EASTWARD BY RAIL. Daily Alta California, Volume 21, Number 7013, 1 June 1869

EASTWARD BY RAIL.

[FROM AN OCCASIONAL CORRESPONDENT OF THE ALTA.]
[NO. 1.]
Travellers’ Tricks of Sleeping— Rations on the
Road— Scenery Around Salt Lake— Fall-
ing into the Hands of the Enemy— A
Hail Storm in the Mountains— Crossing
the “Bad Place”— Echo Canon— Trials
and Tribulations— in Smooth Water
Once More.

Omaha, May 2d.1869.
Editors Alta: I avail myself of this first oppor-
tunity to fulfil my promise of giving you a few
jottings of our overland trip via Central and Union
Pacific Railroad. Although you may have all the
particulars by this time from other sources, still
there is always somebody contemplating the over-
land trip, and who would like to know all the de-
tails, as I did myself.

How People Travel Under Difficulties.

The party, consisting of General and Mrs. Fry,
General and Mrs. Crittondon, D. B. Shorb and fam-
ily, Mrs. General Crook, Mr. Van Vorhies and
family, General McCullough, Benj. Holladay, Jr.,
A. P. Crittenden, and the undersigned, left San
Francisco on Monday, May 17th. Sacramento next
morning, the 18th, and without change of cars went
through to Promontory Point, arriving at 1 o’clock
the next evening. This far the trip was perfectly
delightful. There were no sleeping cars, but we
had one of the new cars just received, which for
comfort cannot be surpassed. It requires some
ingenuity to make such a disposition of the human
form divine to the limits of a seat of a railroad
car so as to ensure comfort and rest, but short
people can manage to do it by a system of doubling
up like a jack-knife, only placing a shawl or pillow
against the window and facing the centre of the
car, a sort of “sit up.” Again, by facing two seats,
taking out the cushions and laying them “fore and
aft,” which operation however leaves the feet to
hang down unsupported. Most of us tried all the
known experiments, and many before unknown –
speaking for myself. I commenced at A, and by a
rigorous course of experiment put myself
through a course of alphabetical illustration
that would hare done honor to the perform-
ances of the India-rubber Man. I reefed in my
feet, I stretched them out and upset the Conductor,
brakeman and other nocturnal attachés  who
rush frantically through the car all night. They
swore a good deal, and I took sufficient interest in
the proceedings and the welfare of my continua-
tions to contribute little to my chances of not
meeting many good people when I leave these gay
and festive scenes. I got a “crick” in the neck
occasionally, and often my continuations got asleep
sooner than I did; but to stretch them and keep
my mind occupied, I occasionally got up and tickled
with a piece of twisted paper some chap’s nose who
was enjoying himself too much and blowing too
strong a trumpet. The ladies and children being
shorter, got along first-rate, and turned out in the
morning bright and with excellent appetites. Even
a blessed little baby that we had along crowed its
perfect satisfaction. We had ample supplies, and
a colored individual who had campaigned through
many a worse field, accompanying us, soon pro-
duced a substantial cold breakfast, and filling the
coffee pot at the wayside station, we fared sump-
tuously. Meantime we were speeding on at 25
miles the hour over the alkali desert of the Hum-
boldt, without a particle of dust to annoy us, and
all went merrily. The cars rolled so steadily that
there was no difficulty in reading, and even writing
legibly, and the opportunity was improved by one
of our party, who seemed to have a sweetheart for
every station, and despatched bulletins every few
hours, and I hereby take occasion to assert that he
is a gay deceiver. The time patted pleasantly be-
tween reading and passing the baby around— the
gentleman alluded to being sentenced to trot it in
regular turn by way of compensating for past
neglect in that line. The coal scuttle, doing tem-
porary duty as a gong, was sounded for lunch, and
pâté de fois gras,sandwiches, rolls, etc, again served
out—the gentlemen becoming the ladies’ disobe-
dient servants fur the nonce, and again at evening,
accompanied by a cup of tea made over a spirit
lamp.

Scenery by the Roadside.

Passing through the Humboldt Desert and sage-
brush we approached the dominions of Brigham
Young, and a turn in the road suddenly brought
us in full view of  Salt Lake, along the shores of
which we spent admiring its beautiful waters, just
ruffled by a pleasant little breeze that bore a most
refreshing odor of green grass and flowers though
the open car windows from its verdure clad shore.
Numerous little villages and thrifty farms spread
themselves along the slope from the snow clad
hills, all wearing an air of cheerfulness and con-
tentment that produced a favorable impression of
the industry and success of married muchness;
the natural idea being that it would take most of
a man’s time to settle little family jars and that
there would be none left to devote to territorial ob-
jects; that a harp of so many feminine strings
could be kept in tune so long! But probably Chi-
nese tactics were brought into use, as an old Chi-
nese merchant explained ot me once in Canton
when I asked him how he managed to preserve
order in his household-he having six wives. He
says: “Oh, easy enough; spouse kick up bobbery
give em bamboo all around” — a striking proof of
sound judgment, insuring justice to the right one
and a little warning to the others. The Mormons
may have a wife or two more than our views would
sanction, but why should we seek to meddle with
these peculiar institutions? Leave it out to a jury
of married men and the verdict would be that the
luxury brought its own punishment in this world,
and if life was too short,give them the same lot in
the next— poor souls! At any rate, the picture of
Mormon life from a car window is pleasant
enough— the neat farm-houses and buildings, the
town fences, the flowers, fruit trees and shrubbery
convey an idea of peace and contentment any-
how, whether it really exists or not; and, more-
over, of a “well-to-do” population. Their farms
are watered by gurgling streams that come rushing
down from the snow -clad peaks and through the
gardens and shrubbery, refreshing to vegetation
and the eye.

