Image not available: WALTER W. TERRY, OF THE COMMITTEE.WALTER W. TERRY, OF THE COMMITTEE.
As we pass Buena Vista, 25 miles west of Salida, the setting sun is shining upon the snow-crowned summits of the collegiate group of mountain peaks, Harvard, Yale, and Princeton, and many are the exclamations of pleasure and delight at the beauty and grandeur of the sight. These three peaks, each over 14,000 feet in height, are a part of the Sawatch Range of the Rocky Mountains. With their cloud-veiled crests wreathed in perpetual snow, those majestic, rugged giants are ever subjects of interest and pleasure to tourists; but this evening the setting sun has transformed their crowns of glistening snow into dazzling diamonds, and the veil of fleecy clouds that hang about their summits into a gorgeous canopy of purple, silver, and gold. It is a scene of transcendent loveliness and grandeur. No wonder our people are in ecstasies of delight. Mrs. Dougherty claps her hands, and Mrs. Matthews exclaims, “Jimmie, look!” Jimmie, Waddie, Oscar, and the Colonel suspend their interesting game of euchre and turn their attention for a moment to the mountains and the clouds. Mrs. Horner has such an expression of intense rapture in her face that Sam, thinking she is about to have a fit, pours a glass of ice water down her back. Mrs. Mattson says she believes she has an artist’s soul, for a sight like this makes her nerves tingle and her mouth water, and the Doctor, standing near, is explaining to an interested circle the philosophy of sunshine, clouds, and colors in their relation to towering, snow-crowned peaks. Suddenly mountain views are obstructed and the light of day is almost excluded by massive walls of rock that encompass us. We have plunged into Brown’s Cañon, a mighty chasm in the mountain, between whose towering cliffs there isjust room enough for the Arkansas River and the railroad. For many, many years the river held undisputed sway and rushed unaccompanied and alone through this rocky, desolate gorge, till then the railroad came. The nerve and daring of the men who brought it were equal to the task. They followed the foaming river into this wild ravine and fearlessly built their tracks upon its spray-bathed banks; and now as train and river rush headlong together through this narrow, dark defile, the snort of the locomotive and rumble of the train mingles with the roar and gurgle of the tumultuous torrent.
We emerge from the cañon as suddenly as we entered it, and the broad, fertile valley of the Arkansas greets our vision. It is a pleasant change. Still following the river, we traverse the valley until at 7.55, as daylight is fading and it is growing dusk, our train comes to a stop in Salida. We are met at the station by Superintendent R. M. Ridgway, Trainmaster G. H. Barnes, and Chief Dispatcher W. Rech, of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad, who give us a cordial welcome and kindly inform us that arrangements have been made to give us a trip to-morrow over the narrow-gauge road to Marshall Pass and return. Escorted by Mr. Hooper and Conductor Newman, a number of us start out to see the town.
Salida is a quiet, clean, orderly, picturesque little mountain town of about 3500 inhabitants. It is situated on the Arkansas River, with an elevation of 7050 feet. We accept an invitation to visit the fine parlors of the Salida Club and are royally treated by the members present. Our bosom friend and life preserver, Tom McDonald, is along, and proves to be quite an expertwith the billiard cue, giving his opponent, Dr. Mattson, a hard hustle in the game they play. A party of our ladies get on our trail and overtake us at the club. They present the bachelor brothers of the party each with a miniature souvenir spoon, but give no explanation why this is done. The inference is that it is but an act of sisterly good-fellowship that needs no interpretation. Following the presentation of the spoons the ladies entertain us for half an hour with excellent singing and music on the piano. As it draws near midnight we return to our train and turn in. Some of the “boys,” it is noticed, are not with us when we reach the train, and to them I will have to ascribe another line of “unwritten history.”
Everybody is up bright and early this morning, in anticipation of the promised trip up the mountains to Marshall Pass. After breakfast we board a special train on the Denver and Rio Grande Narrow-Gauge Railroad, and at 8.12 o’clock start on a novel and interesting ride of 25 miles over a road that is a marvel of engineering ingenuity and skill. It requires two engines to make the laborious ascent, which in many places is 211 feet to the mile. Our engines are No. 175, manned by Engineer Sam Roney and Fireman W. Brewster; helper engine No. 400, Engineer W. D. Yates, Fireman M. M. Smith. Conductor M. Guerin has charge of the train, and the brakemen are Tom Kelley and F. Duncan.
Five miles from Salida we reach Poncha Junction, and here the winding and climbing commences in earnest.The weather since we started has become unfavorable; clouds obscure the sun and hide the summits of the surrounding peaks. It has commenced to rain, but the rain lasts only for a little while. As we ascend the clouds become lighter, and finally we see the sun and the sky. Looking down, the clouds and mist hide the valleys from our sight—we are above the clouds and rain; looking up, we behold the brightest, bluest sky we have ever seen; and still our course is upward. Our engines snort and cough and puff as they slowly climb and wind the spiral pathway that leads to the wind-swept summit.
As we near the top we have a magnificent unobstructed view of grand, majestic mountain scenery. Near by looms up mighty Mt. Ouray, an extinct volcano, down whose rugged sides, ages ago, the molten lava flowed; fire-scarred and grim he stands, a silent, frowning sentinel guarding the mountain pass. His companion, Mt. Shaveno, is near, his towering summit being crowned with eternal snow. Mounts Ouray and Shaveno were named in honor of the famous Ute Indian chiefs, and are everlasting monuments to the memory of a once powerful tribe.
