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The Kintner Letters: An Astronomer's Account of the Wheeler Survey in Utah and Idaho
The Kintner Letters: An Astronomer's Account of the Wheeler Survey in Utah and Idaho
INTRODUCTION BY RUSSELL E. BIDLACK AND EDITORIAL NOTATIONS BY EVERETT L. COOLEY
[Continued from Winter Issue of theQuarterly]
To the Editor of the Register.
Soda Springs, Idaho* August 4, 1877.
It is just two weeks ago since we left here and now we are back again to get our mail and to learn of the terrible times you are having in the east, or at least have been having, for we have no news later than the 28th ult.
We left here on the morning of the 22d of July, after having had our bumps of excitability somewhat wrought upon by an Indian scare which originated among the people of Soda Springs. It seems a half breed Indian had a misunderstanding with a worthless white man here and a fight ensued in which poor Lo got the worst of the battle, and, Indian like, was bent on revenge if the whole settlement had to be sacrificed. There were about a hundred and fifty or two hundred Indians encamped near the village, and the warriors appeared in war paint and feathers and sent off their squaws and children (a sure sign of trouble), so we were told. We were camped about a half mile from the village, and they sent a man out at dusk to ask us to come into town and help defend the place, but as all our property would be exposed, we divided the party, sending five to town and four of us staying in camp, armed with pistols and breech-loading shot guns. Your correspondent stood guard, but not an incident occurred to disturb the quiet of the lovely moonlight night, save the occasional howling of a coyote [sic] or the hooting of an owl on the mountain side. By seven o'clock, July 22d, the whole train was in motion, moving westerly and crossing Bear river again a mile below here. Then we followed the river up its right bank about fifteen miles, camping for two days in a canon while the party ascended peaks in the neighborhood. We continued up the right bank of Bear river until opposite Montpelier when we crossed on a bridge, the only one structure over the river from Evanston to Corinne, a distance of about 500 miles. Passing up Montpelier canon the scenery is constantly changing, and ere we were aware of it, we had ridden twenty-five miles and did not experience the disagreeable weariness that so often comes over us while riding over barren plains with nothing but sage brush as far as the horizon on all sides. Our camp for the night was at an elevation of 7,000 feet, and the change of altitude was realized next morning when the minimum thermometer registered 18 degrees above zero. The next day we crossed the divide between Montpelier canon and Salt Works canon, at an elevation of 8,000 feet. Passing down Salt Works canon the salt works of the Mormons were reached at eve and camp established for that night. There is a good salt spring here and several others were seen from time to time as we passed; the ground in several instances being covered for the space of an acre with a salt incrustation an inch in thickness and many beautiful salt crystals found on the surface of the incrustation.
The Mormons make all the salt necessary for their consumption in these parts from the springs in this canon. The next day's march brought us into Salt river valley, a beautiful valley of about 50,000 acres of as fine land as ever existed, and such as would make your Michigan farmers turn green with envy. But their envy would all disappear when I tell them that although the land is of superior quality, not one foot of it is available for agricultural purposes on account of the low temperature of the climate, the thermometer standing on the morning of July 30 at eight degrees above zero, and never higher than fifteen degrees above zero during our stay of four days in the valley. For the benefit of your readers who are disciples of old Sir Isaac Walton, I cannot refrain from mentioning the fine fishing we found in the west part of Salt river. Two of us kept ahead of the pack train, stopping at intervals, and cought [sic] seventy pounds of brook trout in a half a day's fishing. I never, as an angler, experienced so much genuine pleasure before, and verily believe that in this stream a good angler could catch a wagon load of trout in a day. Several of the trout we cought [sic] weighed three pounds and none of them less than half a pound. We have grown thoroughly sick of them, and have reached that point in fishing when we never keep one unless he weighs over two pounds. It really seems incredible at the vast numbers of fish in these streams, and I assure you I have enjoyed the fishing immensely, and really believe that fishing in the lakes near Ann Arbor would have no charm for me now after such exciting sport as is here to be found.
Salt river valley is surrounded by high mountains on both sides, but particularly high on the right hand side of the stream as we descend the stream. At the north end of the valley we camped on Salt creek which comes out of Oneida Salt Works canon.
At the extreme north end of the valley we discovered a wonderful collection of hot springs, and it is pretty self-evident we were the original discoverers, inasmuch as the peculiar formations which I will describe, had never been desecrated by the hand of man, a sure indication of the presence of a "live and curious Yankee."
