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ration of the water which has been washed up and has afterwards receded.
After a run of thirty-seven miles, over ground we had already traversed, a distance which we managed to accomplish in two hours, stopping at four little stations on the way, we reached Ogden, and had to change from the cars of the Utah Central Railroad into those of the Central Pacific. Ogden, named after an old trapper who used to live in the neighbourhood, is a town of about 6000 inhabitants, is chiefly Mormon, and is the second town in point of importance in the Territory of Utah. Gentiles are fast pouring into the place, and the Mormons themselves are gradually getting "freezed out." Its streets are wide and regularly laid out, and have streams of pure water flowing at the sides, after the manner of Salt Lake City. Three times are kept here—Ogden proper, Laramie, and San Francisco times. The San Francisco time is I hr. 16 min. slower than Ogden, and the Ogden time is 30 min. slower than Laramie.
On reaching the station, we were received by such a clanging and banging and booming of gongs, together with such an uproarious and confused babel of voices from a number of excited individuals directly we stepped out of the train on to the platform, that it looked as if we had come to a place where everyone had taken leave of his senses. What did it all mean? In one word, it meant dinner. Yes, dinner it was, dinner and supper combined, and this is how the hour of the meal was proclaimed. There are four or five insignificantlooking little inns hard by the Ogden station, and the "runners" of these hotelleries, each armed with a big gong, came forth with their satellites upon the arrival of our train, and made the most of such a windfall by intimating through the media of their gongs and their lungs how pleased they would be to see us inside their respective inns, where dinner was ready cooked and waiting for us, and how they would see us "fixed" for the meal with the smallest of amounts. Three out of the four or five came and pressed themselves on myself and my friend—they left off banging about their gongs and commenced vociferously haranguing us. As we had a couple of hours to wait before our train was due to leave for San Francisco, we began to turn a favourable ear to their vehement declarations; but so passionately did they address us, and so violently did they abuse one another, calling each other by the very choicest of American epithets in their anxiety to conclude with us a bargain which would at the same time be the most agreeable to themselves, that I thought more than once there was going to be a free fight. They called me "boss," and my friend they called "cap'n."2 Hitherto I had generally been known as "colonel," particularly among the negroes. I rather approved of being called by this latter appellation. "To call a man 'colonel,'" says the Philadelphia Post, "is to convey the idea that he is of a mild, meek, and benevolent disposition."—But to return to these hotel touts. One of them promised us each a "clean" meal for the sum of seventy-five cents; another promised us one for fifteen cents less, and offered to get, in addition, some young ladies to wait upon us. A third promised us a fiftycent dinner, young ladies to wait, and a good bottle of wine besides—all to be included in the bargain. It is needless to observe that we closed immediately with this last-mentioned offer.
Dinner over, upon which no comment need be made, except that it was served half cold, and what-was served was half cooked, we returned to the station to see about securing a section in a sleeping-car, that we might be conveyed with ease and comfort to the far-distant end of our journey. But, as might have been expected, it was too late for us now to secure any berths. We ought to have made sure of these before we left Salt Lake City. None were now to be had—all had been taken long ago. As it was, the Ogden station office for berth tickets was literally besieged with travellers, all anxious like ourselves to reach California com
1 To be called "boss,'' "captain," "judge'' (pronounced jidge) or "colonel" by the people you meet when you are travelling in the United States, is all very well, and you appreciate the good feeling that prompts the extension of such well-meaning compliments. But it is another matter altogether, indeed it is beyond a joke, when a letter comes addressed to you with some "bogus" title appended to your name on the envelope, or when the newspapers take you up and proclaim your name with a like spurious title attached to it, thereby causing you to become a laughing-stock to your friends, making you feel anything rather than "elevated." During my visit to the United States in 1879, I was twice dubbed a " Right Hon." (by letter), thrice was I knighted (in the newspapers), and once I was addressed (by letter) as "colonel." To give one instance,—In the arrival-list of guests staying at the Massasoit House, Narragansett Pier (a seaside resort on Rhode Island) on August 10, 1879, I found myself figuring prominently as "The Right Honorable," etc. etc.
fortably, and everyone had to be similarly refused. So the prospect was before us of having to make the best of the situation for two nights in an ordinary car, where not only would there be no berths, nor indeed any proper accommodation for those who wished to have a comfortable sleep on the way; but no provision of lavatories, such as are in the parlour and sleeping-cars.