Far in the distance, many miles to the south, can be seen, mingling with the sky and clouds, the gleaming peaks of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, the grandest range of the Sierras. All this range of vision, from Ouray to Sangre de Cristo, is filled with picturesque valleys, timbered hills, mountain cañons, towering peaks, and glistening snow. While we are feasting our eyes upon this grandeur, suddenly it is shut out from view, for we have entered a dismal snow shed. The train stops and our journey is ended. We get out of the train,
Image not available: COLONEL AND MRS. MITCHELL AT MARSHALL PASS.COLONEL AND MRS. MITCHELL AT MARSHALL PASS.
Image not available: THE “COMMITTEE” AT MARSHALL PASS.THE “COMMITTEE” AT MARSHALL PASS.
and looking around, we see a door that leads from the shed, which we pass through, and find snowdrifts six feet deep and the wind blowing a gale.
I see Brother Restein snap his kodak at Colonel and Mrs. Mitchell as they bravely face the wintry blast; the committee is lined up and he also snaps at them. Steps lead to a lofty tower and a number of us ascend. Some start and turn back; the exertion makes your heart beat like a trip hammer, cuts your wind, and makes you dizzy. We who reach the top do not tarry long; the view is magnificent, but the wind is cold. Overcoats and wraps were brought along and they are needed; the thermometer registered eleven last night, and now it stands at thirty-three. It is a bleak, barren, wind-swept place, and yet it is healthy.
A family has been living here for five years. The husband and father is employed on the road and the mother has charge of the station. She has never been absent from the place, she says, since they took up their residence here. The oldest child was an infant when they came, and two have been born since. They are fine, healthy children, and have never been sick. A doctor has never visited them, she says, because one has never been needed. We are ready to leave before the train is ready to take us; a short visit to a place like this is sufficient. Several of the “boys” amuse themselves by snowballing one another and washing with snow the faces of some of the “girls.”
Marshall Pass is 10,852 feet above the level of the sea, and is situated upon a point of the Great Continental Divide—on the ridge pole, as it were, between the Atlantic and Pacific slopes. Within the dingy snow shedwhere our train is standing we notice water slowly trickling down the bank into the ditch along the track; it makes a tiny stream, just large enough to flow, and we can see that it is running in each direction. A number of us place our fingers upon the dividing line, thus literally touching a point of the very comb of the great water shed between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.
Our return is made with more speed than our ascent, but in a very careful manner; helper engine 400 is detached and sent ahead. The descent is made by gravity, the air brakes being used to keep the train under control. Engineer Roney deserves great credit for the careful manner in which he handles the train. A stop of five minutes is made at Mear’s Junction, where we make the acquaintance of Station Agent Smith, who, along with his duties as station agent and telegraph operator, is an artist of merit; a number of pictures of mountain scenery that he has painted adorn the walls of the station rooms.
When we get back to Salida and to our train it is 2.05 P. M. Eastern (12.05 P. M. Mountain) time. We find our friend McDonald looking for us, with an abundant lunch prepared, which we heartily appreciate and thoroughly enjoy. We are scheduled to leave here at one o’clock, and as it is nearing that time, we bid adieu to the good people of Salida who have shown us such a royal time, and at one o’clock, sharp, we steam away from the pretty little town, bound for Colorado Springs, 142 miles nearer home.
Leaving Salida we have engine 509, in charge of Engineer John Carr and Fireman R. Wilmonger. Our conductor is J. E. Duey, a member of Arkansas Valley Division No. 36, of Pueblo, Col. Brother Duey enjoysthe notoriety of being a cousin to the late Jesse James, the famous bandit and train robber. The brakemen are S. G. Carlisle and William Shoemaker. Charlie Hooper is still with us, and at present is busily engaged in distributing fine photographic pictures of scenes along the picturesque Denver and Rio Grande Railroad. Mr. Hooper’s kindness and generosity are greatly appreciated, and the pictures will be highly prized as valuable souvenirs of our trip. In addition to Mr. Hooper we have with us as guests Brothers W. Newman and Frank Smith, of Division 44, and Harry Hart, of Division 36. A short stop is made at Parkdale, 46 miles from Salida, where we meet Rev. John Brunton, who is invited to accompany us to Pueblo. Mr. Brunton, who is an old engineer, retired from active service, is First Division Chaplain, and has charge of the employés’ reading room in Pueblo. He is an entertaining old gentleman; says he is employed to fight the devil, who is always sneaking around after railroad men. Brother Houston says, “A man like that is needed on the Schuylkill Division.” No one replies to this insinuation, except Brother Reagan, who merely says, “Sure.”