An Irruption of Barbarians.

We arrived at the present terminus of the Cen-
tral Pacific Road, Promontory Point, at 11 P.M.
Wednesday, and here a change came over the pro-
ceedings. About 150 discharged laborers forced an
entrance into the cars in spite of the efforts of the
railroad employés to prevent it, taking possession
of seats and turning out through passengers. The
contractors and agent, were powerless  to prevent
it, and the gentlemen Democrats informed them
that if they attempted to switch them off or play
any tricks they (the Democrats aforesaid,) would
not only pitch the train off the track but would
blow off the top of the contractor’s head— and their
lawless looks, wild manners, and free exhibition of
loaded revolvers, gave strong evidence of their
willingness to do it. Of course we were driven out,
and even if we had not been, did not care to spend
the night, in such high-toned society. So, after
much negotiation, succeeded in securing a caboose
car, as it is called— being a sort of baggage car at-
tached to the engine for the use of the employés.
It had side seats and cushions, and although some-
what rough, was decidedly preferable to the rear
cars, with its rough customers. By keeping the
doors locked, and standing guard, we managed
to hold possession, which we could not have done ex-
cept for the presence of the ladies and children, for
whom, fortunately, the roughs had more respect
than for us. We finally got off at 4 in the morning,
after tedious delay, and very thankful that a row
did not ensue. With the blankets and shawls we
managed to keep the ladies and children passably
comfortable, the gentlemen taking the floor.

Another Detention

At Ogden we were again detained four hours
why or wherefore nobody knew— and arriving at
Weber Canon, had the pleasure of learning that
the bridge had been seriously damaged by the
freshet, and the train came to a halt. On investi-
gation we learned that a large force were at work
strengthening it, and that we might be able to cross
during the day; so we had recourse to the private
stores, and Uncle Tom passed around the contents
of the baskets, serving out rations in a primitive
manner— the two tin plates, three tin caps, solitary
mug and vacant oyster can being assigned to the
ladies, while the gentlemen  improvised jack-knives
and fingers, and we had a jolly lunch, the ladies
seemingly blessed with appetites that would ruin
any hotel they boarded at. The spirit lamp did
duty again as the baby’s cook stove and it (the
baby) crowed and laughed, evidently enjoying the
joke of being a baby, and having thereby the best
of us. We all got out and viewed the magnificent
scenery of the canon, its lofty palisades towering
up hundreds of feet, threatening to fall on our heads
and crush us to powder; the river, foaming and
seething alongside of the train, dashing over the
rocks, almost drowning our voices in its roar; but
we did not like the idea of passing; a night in such
close proximity.

A Thrilling Scene.

The party, with the exception of the subscriber,
who took that occasion to catch a nap, all crossed
the bridge, preferring that course to risking the  ex-
periment in the car, as did most of the passengers,
as word was given out that the attempt would be
made. Just it was about ready a thunder and
hail storm suddenly burst upon their devoted
heads, so unexpectedly that there was no time to
return to the cars or obtain shelter— in fact there
was none. The starting of the train awoke your
intelligent correspondent, who, putting his head
out of the window, looked down upon a foaming
cauldron that would have crushed cars and con-
tents like egg-shells had they gone down. Slowly
the engine moved onward, the passengers watch-
ing its progress with breathless interest as it moved
at a snail-like pace. It reached the middle of the
bridge, and about half the train was upon it when
the very waters seemed to hush their roaring;
the structure trembled, the joints cracked
and creaked. On, on, the train crept, spanning en-
tirely across its length, and at that instant, bearing
its entire weight upon the bridge, the thunder
reverberated through the canon, the clouds of inky
blackness lowered their frowning brows over, us,
the engine reached the opposite shore and was on
solid ground; the engineer clapped on steam, she
“snorted” and bounded ahead, and we were over.
A shout went up from five hundred throats; then a
cheer; the whistle screeched its triumphant note,
which echoed up and down the canon; the Rubicon
was passed; the subscriber, not having any one to
aid him, took a solitary drink of soda water. Then
came the scramble to get aboard again. You have
seen chickens in a thunder storm drooping and be-
draggled-chickens were nowhere to our party. The
rain had caused the colors to run from gay ribbons
and the faces of the ladies were streaked and rain-
bow hued, and as that poor little baby was passed
up a big drop from the heavens poised at the end of
its little nose- a wee wet little waif but crowing
and chuckling; a veritable little Mark Tapley,
and enjoying the fun hugely. (Mem.-The best lit-
tle baby as ever was.) All aboard-a screech-a
jerk-and we were off but slowly and carefully, for
the road hereabout was not quite as safe as Mont-
gomery street; around jutting crags, along the bank
of the foaming torrents we wound for several
miles, but at last emerged into a large country.
An hour or two later we entered
Echo Canon,

