ojf LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORN^ SAN DIEGO RAMBLES OVERLAND. RAMBLES OVERLAND. A TRIP ACROSS THE CONTINENT. BY ALMON GUNNISON. WHAT THY SOUL HOLDS DEAR, IMAGINE IT TO LIK THAT WAY THOC OO'ST. SHAKSPKABI. BOSTON: UNIVERSALIST PUBLISHING HOUSE. 1884. Copyright, 1883, BT UKIVBRSAUST PUBLISHING HOUSB. Joan WILSON AND Son, CAMBKIDOB. PREFACE. And so I penned It eaving the mountains, the road passes soon into the Coriacan Defile, crossing the fearful span of the Marent Gulch over a trestle bridge eight hundred and sixty-six feet in length and two hundred and twenty-six feet in height. The road winds on along the faces of the hills, coming soon to the Jocko River, in whose pleasant valley for sixty miles the Flathead Indians have their reservation. These natives are peacefully inclined, having long ago yielded to the civilizing power of the Jesuits. River after river now is passed, the great ranges of the Bitter Root Mountains always in the west, until at last the splen- did stream of Clarke's Fork flows beside the track, giving for miles every variety of pleasant scenes. We have passed now into Idaho, having reached the most northern point of our journey. It is a nar- row Territory, however, in this, its northern part, only LOO RAMBLES OVERLAND. sixty miles in width ; but it has within it Lake Pend d'Oreille, one of the fairest lakes upon the continent. The track crosses the little estuary of the lake which runs up to meet the waters of Pack River, on a bridge a mile and a half in length, and then for nearly twenty miles winds along the lake's northern shore. The mountains rise grandly around the lake, thick with fo- liage of fir ; bold islands are within the waters, show- ing no trace that ever a human foot disturbed their solitudes. The lake itself is beautiful, winding in and out among the hills, opening long vistas of pleasant river-like reaches of rippleless water. So for sixty miles the great lake hides for the coming people its rare surprises, rivalling our own Lake George in the beauty of the encircling hills and the serene loveli- ness of its pleasant waters. The shore is pebble- covered, like the beaches of the sea, strewn with sun- bleached timbers, and fragments of such rude boats as the Indians have made. Forest fires are raging on the mountains as we skirt the lake, patches of flame set on the faces of the cliffs making weird illumination, and sending out their clouds of smoke to drift above the waters of the lake. The road winds southward now : the Spokane Val- ley is entered, and over the boundary line of Wash- ington Territory we pass. The reservation of the Cceur d'Alene Indians is close at hand. The natives here on the western coast are of milder temper than far- ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 101 ther east, for they have yielded more readily to the civilizing influences of the Catholic missions, which have cared for them. A facetious writer gives as proof of the civilization of these natives the fact that " they sell their wheat for cash, and that the old chief, Sulteas, has a pair of well-matched horses for his carriage, and lets his money at two per cent a month." The Snake and Columbia Rivers meet at Ainsworth, where we cross the river on a ferry. At Wallula Junction the Walla Walla IJiver joins the Columbia, and our journey now will lie in the valley of this river. Yet not in the valley, for it has no real valley, as its waters are walled in by mighty mountains, and along the sides of these, on shelves and ledges, around out-jutting points, we shall go down towards the sea. There is little fertility here, the desolation of the desert is around us ; but there are massive sculptur- ings of rock and crag, and such mighty headlands as keep wonder all alert. The stone has crumbled into every fantastic form, while the great river below bears on its burden to the sea in mighty currents, hemmed in by crag and cliff. The Great Dalles of the Co- lumbia are reached in the progress of our journey. Only yesterday the salmon season closed, and the town is alive with men. Fishermen, speculators, tourists throng the hotels, and as the great train noisily pushes through the town, crowds look upon 102 RAMBLES OVERLAND. it, waiting for transit down the line. The place has many curious sights, the new and old intermin- gling. Here in the old days the emigrant to Oregon halted his tired horses and embarked for easier prog- ress on the river, and here too the new life of recent enterprise has found a place for its successful ven- tures. Mount Hood, crowned with snows, raises up its kingly head eleven thousand feet, while the great river, compressed here in narrow channels, surges between its imprisoning walls. The scene is one of rare sublimity, for the shores furnish, with their black cliffs, fine setting for the angry waters, while over all the great mountain raises its majestic summit, looking down serenely on the wild passion of the river's flow. If we could but call forth the strange adventures witnessed here, a narrative