Soon after leaving Parkdale we enter the Grand Cañon of the Arkansas, which is 8 miles in length and the crowning wonder of all the marvelous sights we have yet beheld; a mighty pathway, right through the heart of the Rocky Mountains, hewn by Nature through inaccessible towering mountain walls. Through this narrow gorge, whose perpendicular walls rise to the height of over 2000 feet, the crowded, pent-up waters of the Arkansas River rush and roar and foam. There is scarcely space for both railroad and river, but with anaudacity that knows no shrinking the intrepid engineers entered the walled-up, darksome cañon, and, following the intricate winding of the surging stream, laid their tracks of steel along its foam-flecked bank. Beyond a doubt it is the most daring feat of railroad engineering ever performed. When half way through the awful Royal Gorge is reached, here the river holds despotic, undisputed sway for a distance of 100 feet. There is no bank to lay the tracks upon; from wall to wall the river surges, leaps, and roars. From out the water those mighty walls, built by Nature’s hand, run right straight up, 2600 feet in the air. Ingenuity and nerve solves the problem; a bridge is built parallel with the river’s course, one side resting upon a granite ledge, hewn in the side of the cliff, the other side suspended from rods attached to the overhanging wall of the opposite cliff. Over this construction the trains securely pass, while underneath the torrent rushes on.
Before reaching the bridge our train stops, and as many as wish get out and walk over, in order to obtain a good view of the awe-inspiring grandeur of the Royal Gorge. It is truly a wonderful sight, and one we will never forget. We do not tarry long to contemplate the scenery, for a mean, commonplace shower of rain is falling, and we hurry to the train to avoid getting wet.
Issuing from the cañon, we enter a broad and fertile valley, through which flows the ever-present Arkansas River, and in a short time pass through Cañon City, a town of considerable importance, having a population of 3000, and the county seat of Fremont County. The State penitentiary is located here, and near by are mineral springs of great value, making it a favorite resort
Image not available: THE ROYAL GORGE AND HANGING BRIDGE, GRAND CAÑON OF THE ARKANSAS.THE ROYAL GORGE AND HANGING BRIDGE, GRAND CAÑON OF THE ARKANSAS.
for those in quest of retirement or health. We didn’t stop. The sight of the broad, unfettered freedom of the fertile Arkansas Valley, with its hundreds of acres of fine orchards and miles of magnificent grazing land, is a pleasure and relief after so much cramped and rocky glory, and gloomy, walled-up grandeur.
Pueblo is reached at 6.25 P. M. Eastern (4.25 P. M. Mountain) time, and a stop of ten minutes is made for the purpose of changing engines. We have not time to take in the city, but we disembark and take a look about the depot, which is called Union Station, being the joint property of five different roads and used by them all, namely, the Denver and Rio Grande, Santa Fé, Missouri Pacific, Rock Island, and Union Pacific, Denver and Gulf. The building is composed of red sandstone, a handsome structure, and is commodious and convenient. Pueblo, though situated in a valley or basin surrounded on three sides by distant mountain ranges, enjoys an elevation of 4668 feet. It has a population of 40,000 inhabitants, is the centre of extensive mining industries and immense railroad traffic. Because of its great, ever-smoking smelters, and glowing furnaces and foundries, Pueblo is often called the “Pittsburgh of the West.” The Arkansas River flows through the heart of the city, but is not navigable, and its sloping banks are neatly walled to prevent overflow in time of freshet. Bidding good-bye to our old new-found friend, Rev. Brunton, and waving adieu to the 509 and the gallant men in her cab who brought us safely through such scenes of weird, bewildering, perilous grandeur, we start on our way again with engine 534, in charge of Engineer Henry Hinman and Fireman George Courtly. Conductor Duey and BrakemenCarlisle and Shoemaker go with us to Colorado Springs.
After leaving Pueblo we pass through an extensive oil district, where many wells are in operation, and we are told the yield is very heavy. We arrive in Colorado Springs at 8.20 P. M. Eastern (6.20 P. M. Mountain) time, and escorted by Brothers Newman, Hart, Smith, and Mr. Hooper, we start out to see the town. Colorado Springs is a model town. It is quiet, clean, and dry; in fact, it isvery dry, being entirely and teetotally temperance. But this is a commendable trait; we find no fault, and are all impressed with the morality and good order which prevail. It is a healthy place; the houses are not crowded together. The population is 12,000; the town has an elevation of 5982 feet, and covers an area of four square miles. It is much resorted to by invalids, and thousands, we are told, are yearly benefited by taking advantage of its exhilarating atmosphere, favorable climatic conditions, and the pleasure and enjoyment derived from interesting and beautiful natural environments.
Soon after starting out we encounter Brother D. F. McPherson, secretary and treasurer of Holy Cross Division 252, of Leadville, who joins us in our rambles. After giving the quiet little city a pretty thorough inspection, we are grouped upon a corner discussing where we shall go next. “We have shown you the most cleanly and orderly town in the State of Colorado,” remarks Mr. Hooper, “and now I would like to show you just the reverse; we will take the next car and slip over to Oldtown.” In two minutes the car comes, and getting aboard, a ride of two miles brings us to the
Image not available: ASCENT OF PIKE’S PEAK BY MANITOU AND PIKE’S PEAK RAILROAD (COG WHEEL).ASCENT OF PIKE’S PEAK BY MANITOU AND PIKE’S PEAK RAILROAD (COG WHEEL).
neighboring town, where it seems every third door is a saloon and gambling resort. Wherever we go there is turmoil and excitement. We see no outbreaks of strife, but in these crowded gambling rooms we visit, the swarthy miner and reckless stockman jostle one another in their eagerness to reach the tempting roulette wheel or alluring faro table. We can see they are excited, although they are calm, but it is the calmness of suppressed emotion, and we are careful as we move among them not to tread upon their toes; not that we are afraid to tramp their toes if we want to, but we don’t want to; we didn’t come out West to make trouble, so we are always careful what we do, if we are not so careful where we go.