One of the most remarkable geological curiosities
in any country. The scenery was grand; great,
high, perpendicular, red sandstone rocks towered
hundreds of feet above our heads, standing forth
at the edge of the table lands, alone, like grim
giant sentinels, frowning upon us who thus dared
to invade their strongholds. It requires an abler
pen than mine to do justice to the grand and awe-
inspiring scenery we passed through for the next
five miles. Bierstadt should portray it on canvas,
and then throw down his brush and palette, and
paint no more. All he has ever done would seem
tame and spiritless by comparison. The black
clouds again walled up, dense and dark, and pour-
ed down upon our devoted beads a sheet of hail
which rattled against the windows and upon the
roof of our car with such force  that our voices were
drowned in its roar. The next important station we
reached was Wasatch, where another vexatious
delay occurred, and we lay there all night, the con-
ductor kindly permitting the ladies to remain in
the caboose, two gents with them; the balance
sought lodgings in a stationary sleeping car, on a
side track some distance off, to which we floundered
through the mud, stumbling over all sorts of ob-
sticals to reach it.
Perils by the Way.
At 5:30 next morning we started again. The road
was very rough and we ran slow , but still we rolled
about like a ship in  heavy sea. Our coarse lay
over a bleak, rolling country, and the rain and hail
drove against the car windows, the wind howled,
and desolation reigned generally outside; but with
Uncle Tom’s never-failing lunch, and an improvis-
ed glee club, we managed  to kill time very pleas-
antly. Occasionally we passed a solitary hut, depots
for provisions and snow-shoes, provided for snow-
bound trains, and to afford shelter when the trains
indulge in their favorite amusement along there,
i e., turning bottom up, or what in railroad par-
lance is called “ditching them.” A more desolate
region never had its gloomy silence disturbed by
man. But on we rolled, and at 12 reached Green
River, a turbid and rapid stream, where we met
with the agreeable intelligence that the bridge
was impassable for cars. The passengers must cross
on foot, and a few hand-cars would takeover the mails
and trunks, but not the females. Again we had to
tumble out, and again tote the numerous satchels,
bundles, baskets, blankets, coats, cloaks, and odds
and ends, and for the fiftieth time I mentally en-
dangered my chances for better things. We had
toted and lugged that infernal lot of luggage until
all were sick and tired of the sight of it; for mind
you, everybody looks after their own, and if you
don’t, good-bye to it. Our ladies had got to be very
expert at it, and, laying aside all ideas of being
waited upon, seized carpet-sacks and lunch-baskets
with a vigorous grasp that they never believed
themselves capable of. There was no time for oer-
emony; everybody seized something, and a long
pull of nearly a mile started the perspiration at
every pore— for the sun had come out hot, and
jeered us at our work. It was a remarkable fact
that the train was never in a hurry,
except when we had that infernal lot of
traps  to “tote,” and then that fiendish whistle
would screech, the engine snort, everybody would
yell ” hurry up, hurry up!” and, of course, add to
the confusion. Somebody would drop something,
Old Tom would go down under his staggering load
of lunch baskets, and even the blessed baby was
occasionally dropped; but it never whimpered. I
bare bandied my traps until I hate the sight of my
satchel, blanket and even lunch-basket, and I have
wished the whole lot in— well, San Francisco –
about five hundred times. Baggage on this route
is a perfect nuisance; I mean small packages; you
can get nobody to carry them for you, and the
trains never stop long enough for you to get them
out, but backs down on a side track, and you must
run after it, stumble over rubbish, get a jet of
steam in your ear, and your head nearly taken off
by the screaming and snorting, to say nothing of
getting into soft spots and mud up to your knees,
for it is very soft in a new country that has just
been stirred up by ten thousand good Democrats,
who have not carried off quite ail of it on their per-
sons.
After getting across Green River Bridge and, by
good luck, getting another caboose car, we stored
away baggage and brought forth the creature com-
forts. A good supper from our own resources put
us in good humor again. An hoar and a half later
we got off and had a good run to tho next station,
where we succeeded in getting into a sleeping-car,
about 11 P. M.. and all turned in for a square sleep.
From this point, the load being good, we fairly
flew for a stretch of a hundred miles or more at the
rate of 40 miles an hour.

Podqers.

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