door, but no farther.
A small building at one side gives admission to the faithful, who enter therefrom, to the Temple itself, by means of a connecting underground passage.
Mormonism is a most interesting exhibition of Primitive Methodism, of socialism in certain of its aspects, of Judaism, Freemasonry, and ancient Gnostic ideas, all combined with a compact hierarchy, which includes various orders of priests, the whole thing in perfect working order, taking thought for all, in all things, both of soul, mind, body, and estate.
We were certainly charmingly treated by the Mormons we met, and one must have for them respect and admiration. It did me good also to see one of the ladies who were with us, gowned in exquisite taste, quite a contrast to the rank and file of the Tabernacle. Her costume was a symphony in green, carried out in all its details perfectly, even to the gloves, the sunshade, and its malachite handle. We cannot soon forget the hospitality, the grace, and the sweetness which made us at home in Salt Lake City, and asked us to come again.
I think I cannot do better to close this Salt Lake chapter than to quotein extensothe very full notes from Mrs. Morgan's diary, which here I do:
"At tenA.M.the carriages came to take us out, and we drove first to the State House, where we found Governor Wells, to whom Dr. Humphreys had an introduction. The governor received us most kindly, and he and Mr. and Mrs. Hammond came driving with us, and pointed out the various objects of interest. We first drove through the business streets, visiting a large department store, and from there to the Mormon Tabernacle, which is a very peculiar building, something like an enormous turtle, the dome roof coming low down and resting on brick buttresses. Between these buttresses are large doors, so that, it is said, this huge building, able to hold twelve thousand people, can be emptied in four minutes.
"Inside, a large gallery runs all round, and we walked to the opposite end, where we distinctly heard a pin dropped at the place from which we started, such are the perfect acoustic properties of the house."
I may here add that a really gruesome effect was also produced by the mere rubbing together of the hands of the gentleman who dropped the pin. The distinct swish-swish of the contacting palms was terribly audible.
Mrs. Morgan proceeds to tell us further:
"The organist kindly played us a couple of selections, and, whether the organ was unusually good, or whether it was the effect of the building, I cannot say, but I never enjoyed music more. We afterwards all joined in singing 'My Country, 'tis of Thee.'
"The Temple is a handsome building in the same enclosure, built of granite, but 'Gentiles' are not admitted to the inside.
"We then were driven past the different residences of Brigham Young: the Lion House, where three of his widows still reside; the Bee Hive, and the house where his favorite wife, Amelia Folsom, a cousin of ex-President Cleveland's wife, resided. Brigham Young had seventeen wives, and fifty-seven children. We passed through the Eagle Gate, erected by Brigham Young, seeing also a fine site where he intended to build a college or seat of learning. We then went to a point where we had a beautiful view of the valley in which the city of Salt Lake lies, and a most remarkable and exquisite view it was. All around were the grand, snow-capped mountains, guarding and holding, as it were, in the hollow of their hands, the city, with its wide streets, and lines of straight, tall Lombardy poplars, and its thousands of little homes, small and cosy, usually not more than one story in height. Of course there were mansions and houses of more pretentious aspect, but it seemed to me essentially the workingmen's home.
"The statue of Brigham Young adorns the centre of the town, and while one cannot but abhor certain of his religious views, one cannot but acknowledge that he was a far-seeing man of great ability.
"It is stated that, great as has been the growth of the city, it has not reached the limit laid out for it by Brigham Young, when he and his handful of followers first settled in the then arid and desolate plain, with its brooding circle of white-tipped hills.
"We returned to our car for dinner, and afterwards the governor arrived, bringing with him Colonel and Mrs. Clayton. Our car, at the governor's request, was attached to the regular passenger train to Saltair, a point some five miles distant, on Great Salt Lake. We found there a vast pavilion and bathing establishment, capable of accommodating thousands. The water of the lake is so strongly impregnated with salt, that nothing except a sort of minute shrimp lives in it. It was too early in the season for us to take a dip. We were assured that it was impossible to sink in the water.