Getting enough of Oldtown, we board a car and are soon back in sedate Colorado Springs and seek our train, that is sidetracked for occupancy near the station. I size up the crowd as they file in and find some are missing; they have dropped out of the ranks and escaped us, and—more “unwritten history.” It is near midnight, all is dark and silent, and we quietly seek our berths.
All are up about the usual time this morning, and after breakfast Manager Wyman announces that those who wish to make the ascent of Pike’s Peak will take the 8.30 train on the Colorado Springs and Manitou Branch for Manitou, six miles away, where the Manitou and Pike’s Peak railway station is located. The 8.30 train starts with about half of our party on board. It is cloudy and we are afraid the weather will be unfavorable for the trip. When we arrive at the station in Manitou we cansee that the great mountain is enveloped in fog and mist. We hesitate about going up, but the station agent receives a telephone message from the summit, saying the weather up there is clear, and the most of us decide to go. And when at 9.40 we start, I notice the occupants of the car and find the following members of our party aboard: Mr. and Mrs. Wyman, Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell, Mr. and Mrs. Layfield, Mr. and Mrs. Horner, Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, Mr. and Mrs. Dougherty, Mr. and Mrs. Climenson, Mr. and Mrs. Foulon, Mr. and Mrs. Elder, Mr. and Mrs. Reilly, Mr. and Miss Barrett and a lady friend, Miss Emma Leibing; Mr. Reagan and a lady friend, Miss Jennie Heaney; Mrs. Mattson, Messrs. Waddington, Haas, Taylor, Crispen, Denniston, Moore, Williams, Sloane, Kilgore, Restein, and myself. The car is pushed by engine No. 4, in charge of Engineer D. M. Jones. This little locomotive is an odd-looking thing, built expressly for this line by the Baldwin Locomotive Works, of Philadelphia, Pa. It has four cylinders and carries 200 pounds steam pressure. It is constructed with two cog wheels underneath its centre, which operate in corresponding cog rails placed in the centre of the track, and has the appearance of being a strong and safe appliance. Engine and car are not coupled together, but the engine in the rear pushes the car ahead of it, which gives the tourist a fine, unobstructed view of the scenery.
The grade averages almost 900 feet to the mile, which we ascend at the rate of about five miles per hour. The road is almost nine miles in length and we are one hour and forty-five minutes making the ascent, having left
Image not available: GATEWAY TO THE GARDEN OF THE GODS, COLORADO; PIKE’S PEAK IN THE DISTANCE.GATEWAY TO THE GARDEN OF THE GODS, COLORADO; PIKE’S PEAK IN THE DISTANCE.
the station at Manitou at 9.40 and arriving at the summit at 11.25. We thought it was a slow trip and a tedious climb, but it wasn’t when we consider the experience of some other people in connection with this mountain several years ago. Ambition and desire are strong impulses in human nature, often having more influence than a sense of duty.
When Major Zebulon M. Pike first sighted this mountain that bears his name on the morning of November 13th, 1806, he had a burning desire to give it a close inspection, and led his followers a ten days’ rugged march before he reached its base. From this point he looked up to its apparently inaccessible snow-crowned summit, and concluded it would be impossible to scale its rocky, bouldered sides. Retiring from the locality, he reported that he “had discovered a grand mountain peak, bare of vegetation and covered with snow, but he believed that no human being could ever ascend to its pinnacle.”
When, thirteen years afterwards, on the morning of July 13th, 1819, Dr. Edwin James and his four comrades stood and gazed upon the terribly wild and awful grandeur of this mighty mountain peak, they faced the same conditions that caused the intrepid Pike to turn his back upon the scene and withdraw: perpendicular cliffs whose walls no man can climb, enormous rocks and giant boulders impossible to remove or surmount, great chasms that cannot be crossed or bridged, deep, wild ravines that seem to be impenetrable. All this they saw, yet they did not hesitate, for they were filled with a wild ambition and burning desire to accomplish what Pike had not dared to undertake. So they started, and aftertwo days of perilous hardship and toil they reached the summit, on July 14th, 1819.
Their ambition was gratified, and so is ours. We did not come up for pleasure, for there is no pleasure in it; the novelty of the thing brought us here, and we find it novel enough. We wanted to stand on the apex of these snow-bound, wind-swept, zero-blistered heights, 14,147 feet above the beating billows of the sea, and see what it is like. We are finding out; it is colder than Chestnut Hill in midwinter. The snow is six feet deep and the wind whistles a tune as it sweeps through Colonel Layfield’s whiskers. The sun is shining when we get out of the car, and with the snow whirling down our backs and tears streaming from our eyes we spend three minutes looking down upon the far-away valley scenery and the towns of Manitou and Colorado Springs. Then we enter the old Government signal station, which has been turned into a curio shop, telegraph office, post office, and restaurant. We find the temperature more congenial, and put in the time examining and purchasing novelties which are neither valuable or cheap, but are wanted for souvenirs. We buy postal cards at ten cents each and mail them to friends, and send telegrams at five cents per word. Manager Wyman sends a dispatch to Ticket Receiver Stackhouse, Philadelphia, informing him of our whereabouts and condition, but he couldn’t tell it all. The message didn’t tell how near Waddie was to being fired off the train at Hell Gate because he couldn’t find his ticket, as Restein had it in his pocket; nor how eager Sloane was to chase the badger we saw running over the rocks above Timber Line, but the conductor wouldn’t stop the train to let him off.