There are, I should judge, about fifty of the springs in two groups about a quarter of a mile apart, and the peculiar feature of them is the cones out of which they flow. Each spring flows from the top of a cone, looking not unlike an old-fashioned bee-hive. The water does not flow continually, but is intermittent, flowing about ten seconds and ceasing for as long. We were unable to determine the temperature as we were so unfortunate as to have no thermometer which registered more than 200 degrees Fahrenheit. Suffice it to say the temperature of the water was far above boiling heat, and it puffed and steamed away at the nozzles of the cones like a miniature steam engine. The holes at the tops of the cones were generally about half an inch in diameter, and if one attempted to stop the flow a terrible spluttering and splashing was the result. The cones are in all stages of formation from little ones not more than two inches high to the large ones eight or ten feet high, and looking in the distance like an Indian encampment, which we at first supposed they were. The water, when cooled at a cold spring near by, whose temperature, strange to say, is about forty degrees, has a brackish, sulphurous taste and is impregnated with an acid which bites the tongue severely. There are many curious features about these springs and the beautiful sulphur incrustations are not among the least. These incrustations being at or near the base of the cones in the most delicate figures you can imagine, looking very much like the beds of moss in tissue, but a thousand times more beautiful are their variegated colors of yellow and green.
I managed to break off one of the tops of the cones which was about a foot in diameter at the base and ran up to an apex of above an inch in diameter. The formation is sulphurus [sic] rock and is very brittle, in fact so brittle that myself and one other person were the only persons in the whole party who succeeded in getting perfect specimens, and I do not believe we left a perfect cone standing to tell the tale of the sad martyrdom of its unfortunate companions.
Between these two sets of hot springs are a series of cold sulphuric springs, the largest of which runs in a stream about two inches in diameter. It is excellent water; in fact, the strongest I ever tasted. The stream runs into a rocky basin about 100 feet in diameter, and of what depth we were unable to ascertain, but certainly very deep. The whole surrounding country in the immediate vicinity indicates intense heat at some remote period, and as one gazes on these hot, hissing sulphur springs, he cannot help wondering at the great unseen powers that must lie hidden in the bosom of the earth. On the morning of August 1st we left Salt river valley and passed up Oneida salt works canon which takes its name from the salt works situated about three miles from the mouth of the canon. The salt works are conducted by four men and make, so they informed us, three tons of salt every day. Ready market is found for it in Idaho and Montana where most of it is used for milling purposes in mining. The salt is of an excellent quality and is made from brine that averages 33 per cent.
There are many of these salt springs in this canon and will all some day, doubtless, be monopolized.
Following this canon to its summit by the Salt Works road occupied the entire day and we camped about three miles from the divide on the northern side of the range. This is the range that divides the water between the Great Salt lake Valley and the Pacific. Strange to say, on the top of this range at an elevation of 8,500 feet we found quantities of wild strawberries just ripe, and I assure you we made good the time in devouring them, thanking our good luck in finding them, regardless of their unnatural home. After passing down to the bar of the mountains we came to Lane's valley, a little valley of about 20,000 acres, which takes its name from J. W. Lane, who was killed here by the Indians July 18, 1859, and whose last resting place is marked by a neatly carved tombstone at the road which tells travelers now of the sad fate of one of those noble heroes, the persons who had the courage to come into this wild country and map out the pathways of civilization, as they have done all over our great west.
We were now two days' march from Soda Springs and taking the west fork of Lane's valley followed it until we reached Georgetown canon, then turning west passed over the mountains by Indian trails until we reached a timber road which brought us to Soda Springs yesterday at noon. The weather here is quite cool, and now, at noon, the thermometer stands at fifty-five in the shade. The mountains are on fire on our south-west, and the hazy appearance leads one to think that autumn is upon us. We leave here to-morrow for the Caraboa [Caribou] mountains, about 25 miles to the north-east of us, and will make another circuit of two weeks, coming back to Soda Springs about August 20th, when you shall hear all about the Caraboos [Caribou] and their mining facilities, which are said to be good.