might be written before which romance would seem dull, for this has been the battle-field of the men who contended for the empire of the West. The Jesuit Fathers have sailed these waters, and while we glide along beside the river we can see upon the other shore the breaking up of the Indian encampments. The fishing season has closed, and from the settlements among the mountains the women have brought down the ponies to carry back the braves who have gathered here supplies for the coming winter. Long reaches of placid water follow, alternating with rapids ; the ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 103 great cascades of the Columbia are passed, the train noisily thundering beneath the cliffs, shooting through dark tunnels, to come out into new surprises of forest, cliff, mountain, and the enchanting river carrying its majestic waters half a thousand feet below our flying wheels. Down the cliffs, too, come great sprays of water, and deep defile and gorge lead backward in the hills ; and there are traces of abandoned mines, and little cabins where the miners dwelt, with now and then a half-clothed savage, in defiance of the law, fish- ing upon the river's bank. The track now diverges from the river, and, trailing through the forest for twenty miles, we come into the fair valley of the Willamette River ; and here before us, across the river which floats the ships of every nation, is Portland, the metropolis of the Pacific Northwest. It has rare advantages of situation. Oregon with its vast resources pays its tribute here, and from these channels the great wheat-laden ships sail to every port. It has a population of nearly forty thousand, with streets of metropolitan breadth, great wholesale houses, street-cars, public buildings of generous proportions, an enterprising local press, and all the advantages that Eastern cities have. We have reached now the western limit of our railway ride. Here we take steamer for San Fran- cisco, and at midnight are on the "Queen of the Pacific," ready for our early morning voyage. An 104 RAMBLES OVERLAND. hour's sail brings us to the confluence of the "Willa- mette with the Columbia, and on the larger river for eighty miles and more we sail to Astoria. The river is sombre in this early morning light, for the great hills on either side are clothed with forests ; even the little islands are closely woven with the dense, dark foliage. Now, indeed, we realize the meaning of the " continuous woods where rolls the Oregon," for no villages cluster on the shore, nor pleasant farms relieve the sombreness of the unbroken forests. How grandly moves this mighty current ; how wide it spreads in opening bays; how impressive are the solitudes of river, island, and the ever-present forests ! Here is the old burial island which used to be the sepulchre of the dusky nation that lived and loved beside these waters ; here are the places where battles have been fought, and these hills have given back other echoes than the shrill scream of our steamer's whistle ! The city of Astoria is curiously set upon piles, as though, with an unsettled empire behind it, there were need of thus filching from the sea a place for the city's site. The place was founded by the great fur company, and has had a strange and eventful histoiy. It has grown but slowly, for until the building of the railway this wondrous region was but little visited. The salmon industry now is making strange activity, there being more than fifty canning establishments ON THE PACIFIC SLOPE. 105 here. We visit them aiid all the wonders of the place. The town is still crude, and bears but slight evidence of wealth ; but the great ships lie without in the harbor here, and in these crowded streets one feels the beginnings of the larger movement that is to change the old city into a place of thriving indus- tries and commerce. When the tide covers the bar to sufficient depth, we cast off our lines and leave the continent behind. The great headlands come in view, Cape Disappoint- ment holding bravely up against the encroaching sea. The ship passes out of the river and is on the Pacific. For two days we sail upon its placid waters, no sail relieving the great wastes of water, nothing seen except the sea-gulls and the drifting weeds. The sun sinks with glory in the sea, and the balmy night reveals the stars above and the long starry way trail- ing behind our advancing keel. The air is fresh with the breezes that float above the sea, tempered, seem- ingly, with perfumes from invisible islands of fra- grant woods ; the forest fires are burning along the coast, and the vast ranges which would bear us com- pany are hidden behind smoky veils. But the ship drifts on, and here before us are the shores of the golden State, and here, rising like sentinels guard- ing priceless treasures, are the double clifi's of the Golden Gate. It is not wonderful that the old voy- agers passed up and down, never dreaming that this 106 RAMBLES OVERLAND. narrow gateway opened into an inland sea so fair as this beside which the