Image not available: ON PIKE’S PEAK: ALTITUDE 14,147 FEET.ON PIKE’S PEAK: ALTITUDE 14,147 FEET.
We have got enough of Pike’s Peak and are ready to go, but the engine is away with the snow plow and we will have to wait for its return. We have seen all there is to be seen and have bought what souvenirs we want. My last purchase was a tissue-paper napkin; I gave thirty cents for it, but had a cup of coffee and a sandwich thrown in. Our engine has returned and we go out to get in the car. The sun is hidden by a great dark cloud, the wind blows harder than ever, and the car is locked up. A photographer is on hand with his outfit and wants to take a picture; somebody ought to throw him over the precipice. We are huddled about the end of the car like a tempest-stricken flock outside a sheepfold gate, shivering and shaking in the blast. As the picture fiend adjusts the camera it begins to snow; in thirty seconds we are in a raging blizzard, the instrument snaps and the car door is unlocked, but before we all get inside many of us are covered with snow.
We are in the storm until we get below Timber Line, and the force of the wind drives the snow across the car as it sifts through the ventilators and in around the windows, and some of us are feeling pretty groggy. I do not like the sensation; when I speak I talk through my hat, and my ear drums feel ready to burst. When I go up so high again I want to go to stay; there may be such a thing as becoming acclimated.
The descent is made in a careful manner, with the engine in front. We arrive safely in Manitou at 1.40 P. M., and the party scatters. Some return to Colorado Springs and some drive through the Garden of the Gods. Many who did not ascend the peak have had a good time visiting other interesting places, and tell interestingstories of the remarkable things they saw. The little burros or donkeys are in evidence everywhere, and several of our people got their photos taken seated on these cute little animals with the Balance Rock in the background. Some of the timid ladies of our party, I am told, are shy of these meek little creatures, saying they look fierce and dangerous because their ears are so large. The only danger is in their hind feet, for they can kick very quick and hard, injuring one another sometimes in this way when they get to frolicking, which they often do.
Brother Schuler was in one of the carriages that drove through the “Garden of the Gods” to-day, and it is interesting to hear him relate in his inimitable manner the many curious things to be seen. A heavy thunder and hail storm descended upon Manitou this afternoon, with another blizzard on the peak, and the weather has become quite cool. Mrs. E. T. Postlewaite took dinner with us to-day as a guest of Brother and Mrs. Springer. Our people are scattered this evening, amusing themselves in various ways. Brothers Brown, Horner, and myself take a stroll after dinner. We stop at the Antlers Hotel, that is well worth a visit, being one of the finest-equipped hotels we have seen in our travels.
We were introduced to the chief of police of the city and kindly shown the large, interesting, and gruesome collection in the Rogues’ Gallery, pictures of some of the most noted crooks and renegades that ever infested the West, along with weapons and tools of all descriptions that were used in their murderous and nefarious business. One set of burglar implements, in particular, containing one hundred and fifty-five pieces, that had been
Image not available: BRIDE AND GROOM AT BALANCE ROCK, GARDEN OF THE GODS, COLORADO.BRIDE AND GROOM AT BALANCE ROCK, GARDEN OF THE GODS, COLORADO.
captured from a suspect by the name of Jerome Markle, we find very interesting; it is said to be the largest and most complete burglar’s outfit ever captured. Returning to the train about 9.30, we are glad to meet W. E. Frenaye, Esq., city editor of the Colorado SpringsGazette, who has dropped in on us for a friendly chat. Mr. Frenaye was connected with Assistant General Passenger Agent Boyd’s office at one time, and is an old friend of Brother Maxwell. Being scheduled to leave here at 2 o’clock A. M., we all turn in at a reasonable hour.
Getting up this morning at six o’clock, I find we are entering Denver. We have engine 570, Engineer Wm. Jenness, Fireman W. C. Lawhead, Conductor I. Larsen, Brakemen Cunningforth and McGinn. Soon as the train stops, Mrs. Terry and Mrs. Shaw strike off in search of the post office, for they are expecting letters from home. Our train is sidetracked in the yard and Brother Terry and I walk over to the station, a short distance away, and look around. It is pretty quiet; the great city has not wakened up to the business of the day and the railroads haven’t commenced their bustle and confusion. This is a large station, one of the finest we have seen in the West; twelve railroads use it, which diverge from here in all directions and run to all parts of the United States. This is what a railroad time table tells us that I have just picked up. It also tells us that Denver is considerable of a town, that it is the county seat of Arapahoe County and the capital of the State of Colorado. It enjoys an altitude of 5196 feet and has a population of 165,000 inhabitants.