To the Editor of the Register:
C.J.K.Ogden, Utah, September 1, 1877.*
On the morning of August 5, there might have been seen a lone horseman riding rapidly across the long narrow valley that extends from Soda Springs, Idaho, to the Black Foot river. As he rode so rapidly on, the tall blue mountains appeared to rise out of the bosom of the earth suddenly, as mere specks in the distance, to disappear as suddenly behind him. Long beds of black lava, extending on either side of the way, only seemed to render the solitude more solitary. Not a living being, save now and then a solitary mountain hawk, lent an existence to enliven the scene. The great rugged old mountains, seemed singularly grand in their solitude, and seemed as if giving a silent autobiography by the pantomime so fitly expressed in the great smooth, wrinkles which were everywhere visible upon their surfaces. Beautiful is not the word, nor that word does not exist in any known language, that will express or convey one single idea of the grandeur that these dear old mountains exhibit on a fair summer's evening, when the sun comes aslant upon their surfaces, and makes each particular mound to stand out so boldly, and every projecting crag to look like a living monument of some unknown hand whose works are mightier than even [ever?] we shall know of. But our horseman, what of him? Well that lone horseman, was none other than myself, and I was riding not a gay and festive Rosinante, like poor Don, but as homely, ungainly, a little mule as ever suffered existence, and her name, though not Rosinante, was characteristic of the beast, viz: "Beauty," with a surname "U.S." which, when combined is, you see, a very significant name, and could you but see the insignificant little beast, you would wonder how it came to pass that such a beast, long of ears, shaggy of coat and puggy of nose, ever attained to such a name; but no matter how, she was not to blame, and like Topsey [Topsy] she "growed," so it couldn't be helped.
Well, so much for the mule. It suffices to say she has been faithful and served her master well. I had been left behind to get the mail while the party went on to Little Black Foot river, about 30 miles from Soda Springs, and after a tedious ride over this long dry valley, overtook them just as they were making camp near John Day's Butte, on little Black Foot river. This valley, extending from Soda Springs to Black Foot, presents at least one remarkable characteristic, viz: that to all appearances it has in the past generations been the outlet of all the water in the Salk [Salt] Lake Valley towards the Pacific. We took the barometric observations on our return through it and found the elevation only a few feet above either Bear or Black Foot river. My impression is that there has been an upheaval at or near Soda Springs, that has turned Bear river from its course toward Salt Lake, and the lake markings found further down Bear river, verify this belief. The whole shape of the southern side of the valley next the Bear Lake range is plainly an old river bed, whatever may have been its direction.
On the morning of the 6th we left Little Black Foot, and followed what is known as the Taylor's Bridge Road, in the direction of John Day's Lake. This we reached about noon, and here indeed is a sportsman's paradise. The lake covers about five thousand acres, and is for the most part overgrown with rushes and tules, which make a delightful home for all kinds of water fowls. In the open part of the lake I do not believe there was a space ten feet square upon which there was not a duck, or some other water fowl, and the noise they made was wonderful to hear. Our meteorologist killed all he could carry of fine large mallard and teal ducks, and all that we could eat for two or three days. At night we found ourselves at Ham's Fork, where camp No. 32 had been established, and here the survey was connected. The next camp was made on the south side of Cariboo [Caribou] mountain, on Tin Cup Run. On the morning of the 8th we started down the Tin Cup Run canon toward Salt river. This canon was in many respects the most beautiful I had yet seen. Following as we did an old Indian trail which kept constantly on one side of the canon, sometimes in the valley, again far up on the spur of a jagged mountain, winding tortuously around steep bluffs, dangerously near the precipice over which a single misstep of our mule would send us tumbling down a thousand feet below into a beautiful blue stream of water that
As we neared the mouth of the canon the trail became more precipitous, and many times I dared not trust my mule, but footed it to the next secure place.
Soon we came in sight of the famous Salt river range, or the main range of the Rocky Mountains, which passes through the Snake river country. They are as rugged mountains as can be found on the western coast, and in many places the peaks are inaccessible. Once more in the Salt river valley where the temperature seldom gets above 70°. Delightfully cool it is, and we camp on a creek 15 miles from the junction of the river with Snake river. Here we spent one day, while a side party went on the mountain in the neighborhood, and here again we found plenty of game and fish — in fact where have we not been able to find an abundance since leaving Ogden? Verily it is no source of wonder how "Poor Lo" has lived where game is as plenty as in this country. Several times have members of the party killed grouse with stones, and I have seen from ten to fifteen shots fired at a flock of them with revolvers without "flushing" them.