"On our way back we passed Colonel Clayton's salt beds, into which the water is pumped and left to evaporate. The salt which remains is piled into great heaps. Some of it, in its crude state, is shipped to the silver mines, where it is used in the reducing of silver from the ore. Some of the salt is taken to the refining houses, to be manufactured into the article of domestic use. We spent a pleasant hour in the great pavilion at Saltair, and then returned in the car to the city, where our kind friends took leave of us, Mrs. Clayton telling me, before going, that I greatly resembled a daughter of Brigham Young's by his first wife! As Mrs. Clayton herself was of the Mormon faith, as was also Governor Wells, I took it, as it was intended to be, as a compliment."
Night was settling down upon us as we turned eastward from Salt Lake City, with faces homeward bound.
The picturesque desert, with its purple hills and terraced mountains, was all concealed by the darkness. At the early morning hour we reached Glenwood Springs, but decided not to stay there, and continued on without delay to Colorado Springs, reaching there on the evening of a day, never to be forgotten, of which we will tell in the next chapter.
XIX
Glenwood Springs. — The Pool. — The Vapor Baths. — Through the Cañons. — Leadville. — Colorado Products. — Cañons in New York.
When we reached Glenwood Springs, it was in the early morning. The place from the railroad station does not look inviting, and so it was decided to push on to Denver.
This was a loss, for Glenwood Springs has many advantages, worth seeing, and a hotel of real comfort and elegance. The hot springs there are quite extensive, and the medicinal baths are delightful. The bathing places are in the highest style of art, elegantly fitted up with all that modern appliances, following ancient models, can accomplish. There is also a huge, open-air swimming-pool, filled with water, from the hot springs, giving most luxurious enjoyment.
It was my good fortune, on a former visit, to enjoy both it, and the further pleasure of a natural vapor bath within the rock recesses of one of the mountains. It was a weird experience. It was late one evening, and I happened to be the only bather there. The negro attendant, a most obliging fellow, took me in charge. Under his directions, after disrobing, he gave me a shower bath of cold water, and then, with a wet towel on my head, he ushered me into a rocky cavern. Some boards extended over fissures in the ground, from whence one could hear the gurgling of the boiling springs far beneath. The rocks overhead leaned against one another, and their great crevices were dark with shadows. There were a few plain wooden benches, blackened with the sulphur fumes; but, as if to assure one that the savage-looking place was really tame, after all, an electric light, in full glare, hung down from above, making the strange surroundings visible in all their mystery of heat beneath, and blackness below and beyond. I watched the experiment of the vapor upon myself, and soon was in a profuse perspiration. My faithful negro cautioned me not to be too long in my first attempt, so I was soon out again to get the protection of another wet towel on my head. After that, all was enjoyment. The whole experience was unique, and in due time I had the further luxury of a good rub down, and a lounge for some time on a couch, helped on also, by a cup of good, black coffee. I could scarcely tell which was best; to float in sulphur water in the open air, with others, under the bright light of day, in the big pool; or, to be utterly alone in the clefts of the everlasting mountains, surrounded by their mysterious warmth, and melted by their embrace. It seemed to me the last ought to have the preference.
As I have said, our party decided to press on from Glenwood. Hours were precious on the homeward run, and to have a whole day for the wonders of the Colorado mountains was something.
We first passed through the cañon of the Grand River, a fitting prelude to all that was to come. Then we travelled along the Eagle River Cañon, and, last of all, experienced the wild wonders of the Royal Gorge. It was a day of continued excitement and exalted pleasure. It is hard to put in words the impressions of these immense rocky passes.
One may think of the giant forces which cleft asunder their rugged sides in times so far removed as to be scarcely conceivable.
Then, as one sees the detached rocks, and the great moraines at the mountain bases, and notes the clinging trees, and wild shrubs, and many flowers, one must think of the rolling seasons, the heat, the frost, the forces of the wind, and the storm, and the constant changes which come with rain and sunshine, with growth, and with decay.
And then, wherever one looks, there, at right hand, or at left of the railway track, is the rushing river, roaring on without stop or stay—day and night—forever. It was these streams which gave a hint of the pathway; first, to the red man, and then to the frontier trapper, and gold-hunter, and last of all, to the engineers who built the iron track over which we were speeding, swiftly, and in peace.
The picturesque effect of all is as varied as the thoughts which must come in such a place. The rapid motion of the train, the ever-changing point of view, as the track winds its sinuous way by the tortuous river-bed—all gives a sort of motion to the vast, overhanging cliffs, which seem to dance past one, like giants on a frolic.