We return to the train and find breakfast waiting. While we are at breakfast the ladies return from the post office; they were too early to get letters, for the office wasn’t open, but they were loaded with souvenirs they had procured on the way. After breakfast we are notified to remove all stuff from our sections to the baggage car, as the cars are to be cleaned. This is a notice that isn’t calculated to sweeten temper. It has been served on us several times since we started from home, and we know what an annoyance it is, but we rejoice to know this is the last time we will suffer the inconvenience.
After this task is accomplished a number of us take a 25-mile ride around the city on the “Seeing Denver” trolley line. It is a delightful ride, and in this way we see many interesting features of the “Queen City of the Plains.” The car we are on is No. 111, in charge of Motorman Ewell and Conductor F. F. Porter. Mr. H. Given accompanies the car and points out and explains interesting localities and places. We can see that the educational facilities of Denver are up to date. Our attention is called to Westminster University, located on a knoll just beyond the city limits, said to be one of the finest institutions of learning in the State. We pass near the Louisa M. Alcott Public School, one of the finest public buildings we have ever seen. Having reached the suburbs we are out amongst cultivated fields, and Mr. Given, in speaking of the fertility of Colorado soil and the abundance of their crops, called our attention to the rich growth of the alfalfa grass in a field close at hand. At the utterance of the wordalfalfaa protest went up from the party; they had had all the alfalfa they wanted in Texas, and begged Mr. Given to give them no
Image not available: MANITOU SPRINGS, COLORADO.MANITOU SPRINGS, COLORADO.
more. Manager Wyman explained why our people dislike the name of alfalfa. Mr. Given said he could but acknowledge that we had just reasons to boycott the name, and thought he could give us some information that would increase our dislike the more. “Perhaps you do not know,” he continues, “that there are hundreds of tons of alfalfa leaves shipped yearly from Colorado to New York to adulterate the tea you drink?” This is certainly news to us; it is something we did not know, nor are we sure of it yet, notwithstanding Mr. Given’s assertion; nevertheless it may be true.
We cross the South Fork of the Platte River, that flows through the centre of the town, from which the city’s supply of water is taken, and are shown the Public Park, containing four hundred acres, that is kept up by a tax on the city property owners amounting to $125,000 a year. Our attention is directed to the towering smokestack of the Omaha and Giant Smelter, which rises to the height of 352 feet and is said to be the highest chimney in the world. This is one of the most extensive smelters in America, and since its erection, a trifle over twelve years ago, it has treated ore amounting to nearly $300,000,000. In addition to the Omaha and Giant Smelter there are a number of other plants in active operation. The ores treated are gold, silver, copper, and lead. The total product of the Denver smelting industry amounts to $40,000,000 per year.
Denver is six by ten miles in extent, and I think we rode all the way around it and part way through it. It is a city of beautiful, substantial residences and superb public buildings, the most noticeable being the State Capitol Building, completed in 1895 and costing $2,550,000.
The streets of this great city are not in as clean a condition as they might be; mud in many places is ankle deep, caused, Mr. Given informs us, by the recent heavy rains turning the dust into mud. What an awful dusty city it must be when not muddy; we imagine an occasional heavy shower is a great relief, for dust is a far greater evil than mud. We would quietly suggest to the City Fathers of this great metropolis, for the sake of the health and comfort of their citizens and the pleasure and convenience of visitors, that they eliminate the dust from their town by scraping up and carting to the dump the mud from the streets, through which pedestrians are forced to wade every time it rains.
Our trolley ride finished, we alight at Brown’s Palace Hotel. This magnificent structure, covering an entire block, ten stories in height, built of brown sandstone, interior finished in Mexican onyx, and costing the neat little sum of $2,000,000, is the pride of Denver. Here “The H. J. Mayham Investment Company” has its headquarters in a suite of offices on the first floor. We are kindly received by Mr. W. H. Coombs, a representative of the company, who loads us down with illustrated and descriptive books and pamphlets.
It is now past noon, and from here our party scatters. Mrs. Shaw desires to visit Mrs. Edward Bicking, formerly Miss Madeline Ramsey, of West Chester, Pa., who is living in or near Denver. We consult a directory that gives Mr. Bicking’s address as 313 Ashland Avenue, Highlands. We immediately take a car, and after a lengthy ride arrive at the given address only to find they had moved to Golden, 15 miles west of Denver. Returning to the Union Depot, we take the 3.10 train onthe Union Pacific, Denver and Gulf Railway, and arrive in Golden after a pleasant ride of forty-five minutes. We have no difficulty in finding the pleasant home of Mr. Bicking, where we meet with a cordial welcome. They persuade us to remain over night with them and we enjoy our visit very much. Mr. Bicking operates a large paper mill, and having no competition does a large and thriving business. Golden is a pleasant, healthy town, having an elevation of 5655 feet. It has about 3000 population and until 1868 was the capital of Colorado. It is situated on Clear Creek, a fine mountain stream, and near the entrance to the famous Clear Creek Cañon. It is surrounded by towering cliffs and great mountain ranges, amongst which it quietly nestles.
Years ago Golden was a stirring mining camp, but the excitement and bustle of the mining industry has been moved farther up the cañon, leaving this community in comparative quiet. Last July a cloudburst occurred in the mountains, and the flood, rushing down the cañon, swept through the town of Golden, destroying much property and drowning several persons. We took a walk in the evening with Mr. and Mrs. Bicking around the town and saw many traces of the awfully destructive deluge.