The next day's journey brought us to the junction of Salt, John Gray's and Snake rivers, and here we established the most beautiful camp of the season, and one that would excite the envy of even an enthusiastic pleasure seeker. Just where the three rivers come together on the main point between the Snake and Salt rivers under the spreading cottonwoods, where the waters that run from the great Uintas, through hundreds of miles of wild territory, but little known, and finally over the great Soshone [Shoshone] Falls, the grandest known falls in the world.
You may imagine that it necessarily brought uncomfortable thoughts to the mind when we remembered that the blue waters rolling so peacefully by us, and so free from any discolor, were mingling a few hundred miles below us with the blood of fellow human beings, who were being so cruelly murdered by heartless Nez Perces. So far we had had little fear of Indians, but after reaching this point we learned from occasional white men we met that depredations were being committed and that two men had been murdered at Ross Forks, only twenty-five miles below us. Not unfrequently did we question each other about the durability of our hair, etc., etc.
I promised you in my last to describe Caraboo [Caribou], but find that the space I have already taken will occupy more than you are willing to give, and must defer that until my next, when you may expect a description of the mines, and the rest of my journey to Ogden, where I now am again in the observatory and shall remain for a few weeks previous to going to Nevada and California, to assist in the triangulation of Nevada and the San Fernandez [Fernando] country in California. We have completed the principal primary triangulation for the atlas sheet of eastern Idaho, and for that reason, as I first wrote you, we go to California.
To the Editor of the Register:
C.J.K.
Ogden, Utah, September 12, 1877.*
"Noon by the North clock! Noon by the East! High noon, too, by the hot sunbeams which fall scarcely aslant upon my head and almost make the water bubble and smoke in the trough under my nose." Such are the words which Hawthorn puts in the mouth of the old town pump, but not even he or his mythical town pump could ever have experienced such intolerable heat as our party experienced from Snake river to Caribou mountain. We had been enjoying exceptionaly [sic] cool weather as I have before written, and perhaps this fact only added to our sufferings. But our course, too, had something to do with it, as it lay constantly north and south through Caribou canon and up the creek of the same name, whose muddy waters presented a great contrast to the beautifully clear streams we had just left. For miles and miles we rode wearily on, now following the course of the stream and again winding around the spur of a mountain to shorten the dreary march as much as possible. With scarcely any vegitation [sic] to enliven the scene, and very much of dead, burned and fallen timber to add, if possible, to the intolerable heat, our hopes fell when we learned it was yet twenty miles to Caribou. But at last, under that old rule of "patience and perseverance," we hailed the sight of the noble old mountain as he stood like a monarch all by himself in the valley, lifting his head high above all the surrounding country. As we neared the mountain signs of civilization began to develop, and little ditches running here and there indicated that the busy miner had been at work here, while the creek in its muddy appearance indicated that still higher up they were still busy in their search for golden flakes.
At six o' :lock we camped on the side of the mountain about 2,000 feet from the base and between north and south Caribou villages. Two days' stop would be necessary here in order to climb the mountain and examine the mines, so we sought comfortable places for our tents and made our couch accordingly.
On the next day by seven A.M., four of us, well mounted and accompanied by a pack mule to carry our instruments began the ascent. From the camp to an altitude of 8,000 feet the course we took was through heavy pine timber in which we found considerable trouble from the fallen timber. The ascent was very steep and necessitated many stops to rest our weary limbs ere we reached the top, during one of which we were so fortunate as to find a quantity of ripe raspberries, and our rest on this occasion was lengihened [sic] accordingly. At 8,000 feet we reached the timber line, and the scenery around for the first time burst upon us, and all the country over which we had passed for the last week lay before us in panoramic splendor, but I must say naught of this until the remaining feet has been climbed. The toil from this point was very severe, and we were obliged to climb and lead our already exhausted mules. Up, up we went and each step detaching lose [sic] stones that rolled back a thousand feet.
At last, almost utterly exhausted, we clamber over the comb [sic] and find ourselves within a hundred yards of the highest point, but to our dismay, it is inaccessable [sic] and we must work down and around the east side along the edge of tremendous precipices, where, with great dificulty [sic] the mules are lead [sic] and not without great danger to them and ourselves. After a half an hour of difficult climbing the summit is reached and all hands sat quietly down to view the surrounding country.