great city has built itself. Were not these mountains veined with gold, this entrance- way would still hold worthily its royal name ; for it is of surpassing grandeur, the rocks themselves bold, sea-scarred, holding up their defiant ramparts against the sea. The bay beyond cannot surely find unless it be in Naples any rival in the world ; island-dotted, spreading out its blue waters like a sea, with pleasant shores set thick with towns, and on the heights the magic city of San Francisco, with its vast multitude of buildings, and over all the solitary cross of the burial-place, standing clearly outlined against the cloudless sky. We can hardly realize that we have reached the wonder-city here upon the western borders of the continent; that California is before and the Pacific behind us. So, wondering at the strange life around us, we come down the gangway, feeling, as the throng of hackinen importune, that after all we are yet upon the earth, although so severely do they press us, we have grave doubts how long we may be permitted to tarry in the flesh. THE CITY OF THE GOLDEN GATE. There ' something in a flying horse. PETER BELL. CHAPTER VII. THE CITY OF THE GOLDEN GATE. ROME has the advantage of San Francisco on the score of age, but the newer beats the older city in the number of its hills. While " Jerusalem is a city that is compact together," this one sprawls from the Goldeu Gate half-way to the Sierras, a kind of miscellaneous go-as-you-please sort of a place, that looks as if it had at first been built out of plumb, and by a series of earthquakes had been still farther kinked and twisted. The hills are real up-and-down sort of things, cut decidedly on the bias, crossway, sideway, endway, angleway, anyway, run- ning up, looming up, any- way-to-get-up, made of sand which is so generally in a state of flux that a man hardly knows the next day on which street to look for his corner lot The houses hold on to these side-hills by some indescribable suction, and it is said that the feet of the people, before the coming of the cable roads, so slanted by the climbings of the hills, that on level ground they had to walk upon their heels. 110 RAMBLES OVERLAND. Shanty and villa intermingle, the houses of the rich and poor meet together ; and ambitious architects are the makers of them all. The newer buildings are of imposing magnitude, of great solidity and grace ; the homes of the millionnaires are palatial ; but the general aspect of the place is that of a lack of architectural character, a city where every man owns a jig-saw, and is the architect of his own house if not of his own fortune. An old South Jersey friend used to say, " Our land here is valueless, but our climate is worth a thousand dollars an acre." The average San Franciscan keeps discreet silence of the city's soil, but the climate is a constant theme for wonder, love, and praise. And yet the weather is as uncertain as the fulfilment of Vennor's prophecies. Summer is in winter, and cold weather comes in the hot months. About eleven o'clock in the morning the zephyrs begin to put the hills in circulation, and the entire unimproved estate of the city is up in air. The wind is a kind of mar- row-searching affair, severely gritty, a trifle salt, and sure to make itself at home in the defective tissues. And yet these people with chattering lips will chant the praises of the balmy air, while the zephyrs make havoc in the streets, and there are fires in half the city grates. We have told the truth, but not the whole truth, about this sandy soil There is some latent power THE CITY OF THE GOLDEN GATE. Ill in these grains of sand which the California water finds, for wherever the magic water touches it the desolation changes to luxuriance. The city in many of its parts is a garden ; tiny yards are like little bits stolen out of Eden, with velvet lawns kept green with daily waterings, and clambering vines covering porch and trellis. In the flower season the city must be like an Oriental fair, for here are fuchsia bushes like lilac trees, and great tangle braids of vines that must take on bewitching beauty when the flowers come. We can believe the wonders that they tell us of, for in the great park we visit we see some of the marvels born from the marriage of this strange soil and the miracle-working water hidden in the hills ; and even now, when the year wears its russet livery, we get hints iu the belated blossoms of what the city must be, "When spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil." This is the way we see the city. In the Nevada Stables there is a horse, the fairest, rarest horse man ever sat upon. Our good fairy tells us where to find him, and he knows that we are coming, for he dances with joy to see us ; and how glad he is all through the day that we have come to ride him ! The genial Willis used to say that " there is nothing so good for the in- side of a man as the outside of a horse ; " and so do the Arabs have love for it, that they have an iinme- 112 EAMBLES OVERLAND. morial proverb, that " he who