I learned before leaving Denver this afternoon that a trip for to-morrow had been planned for our party, over the Union Pacific, Denver and Gulf Railway, up Clear Creek Cañon to Silver Plume, 54 miles from Denver. The train is due in Golden at nine o’clock. It is our purpose to meet it and join the party. Having spent a very pleasant afternoon and evening, we retired about ten o’clock.
Having enjoyed a good night’s rest, we arose about seven o’clock, and after breakfast Mr. Bicking escorted us over his mill, which is only a short distance from the pleasant cottage in which they reside. The time arriving for us to start for the station, we bid adieu to our kind friends and join our party on the train under the escort of F. M. Shaw, traveling agent of the Union Pacific, Denver and Gulf Railway, bound for Silver Plume, up the picturesque Clear Creek Cañon, and over the Great Loop. We have U. P. D. & G. Ry. engine No. 7, with Engineer Si Allen at the throttle. The train is in charge of Conductor John W. Ryan, a member of Denver Division 44, who is an old friend of Brother Reagan’s. The two had not met for years, and the reunion was a happy one. It was through the efforts of Conductor Ryan that we are given this pleasant trip to-day.
Leaving Golden, we enter the wilds of Clear Creek Cañon, similar in many respects to Eagle River Cañon, the mighty sloping hills on either side being honeycombed with mines. In places the cañon is very narrow; the rugged walls overhanging the tracks almost meet at the top, a thousand feet above. The stream we follow is a shallow one, and here and there we catch sight of a prospector wading in the water with his shovel and pan, washing the sand he scoops up from the bottom of the creek in the hope of finding grains of gold. A diligent prospector, we are told, realizes in this manner from two to ten dollars per day. For 22 miles we follow the windings of Clear Creek up through this narrow, rocky gorge, and then the cañon terminates in an open, level
Image not available: BACHELORS AND BURROS IN THE GARDEN OF THE GODS.BACHELORS AND BURROS IN THE GARDEN OF THE GODS.
plateau of about one hundred acres, surrounded by seamed and rugged mountains, grinning with prospectors’ pits and the open mouths of mines.
Here is located the pretty little mining town of Idaho Springs, at an elevation of 7543 feet. We make a stop of ten minutes and get out to look around. We run right along the edge of the creek and several of the boys look for gold in the sand of the shallow water, but I hear of none being found. It is cloudy, a light rain is falling, and having reached a pretty high altitude the wind is chilly. Leaving Idaho Springs the open observation car is almost deserted, the closed coaches being far more comfortable, the most of our people caring more for comfort than for scenery. Thirteen miles from Idaho Springs we pass through Georgetown, a mining town of considerable size. Here we commence the Great Loop ascension; the railway winding around the mountain crosses itself at one point, and looking down we see nearly 200 feet beneath us the track where we had been but a short time before. Thus we climb until we reach Silver Plume, at an elevation of 9176 feet, arriving there at 12.20 Mountain time.
Leaving the train, we visit the Victoria Tunnel and Mendota Mine. Under the escort of the mine boss the majority of the party enter the mine, each one bearing a lighted candle, for the tunnel is dark as a dungeon. This tunnel is hewn from the solid rock and extends for 2000 feet straight into the mountain side before the rich vein of silver ore is reached. When we reach the end of the tunnel we are almost directly under the centre of the peak, a thousand feet under the surface of the ground. After procuring a few small pieces of ore assouvenirs we retraced our steps and were glad to get out into open daylight once more. On our return to the train we encountered a light snow squall. We leave Silver Plume at 2.15 o’clock for return trip, with Brothers Maxwell, Reagan, and Agent Shaw on the cow-catcher. A donkey on the track sees us coming, flops his left ear, switches his tail, and wisely steps aside. We arrive safely in Denver at six o’clock and find dinner waiting in our dining car, to which we all ably respond, feeling that in McDonald and his worthy attachés we have valued friends. After dinner our people scattered over the city, amusing themselves in various ways, and not having furnished the writer with reports of their experience, he can but note, “unwritten history.”
Brother F. H. Conboy, of Division 44, has kindly made arrangements with the managers of the Overland Park races to admit members of our party at reduced rates, and a number talk of attending the races to-morrow should the weather prove favorable. We are not very highly impressed with this climate at the present time, for it is entirely too cold and damp to be agreeable.
According to our original itinerary this is the day we should arrive in Philadelphia, yet here we are at Denver, in the midst of as disagreeable a spell of weather, we are told, as ever was known here. Each afternoon since we have been here it has snowed on the mountains and rained in the valleys; heavy wraps and overcoats are worn by our people when they venture away from the train. “This is not a sample of Colorado weather,” I hear CharlieHooper declare, and we are all very glad it isn’t, for the sake of the people who have to stay here; we are not going to remain much longer, and wouldn’t be here now, only for the irrepressible tantrums of the Rio Grande River. Our people scatter again to-day, and I cannot tell where they went or what they saw.