Ten thousand five hundred feet above the sea is another atmosphere, almost in another world it seems.
To the east of us, to the north of us, in fact, everywhere, the great ranges seem like great waves at sea, and as the clouds cast their flitting shadows upon their rolling surfaces, grand indeed is the scene. Just under us is John Day's lake, which looks like a mere pond and beyond is the dividing range between Salt Lake river and the Pacific. To the east of us is the famous Salt river range and the great peaks of which I have before spoken seem now doubly grand. To the north and east is the famous Teton peak, the highess [sic] mountain in this portion of the Rocky mountains, its altitude being 10,000 feet, and as we sit there and see its steeple-like summit far above the clouds, we can scarcely realize that it is a part of old mother earth. All the portion vistble [sic] to us, about half its heights [sic] I should say, is white with snow, and so sharp is the upper portion that it resembles very closely some great white cathedral spire lifted high above the clouds. On the east of Teton peak appears the famous Fremont peak, but it is in no sense so grand a mountain as Teton, and I wondered that Fremont did not name the Teton for himself, but suppose he was unable to climb it, as it is only within a few years it has been ascended.
After a few minutes' rest we begin our observations which take three hours to complete, and then all hands build a large monument, but while engaged at this, dark clouds appear ominously in the neighborhood of the Tetons and drive rapidly down upon us. Soon the whole surrounding atmosphere assumes a dead quiet — in fact, a painful quiet. So painfully still is it that our ears ring continuously and not a sound seems to break the awful stillnes [sic], save now and then the sharp, shrill cry of the mischievous magpie full 3,000 feet below us. While this quiet lasts the great black clouds seem to boil in furious turmoil among themselves when at once there shoots across the sky a great, broad, zigzag streak of lightning, followed immediately by a terrific peal of thunder, and in one instant the dead quiet is changed into a terrible thunder storm, the clouds drive around us and the sun is hid from view. In the clouds; did you ever witness it?
Truly it is a peculiar situation. A misty, foggy appearance, not unlike a morning in London I imagine it presents, but driven along by fierce winds. Soon the clouds rise and below us is a grand sight.
We are under an upper stratum of clouds and over the denser one below. Torrents of rain are descending on the valley below and the storm is wonderfully grand. At last comes a heavier stratum of clouds above us and soon we are white with snow flakes falling rapidly upon us. The storm drives on and in half an hour there is nothing to remind us of it but an occasional distant rumble and great banks of white clouds that roll up like snow many miles away. I have heard Adirondack Murry describe a storm in the Adirondacks, but thought that he drew on his imagination, but now I know he did not, for no human being is possessed of power to describe it and none need think of forming an idea of the grandeur until brought face to face with it.
After an hour and a half of counter-climbing we are again safely ensconced in our little portable houses and bid defiance to the storms and to the cold, provided, however, the storm is not too severe.
The next day the mines were visited, and we were disappointed at finding only two companies at work, each working about ten men and "panning out" about $40.00 per day to the man. The reason for such a limited number was a lack of water, and we were informed that less snow fell last winter than was ever known before. However, we obtained all the necessary information we desired and saw for the first time some genuine placer diggings. The gold is found on the banks of the streams and is drift gold. They obtain it by "corraling" [sic] the water as it is called, or by backing up the water and getting a head; then a pipe or nozzle is used by which the banks are washed down and run through sluice-ways, when the gold is obtained by "riffles" or cleats nailed to the bottom of the sluices.
While we were there one man cleaned up his day's work and we had the satisfaction of gazing upon a hundred and forty dollars' worth of dust.
The men who do the labor are mostly Chinemen [sic] and they constitute a majority of the inhabitants of Caribou.
We left Caribou on the morning of the 16th of July and passed over to John Day's lake and again joined the survey previously made on Little Black Fork river, working north-west until near Black Fork Peak, where a days' [sic] stop was made and points ascended from which Mount Putnam and Fort Hall were visible.
Our course was then westward and south to Blackfoot river and the country, although apparently level, was cut up by immense lava canons over which we found considerable trouble in crossing. We followed the Black Fork back to the ford I before spoke of, and thence to Soda Springs again.
Here we again stopped two days and replenished our diminished stores, received news from home, etc.