forgets the beauty of a horse for the beauty of a woman will never prosper." But there are horses and horses, and who can tell, by looking, the fashion of a horse. Even so wise a man as Sforza used to say, that " should one desire to take a wife, to buy a horse, to get a melon, the wise man will recommend himself to Providence, and draw his bonnet over his eyes." But we know by that instinct that creatures some- times have that both horse and rider have met one of the epochs in their lives, and the great splendid ani- mal is so royally glad that we have come that he is impatient to bear us over the hills and far away in such an exultant race as we have never had in all our life before. Oh, but it is a wondrous seat that we have found, a very battery of electric force ! We can feel be- neath us the dancing of every nerve, and how airily this matchless creature bears us, as though he carries Caesar and all his fortunes. We wear our honors meekly as he bears us through the crowded streets ; we have just a touch of hope that those who watch us are giving not all their admiration to the horse ; although so do we love it that we cannot be envious if we would, and secretly we know that we are not half so superb an animal as this that carries us. But here is Nobb Hill, half a thousand feet above us ; and how can this fellow bear us up this semi- THE CITY OF THE GOLDEN GATE. 113 precipice of plank ? Ah, we little know him ! We loosen our reins just the tiniest bit; and away, up and on, he springs, as though life had no joy so great as climbing to the clouds. We have come far to see these palaces of the bonanza kings, and really we must insist, now that we are here, on looking for a moment ; for how can we tell now that we may not some time be millionnaires ourselves ? and it will be handy then to know what things to do. So, despite the protest of our horse, though the feet dance, and the curb is flecked with foam, we spy out the won- ders of the palaces. They are vastly large ; a very efflorescence of tower, turret, balcony, and portico, an epidemic of ornament, as though the jig-saw, being a plebeian fellow, had a kind of communistic hatred for the millionnaires, and had wreaked wild vengeance on their dwellings. We dare not say how much these pretentious buildings cost, knowing that we shall surely miss half the figures ; we are certain, anyway, that the wall around the terrace on which this one rests cost a quarter of a million, and, as the humorist said of his frog, we could n't see any points about that wall any more than any other wall. We begin to grow suspicious that in other days our horse has carried some hoodlum rider to the Sand-lot meetings ; for where can we get, other than from him, the strange, protesting feeling that these dwellers here should have such palaces, when there 8 114 RAMBLES OVERLAND. is such poverty just below the hill ? It does not seem quite fair that there should be such inequality ; and as we look across the bay to where the prison is, and think of the convicts there busily working for the State, and then at these palaces of the monopolists, we confess that we have a kind of hoodlum feeling as we listen without protest to this old saw that our horse repeats to us : " The law locks up the man or woman Who steals the goose from off the common, But lets the greater villain loose Who steals the common from the goose." Of course we will not countenance any such heresy, and we tell him to go on and mind his business ; but as we go along we secretly think there is good " horse- sense" in what the fellow says. Far off on the hills, set against the sky, stands on the summit of Lone Mountain a wooden cross. Far out at sea we saw this thing towering weirdly, like a second Calvary, above the city of a hundred hills ; and now we will go upward to where the cross, in its place of graves, keeps its eternal vigil above the am- bition, the shame, and virtue of the city. Down, up, over the hills, by pleasant homes, touching the rude fringes of the town, we come up to the city of the dead. Close beside it is Laurel Hill, beautiful with ivy, with no sign in outward glory of shrub and tree that there are graves beneath these scarlet and pur- THE CITY OF THE GOLDEN GATE. 115 pie flowers. We can read here the story of yonder city's life. The pioneers were buried beneath these wooden slabs. How rudely they are carved ! The weather has almost stained out the little record of their lives. This is the end, then, of the adventurous lives of the bold men who came over the plains and by the highway of the sea to plant here a new empire ! How familiar are the names on these old moss-grown stones, Providence, Newburyport, Bos- ton, New London, Salem, Gloucester, New Bedford I All of these we read as the birthplaces of those who once were clothed in the dust mouldering beneath; and our journey through these silent cities, whose dwellers never move, tells us many things of the old life of this strange city of the Golden Gate. But here we are far above the city. San Francisco is upon