I remember once making the journey through these passes, going west from Denver. The view from the car windows was not enough for me. I planted myself on one of the car platforms, linked my arm round the railing, and with my feet on the steps, sat on the floor, swinging out, as far as I safely could, to take it all in. Thus, oblivious of the dust, I sat for an hour, and at last, satiated by the views on views, returned contented to my seat. Just then a brakeman said to me, "We are now entering the Royal Gorge." I had almost surfeited myself with the mere prelude to the repast. The best was brought on, when my appetite was, so to speak, appeased. But, what did appear, was too good to neglect, so I was soon at it again as before, and did not leave my perch until we had passed through all the glories which the Royal Gorge contained.
The climax was reached in a spot too narrow for a track by the side of the raging torrent. Our railroad was suspended from the sides of the towering mountains by a huge iron construction, over which we passed, until wider space beyond, gave us again a hold onterra firma.
Through all this region there is also the evidence of energy and force of another kind. One sees the deserted huts of the gold-hunters, who prospected, it may be in vain, or made their "pile and cleared out."
There is a terrible fascination in this eager hunt for wealth, and those who hunt all their lives, often get least, and die in misery.
I was once in Victor, the next town to Cripple Creek, and while there, heard, in the most casual way, that Tom Brennan, I think that was his name, had been found in the mountains, dead, by his own hand. His luck was gone, starvation stared him in the face, and, old, and hopeless, in his lone misery, he sought death, alone.
When one sees, away up on some apparently inaccessible height, an indication of fresh earth, and a black aperture at the top of it, and realizes that in that spot, some one, or it may be more, are digging and delving for a wealth that may never come, the thought is inevitable of possible ruined hopes, or of sudden wealth, as Fortune may frown or smile. But here, as well as everywhere, and in all relations of life, the poet's words come true,
"The many fail, the one succeeds."
It is well for us, however, that failures, which may be possible, never daunt us from effort, and the search, for that which the soul longs for. We picture to ourselves success ever. Failure, like death, too often comes, unannounced.
It is the spirit of daring and adventure which still peoples the lonely mines on the mountain-sides; which fills the mining towns on their highest crests, and which keeps the miners busy, whether on their highest heights, or in the closeness of their deepest depths.
While on my way, a gentleman met me on the train, and pressed me to stop over at Leadville, promising that he would take me down the deepest gold mine in the place. I could not stay, even for that approach to the presence of all-powerful gold.
I am sure that the underground view of Leadville would be better than that which the sun looks upon. It is not an inviting-looking place. It lies on the great top surges of the mountains, having all the bleakness of a plain, and the rarefied atmosphere of the mountain summit, which it really is.
It is always a weird thing to look at the scenes of early mining days in Leadville, when the fame of the fabulous wealth therein, entered into men's brains, with an intoxication, like that of some Oriental drug. California Gulch looks like the dried bed of a mountain torrent. What must it have been when every inch of it was staked out in claims, and men, by men, close together, but widely separate in their interests, shovelled up the dirt, and peered with eager gaze therein for the yellow gold.
It is well to realize that even in Colorado, which is considered more a mining than an agricultural State, the farm products, at the present time, far outweigh in value the entire annual output of the mines. The prosaic toil, as some may deem it, of the spade, and the plough; and the pastoral occupation of stock-raising and dairy farming, are better wealth-makers than the pick of the miner, or the labors of the mining engineer.
The great day of our run through the giant attractions of the mountains comes to a close at Pueblo, a busy railroad centre, where our track bends to the north, and brings us at nightfall to Colorado Springs.
When we remembered all the glories of the day, the great mountain clefts through which we passed, the roaring torrents which accompanied us, the fantastic coloring of the rocks, and the evidences of labor and energy which we had seen on every hand; and remembered also the untold wealth which lay concealed, whether gold and silver, or rock oil, or the produce of ranch and cattle range, our thoughts gathered up a splendid impression of opulence, actual, and future.