While here we made additional explorations of the natural curiosities in the immediate neighborhood. Formation Springs and Ammonia and Steamboat springs, on Bear river. The formation springs take their rise about a mile from these springs, in a cave of about 300 feet in length over toward Bear river.
The peculiarity of the springs is the fact that they form an incrustation upon everything with which they come in contact.
Steamboat spring is below Soda springs on Bear river and is a lone spring spouting up about three feet out of the top of a cone three feet in height. The water has a temperature of eighty-four degrees and spouts and hisses away at a great rate, emitting a volume about as thick as one's wrist. Around the base of the cone are several small apertures from which carbonic acids are constantly flowing with a hissing noise not unlike the escape of steam from a safety-valve on a steamboat, and which is doutless [sic] the origin of the name Steamboat spring. The Ammonia spring is a small spring which takes its name from its effect upon the nostrils when one attempts to drink the water, which has a brackish, sulphuric taste, slightly impregnated with carbonic acid as are all these springs in this immediate neighborhood. Much more might be said of the wonderful curiosities around Soda Springs, among which the Ice Cave is not the least. We did not visit this cave but were told that ice constantly exists within the cave. Leaving Soda Springs on the 21st, the party deviated somewhat from the projected course in order to get on to Franklin, so as to return to Ogden.
We followed Bear river through a drear burnt district all one day where not a spear of vegetation was visible and nothing altered the uneven surface of the prairie save the thousands of badger mounds that were everywhere visible. This was the tract that was burning when I wrote you some weeks ago and had been accidentally fired by some one. The next day's march was much more interesting, being still on Bear river, but now in what is known as Gentile valley, where thousands o[f] cattle and sheep were seen grazing and the bright, golden shocks of wheat added much to its beauty. The road left the river at the foot of the valley on Cottonwood creek where were seen the lake marks mentioned in my last letter. Here, at an elevation of about 200 feet above Bear river are plainly visible lake markings and at the foot of the valley the river has cut vertically down through a canon 200 feet deep, thus showing that this water had all been confined in the past in this great valley.
We reached Bear river ford at evening and the next morning with a packer, two riding mules and a pack mule carrying my luggage, I left for Franklin and thence via narrow guage [sic] railroad to this point. It seemed a curious sight after so many weeks of isolation to be again in the bounds of civilization and to see from either side of the car the beautiful fields of golden grain just ready for the reaper.
C.J.K.
To the Editor of the Register:
Ogden, November 28, 1877.*
After having written of the beautiful scenery of Northern Idaho and its hundreds of silvery, laughing streams, whose very music fills one's soul with hallowed thoughts, it seems dreary indeed to descend to a description of that desert waste known as the Great American Desert. But dreary as it seems, no less dreary did it really appear to your correspondent when on the morning of September 30, he landed in that most desolate of western villages, known as Terrace, situated in the northern edge of the Great Desert 150 miles from Ogden, and 10,000 miles from the rest of mankind, as it seemed to us ere our stay of four long weeks had ended in this vicinity.
Our party consisted of four, and our special duty in this section of the country was the measurement and development of a base line, 23 miles in length on the C.P.R.R., which at this point runs in a straight line to Lucin, 25 miles distant. Terrace is a village of perhaps 300 inhabitants, and has for its sole sustainance [sic] the railroad shops of the Salt Lake division of the C.P.R.R. It is situated about 50 miles from Salt Lake and about 15 miles from the Clair [Clear] Creek range of mountains on the north from which all the water that the villagers consume is brought by pipes. Like all western villages it is composed mainly of wooden houses, one story in height and all of a monotonous sameness, being strewn here and there as the convenience or will of the builder seemed to dictate, regardless of any order relative to streets.
In fact the shops seem to have been built, and then "Tom, Dick and Harry" built their little houses as suited their own convenience. To the credit of the master mechanic, Mr. Wm. McKenzie, I must say a new state of things is now being inaugurated, and he is building out of the chaos a truly model manufacturing town. Houses are being moved, streets opened up and cleaned, and, best of all, under his guiding hand none of those depredating holes which ruin so many laboring men's houses and happiness, are permitted to exist. No man who is addicted to strong drink is allowed to run an engine or assist in the same or to work in the machine shops of Mr. McKenzie's division of the C.P.R.R. The operatives are all taxed one dollar per annum for the purpose of sustaining a public reading room and library, adjacent to which are a complete set of bath rooms free to all. What is the result do you ask? The Sabbath is respected; children neatly dressed are seen throughout the village and nowhere do you see the workings of intemperance. In short, though this little insignificant village presents not the most inviting appearance to a casual observer at first sight, I venture to say it would be difficult to find a village of its size where such universal happiness seems to abound. All praise to Mr. McKenzie and success attend his glorious undertaking.