Ogden is finely situated, and as we pass out of the station for our run of 883 miles to the capita' of the Pacific coast, mountains tower up grandly before us on our right and behind the town at our rear. We have now entered upon the second division of the Pacific Railroad.
Passing through a mountainous country we come, in sixteen miles to Brigham " City," named after the late President of the Latter-day Saints. It is but an insignificant little Mormon settlement, where the "Church of Christ" is allowed to have full swing, for no " ungodly Gentiles " care to take the trouble to come here and set up their standard against it.
We now pass into a flat, desert region, and come within sight of the eastern of the two northern arms of the Great Salt Lake. We run first in a north-easterly direction, and then gradually curve round these two northern branches, keeping the lake in view, off and on, for seventy-four miles till reaching the settlement of Kelton, where we lose sight of it. But we must not omit to take a glance at the next settlement we come to after Brigham, six miles beyond. It is called Corinne —a very pretty name, and so indeed it ought to be, for here the Mormons are entirely "freezed out." No members of" Christ's Church " are allowed to have any voice in the counsels of this community. Corinne is the only town in the Territory where the Mormons do not preponderate. Its population is about 1500. Distant seven miles from the Great Salt Lake, a steamer used to ply between it and Lake Point, touching also at Black Rock. But the boat could not have paid very well, for it has now ceased running.
Twenty-nine miles beyond Corinne we pass a spot which is historically the most interesting on the whole of the overland route. It is Promontory Point, a headland jutting out into the Great Salt Lake, 1084 miles from Omaha and 832 from San Francisco. It was here that the two companies which engineered the Pacific Railroad—the one (the Central Pacific) commencing-in California, the other (the Union Pacific) commencing in Nebraska—met and joined their lines, the Central Company having laid 692 miles of rail from Sacramento, the Union Company 1084 miles from Omaha. By an arrangement subsequently made, the Union Company gave up to the Central fifty-one miles of the portion they had laid, namely that between Ogden and Promontory Point, and again, in the
same year (1869) which saw the union of the two lines, the Central Company purchased from the Western Pacific Company the 140 miles of rail which connected Sacramento with San Francisco. Thus we see how the length of the Union Pacific Railroad (from Omaha to Ogden) came to be 1033 miles, and the Central Pacific (from Ogden to San Francisco) 883 miles. This "great railroad wedding," as the union of the two lines has been termed, was celebrated with all the pomp and ceremony which the importance of the occasion demanded. Representatives from the principal cities of North America were present, and the ceremony of " driving the last spike" was performed by Governor Leland Stanford with a hammer made of solid silver, to the handle of which were attached telegraph wires that flashed, as he tapped the head of the gold spike, the news of the completion of the railway to San Francisco, New York, Boston, Washington, New Orleans, etc.
We were fast asleep when we passed Kelton, the nearest station on our journey to the present advanced scalpingground of the Indian, where the detachment of fifteen had been sent from Fort Douglas, Salt Lake City, to look after the interests of the terrified population of the settlement. But almost the first thing we saw the next morning (June 12th) when we awoke was a camp of wigwams pitched close together in a meadow a few hundred yards distant on our left. We applied our field-glasses and gazed at them eagerly. The Indians have curious terms for the telegraph wire, and the railway train with its cars or carriages. They call the former the "whispering spirit," and the latter "bad 'medicine' (;'. c. mystery) waggons."
I would here say a word on behalf of the poor Indian. We see him begging at the railway stations, looking dejected, miserable, dirty, and half-starved—but can we wonder at secing him in this pitiable condition when we read of the way he is treated, and of the humiliations he has to endure at the hands of his pale-face masters? Driven from home, he has had to flee in the face of advancing civilization—nay, more than this. In Canada the Indian can truly say, This is all I have to complain of; but with the Indian of the United States