Yet, wild and vast as it all was, we could not help thinking also, that the nearest approach we had anywhere seen, to the glories through which we had passed, had been already presented to us by the streets of New York. Yes, it is like seeing a Grand Cañon, to look from Murray Hill on some October afternoon, down Fifth Avenue. There it all is,—the towering edifices at each side are the mountains, the crowd rushes on like the river,—all is color, life, and motion; and the blue haze of the autumn day gives vagueness and mystery to the descending perspective, as it comes to a point in Washington Square.
One sees the same effect also on lower Broadway, where the huge buildings, and the wealth and energy which they express, suggest ever to my mind the splendors of the great cañons of the West.
XX
Colorado Springs. — Ascent of Pike's Peak. — The View from the Summit. — The Descent. — The Springs at Manitou. — Treasury of Indian Myth and Legend. — The Collection of Minerals. — Glen Eyrie. — The Garden of the Gods. — Victor Hugo on Sandstone.
We found much to interest us in Colorado Springs. It is a town of great fame as a health resort, and lies on a splendid plateau, with the background of the Rocky Mountains, and Pike's Peak, in all its snowy splendor, in the middle distance.
Near by is Colorado City, and joining on to that is Manitou, where lie the wonderful mineral springs, from which the city of "Colorado Springs" gets its name.
The wise men who founded the city, knew well that there was no room for expansion in the Alpine clefts where the springs lie; and yet they knew, too, their value as an attraction. Hence, the shrewd wisdom to bravely adopt alucus a non lucendo, to call their town "Colorado Springs." They had them not, it is true, but they were near at hand.
It is well that they thus decided for both site and name; for the place chosen, gives ample scope for wide streets, and all the room for expansion, which the coming years demand. As it is, the growth of the place has been phenomenal. It is hard to realize that the public buildings, the churches, the schools, and the splendid homes are all the result of a comparatively brief period.
After our vast journey, we were not in much of a mood for more aggressive sightseeing; but some of our party, bravely attempted the ascent of Pike's Peak, on the cog railway, just opened for the season.
When the party was near the summit, a furious snow-storm came down upon them. The track had been cleared of snow some days before, and huge piles of it lay on each side of the course, but this sudden storm gave fresh obstruction. Men were detailed to clear away the encumbrance, so as to get the train clear up to the adjacent summit; but as they were thus engaged in front, the snow-storm was rapidly filling in the track behind. It was fortunately observed that the dreadful possibility of being snowed up on that bleak height, was imminent; so all hands were called away from further effort to get farther on, and a speedy retreat was made to safety and a lower level, where snow was not. Our merry party had a good snow-balling time, while all this was going on, and did not know, until their return, the fearful possibilities from which they had escaped.
The view from Pike's Peak toward the east is magnificent. The memory of it will never leave me, as I saw it years ago. The vast plain of Kansas stretches out, more sublime even than the ocean. One can mark the winding water courses, by the trees which line their banks; and the dimness, which covers all the great distance, has a sublime effect.
As I descended in the cog train, a furious thunder-storm blotted all the landscape from the view; but soon the converging lines of the mountains became visible, the sun shone out once more from the west, and that great plain was spanned with a double rainbow, so huge, so brilliant, so all-embracing, that its like could not easily be seen, except under similar conditions, and those would be hard to match. It was the most splendid spectacle I have ever beheld.
We had two days at Colorado Springs and vicinity, and enjoyed to the full the charm of our situation at Manitou, where our good car "Lucania" again found a pleasant anchorage.
The mineral springs at Manitou, are of iron and soda. They are now all tamed and chained to commerce; and the place, in the season (we were too early for it), is a scene of excursions, and merry-makings, and all that kind of life which delights in shows and curio shops, and restaurants at all prices.
How sacred a place it must have been to the wild children of the mountain and the plain, as they sought its mystic retreat, for the sake of its healing waters, and its strange, sparkling streams! It was for them, indeed, from Manitou, the Great Spirit.
From the parching drought of the burning summer sun, or the ice-bound cold of winter, they could enter here, at any time, and find refreshment for their thirst, and healing for their wounds.
There surely must be a whole treasury of Indian myth and legend clustering round this spot and its wonderful sacred fountains, all well worth the study of the antiquarian and the poet. I am confident that the place is as rich, in all such matters, as ever Delphi was, or the sacred places of the Greeks.