Like Lord John Ruskin he has believed and does believe that by a proper interest in the laboring man he may be made to see the necessity of directing his spare time to his self-improvement and not to beggaring his little ones by tippling at the rum pot. I do not know where I have enjoyed an hour more than that spent by our party in visiting and conversing with this most intelligent, genial master mechanic. Truly it is a gratifying sight to see such men at the head of our mechanical institutions, men who have hearts to sympathize with their fellowmen and minds that realize that a laboring man is something more than a mere tool to be ground down and trodden upon. I had often read of the ideas of interesting laboring men in literary pursuits as advanced by Chas. Reid and Lord Ruskin, but never before saw the working out of the theory and now realize that it is most fully practicable.
But I started out to tell you of the Great Desert, and here am lost in my admiration for a pet theory relative to education.
Well, no matter, the time was certainly well spent in investigating it, and I trust the words I have written may not fail to interest some one else in a cause of such universal good as that of educating the masses. But about the Great Desert you shall hear.
It lies on the western side of Great Salt Lake, and is, perhaps, of an average width of 100 miles and extending north and south for 200 miles. Not a spear of grass in all that barren waste. Alkalie, alkalie [sic] everywhere, white, almost, as the driven snow; and as the sun beats down upon it, the heat seems intolerable, and the heat waves give to the atmosphere an undulating motion plainly visible during the middle of the day. Here it is that wonderful deceiver, the mirage tempts on the weary, foot-sore traveler, seeming to beckon him on and on to sure destruction, holding out to his vision beautiful lakes and crystal water, apparently but a few miles in advance. The Central Pacific passenger trains pass over the desert in the night, so that travelers never see it, but, dreary as it may seem, there are many things of interest. In the early morning, the great snow-capped mountains south of Salt Lake, loom up like giant sentinels, and on the long ranges to the west are plainly discernable; but as the sun appears above the horizon, gilding their snowy tops, the heat waves begin to ascend over the desert, and now, even, while you are looking, the mirage sweeps down upon them and they are lost in this peculiar haze, soon to appear again, but bearing entirely different shapes. Now you see a long, low butte as it were, and even while we look, the scenes shift and it is changed to a sharp, rugged peak or a table land with abrupt precipices at either end, and often notched in zig-zag shapes with projecting crags here and there. Thus the scenes are ever shifting as the currents of air change about the adjacent mountain ranges. In the Desert itself, however, it is for the most part generally quiet — painfully quiet; and I can imagine no greater pain than to be left alone in this great space without food, water or means of exit. Not a living creature save the lazy scorpions and horned toads, or, I might add, that extremely agile and pleasing companion (?) the centipede, whose rotund body always suggests thoughts of good living (but for the life of me I don't know where it gets it,) while his long, dangling legs make one feel exceedingly uncomfortable when he awakes to find this animal of creation prancing happily about over his face. Whisky [sic] however, is a good antidote, and some of us suffered from their bites! I might add, I was not bitten, but other members of the party often thought they were and administered accordingly.
And now arises the que[s]tion as to what this great waste is good for?
Utterly barren, it can produce nothing. Thoroughly alkalie [sic], nothing either human or inhuman can live upon it. I can think of no possible use our government can put it to than to make it our grand Indian reservation and drive all our red brethren into it, and there — well there — "Requieciat [sic] in peace." There are two small settlements on the line of the railroad beside Terrace: Borine [Bovine] and Lucin. At these points we stopped during the time consumed in measuring the base line.
Water is brought to these points in large tanks on the cars twice a week, and old railway ties are used for fuel. As a general rule, however, taking all things into consideration, there are plenty of villages in the west more desirable than Borine [Bovine] or Lucin as points of residence, the inhabitants of both villages being almost exclusively "almond-eyed and opium eaters," of whom I hope to be able to write more specifically in another letter, citing their wrongs and their rights as I see them and not as many of our western friends do who believe that Chinamen have no rights and forget that our constitution affords protection alike to all persons of all nationalities.
C.J.K.
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