Mrs. Shaw and myself visited an old friend and former neighbor, David Cannon, on his beautiful Broadway dairy ranch, six miles south of Denver. An electric line runs within half a mile of his residence. We were very cordially received and spent a pleasant day. We also visited the splendid Windsor ranch, owned by Major Dubois, ex-mayor of Leadville, and operated by Messrs. Penrose and Cannon. We met the Major and Miss Dubois and were very kindly treated by them. The Windsor and Broadway dairy farms comprise a fine, beautiful, level tract of land, containing 1000 acres in a highly improved condition. It commenced to rain again about three o’clock and we returned to the city in a cold, beating storm. Mrs. Bicking, who was with us, remarked that in the four years of her residence in Colorado she had, heretofore, experienced no such weather as this.
The rain had ceased when we reached our train, about five o’clock. Found most of our company there and photo artists Stanton and Warren with their outfit, preparing to picture the train and party. We forthwith arrange ourselves in a group about the end of the train in a manner according to the instructions of the artists. Mrs. Bicking is requested to join the group and her little son, Austin, is placed upon the platform of the car. Our dinner this evening was an interesting and happy occasion.Brother Reagan’s friend, Conductor John Ryan, and his family were guests, and during the repast Mr. Ryan presented Brother Reagan with a handsome floral tribute, representing a keystone, composed of roses and carnations, with inscription in immortelles: “From Jack to John, who were Boys Together.” Below the inscription, artistically wrought with the same kind of flowers, is a representation of clasped hands. Brothers Reagan and Ryan were boys together, grew up and learned railroading together, but have been separated for about eighteen years. The event was a happy one and will be long remembered by those who participated. A few of our people attended the Overland Park races to-day, but the weather was unfavorable for the sport. Brother Crispin met an old schoolmate this afternoon, Mr. J. H. Harris, who is connected with the inspection department of the Denver and Rio Grande Road. Mr. Harris took charge of Brother Crispin and several others and showed them a good time.
We are scheduled to leave here at midnight, and conclude to remain up till we start. There is usually an entertaining time in the smoker and the hours pass quickly away. We start promptly at 2.01 A. M. Eastern (12.01 A. M. Mountain) time over the Burlington and Missouri River Railroad, known as the “Burlington Route,” with B. & M. engine 317, Engineer W. Fuller, Fireman C. Babcock, Conductor C. W. Bronson, Brakeman E. Q. Robie. As guests we have with us leaving Denver Trainmaster J. F. Kenyon and Traveling Engineer C. A. Dickson. It is now past midnight; we have said goodbye to the kind friends who remained with us till the start, and as we leave the great city of Denver behind uswe feel both glad and sorry; glad that we are once more speeding toward our Eastern homes, but sorry to lose sight of the matchless Colorado scenery and part with our kind and generous Colorado friends. The efforts made to show us a good time by the kind people of Denver and by the railway officials of the various lines are highly appreciated by each member of the party. Charlie Hooper will be remembered so long as memory of the trip shall last; may his appetite never grow less nor his shadow ever shrink.
Got up this morning about seven o’clock and found we were approaching McCook, Neb., having crossed the line from Colorado into Nebraska during the night at a point about 80 miles west of McCook. Conductor Bronson and Brakeman Robie are members of Harvey Division No. 95, of McCook. They have intimated that we may expect a reception from the members of that division on our arrival at McCook; this information having been given out last evening, the most of our people are up when the train stops in McCook at ten minutes past seven, and we are met by a large delegation of brothers of Division 95 with their wives and daughters, who give us a cordial, happy greeting. The McCook Band is on hand and renders delightful music, and the hour allowed us here passes quickly away. B. & M. engine 232, in charge of Engineer J. E. Sanborn and fired by Charlie Williams, has been selected to draw us from McCook to Hastings, a distance of 132 miles. Engineer Sanborn is a member of Harvey Division 95, having at one timebeen a conductor, and has the 232 handsomely decorated with flags and flowers in honor of the occasion. On each side of the cab beneath the windows are the letters “O. R. C.,” surrounded by the emblem of the order. The engine is much admired by the members of our party, and snap-shots are taken by Brothers Restein and Foster.
Left McCook at 10.00 Eastern (9.00 Central) time. On leaving McCook time changes from Mountain to Central, and we now run one hour behind Eastern time. From McCook to Hastings we have with us as guests Brothers V. H. Halliday, F. Kendler, and C. E. Pope, who are members of the entertainment committee from Division 95, and the following ladies of McCook: Mrs. C. W. Bronson, Mrs. V. H. Halliday, Mrs. F. Kendler, Mrs. C. E. Pope, Mrs. Beyer, Miss Grace Sanborn, and Miss Mabel Jordon. We have a pleasant entertainment in the combined car, during which Mrs. Bronson and Miss Sanborn sing in a charming manner several choice selections. Arriving in Hastings at twelve o’clock, noon, we make a halt of five minutes to change engines, and bidding adieu to the kind friends of McCook who gave us such a royal greeting, we continue on our way with engine 227, Engineer H. L. Beaty, Fireman F. C. Parkerson, Conductor J. G. Chase, Brakeman Fred. Sharpe. Our guests are Brothers M. E. Shepard, of Claude Champion Division No. 227, of Lincoln, Neb., M. E. Crane, of Creston Division No. 21, of Creston, Iowa, and Trainmaster E. W. Carter.
At Fairmount, 43 miles from Hastings, we make a short stop to allow some guests to get aboard; they are Brothers W. B. Morledge, J. H. Burns, of Division 227,