We were charmed, while at Manitou, by a visit to a superb collection of minerals, beautifully arranged, and all, the product of Colorado. There is something especially attractive in mineral beauty. It took its form in the mystery of darkness, and there, in all its beauty, would remain forever, content to be. But man brings it to the light of day, and we are thrilled as we look at the perfect forms of the crystal, at the rich verdure of the velvet malachite, at the varied veinings of onyx and of agate, and at the many wonders which we admire, but cannot name.
We were told that this splendid collection had been purchased for ten thousand dollars, and was to be shown at the Paris Exhibition of 1900. It is well worthy of such a place.
While at Colorado Springs we had one or two splendid drives. We went through Glen Eyrie, the residence of General Palmer. The romantic place is kept generously open for carriages, but it is not permitted to any one to dismount, or drive in the roads marked private. It is a delightful spot, where nature is left yet in much of its wildness, and just enough of landscape gardening introduced to give a note of home and refinement. An eagle's nest, high up on the rocks, gives the name Glen Eyrie to the attractive place.
We also went to the Garden of the Gods. This is a great space hemmed in by huge crags, and covered all over with fantastic rock formations.
As we drove through, our coachman sounded out the names of the grotesque groups as we passed them by. It required but little imagination to improve on his list. Whatever the mind might fancy, the sandstone was ready to give. The rocks were as variable and changing as the clouds in "Hamlet." They might be whales, or bears, or dragons, or toadstools, or demons, or anything else vague and fantastic.
I can imagine how such a place would set a nervous person mad. Not, that it is not beautiful also, in a certain sense, but, the gibing, the mocking, the absurd prevails; and one is almost shocked, even when in most sober mood. The mental distress, possible in such a place, seemed all concentrated in the face of a lone young bicyclist, with bicycle by his side, who eagerly questioned us as to the way to Manitou. He had lost his way amid these gruesome wonders, and although it was ludicrous to see his distress, one could not but sympathize with his misery, while lost in this wild, so full of monsters. I may here quote what Victor Hugo, in his "Alps and Pyrenees," says of sandstone. It would seem as if he was actually describing some of the fantastic forms which we saw in the Garden of the Gods.
"Sandstone," he says, "is the most interesting of stones. There is no appearance which it does not take, no caprice which it does not have, no dream which it does not realize. It has every shape; it makes every grimace. It seems to be animated by a multiple soul. Forgive me the expression with regard to such a thing.
"In the great drama of the landscape, sandstone plays a fantastic part. Sometimes it is grand and severe, sometimes buffoon-like; it bends like a wrestler, it rolls itself up like a clown; it may be a sponge, a pudding, a tent, a cottage, the stump of a tree; it has faces that laugh, eyes that look, jaws that seem to bite and munch the ferns; it seizes the brambles like a giant's fist suddenly issuing from the earth. Antiquity, which loved perfect allegories, ought to have made the statue of Proteus of sandstone.
"The aspects presented by sandstone, those curious copies of a thousand things which it makes, possess this peculiarity: the light of day does not dissipate them and cause them to vanish. Here at Pasajes, the mountain, cut and ground away by the rain, the sea, and the wind, is peopled by the sandstone with a host of stony inhabitants, mute, motionless, eternal, almost terrifying. Seated with outstretched arms on the summit of an inaccessible rock at the entrance of the bay, is a hooded hermit, who, according as the sky is clear or stormy, seems to be blessing the sea, or warning the mariners. On a desert plateau, close to heaven, among the clouds, are dwarfs, with beaks like birds, monsters with human shapes, but with two heads, of which one laughs and the other weeps—there where there is nothing to make one laugh and nothing to make one weep. There are the members of a giant,disjecti membra gigantis; here the knee, there the trunk and omoplate, and there, further off, the head. There is a big-paunched idol with the muzzle of an ox, necklets about its neck, and two pairs of short, fat arms, behind which some great bramble-bushes wave like fly-flaps. Crouching on the top of a high hill is a gigantic toad, marbled over by the lichens with yellow and livid spots, which opens a horrible mouth and seems to breathe tempest over the ocean."
It was a regret to leave Colorado Springs, but dear home was before us, and Denver, which we reached in the darkness, brought us nearer there.