We were all up bright and early, after a good night’s sleep. This Kansas atmosphere is wonderful. It makes one sleep at night in spite of himself, and such an appetite as it does give.
As we came from the breakfast table we found elegant carriages awaiting us.
Each bank sent out either its President or Cashier to help entertain us.
RIVERSIDE SALT WORKS, HUTCHINSON, KANSAS.
We visited the wonderful salt works at South Hutchinson. The pure white salt was admired by all. Being free from all impurities, the Hutchinson salt does not cake. The supply is unlimited; at a depth of 350 to 400 feet lies a bed of solid, pure rock-salt, 330 feet thick, covering an area of many miles in extent. Hutchinson will supply all the salt trade west of the Mississippi River. Additional interest was manifested by all in this field, as it was learned that this source of wealth was originally developed by Ben Blanchard, unaided and alone.
The development of the great salt wealth of South Hutchinson no doubt gave Hutchinson permanent impulse at the opportune moment. Competition from Wichita for the business centre that must of necessity settle on some point in Kansas subsided when the salt fields came to the surface with its unlimited supply of pure white salt. Standing by the side of one of the leading bank presidents of Hutchinson, at one of the great salt wells, one of our party, not knowing whose energy and enterprise discovered and developed the great industry, made the remark: “I should be willing to take off my hat to the man who first struck salt here.” The bank President replied: “Well, you may take off your hat to Mr. Blanchard, the President of the Empire Loan and Trust Company.”
We left the salt works, with its thousands of tons of snowy salt, for the green fields of the farms. There was not a cloud in the sky. The cool, fresh, country air put us all in the best of spirits. For miles and miles we hurried on, scaring up quail, prairie chicken, and rabbits from the finely-kept green hedge fences which line the road on both sides. Choice farms are on every hand. In fact the country presents the appearance of a checker-board, nearly every quarter section being a fine farm with its grove of forest trees, orchard, and small fruit. The two story farm-houses and large barns remind one of the best portions of Pennsylvania.
We passed team after team on its way to Hutchinson loaded with wheat, oats, or corn. We stopped at the fine fruit farm of Mr. Switzer, and received a bountiful supply of choice, rosy apples. The cherry and peach trees still bore traces of the wonderful crops that had been gathered and shipped. To our left was Mr. Furney’s fine mansion, and a little farther on the elegant stock farm with its hundreds of blooded cattle, belonging to Mr. Stewart. Both of these gentlemen were formerly of Philadelphia. Many other similar places would have been in sight, but the great fields of corn on every hand hid them from our view. The new wheat, which has been sown in abundance, was just coming through the ground, and gave a fresh, green look to many a field.
We reached Hutchinson in time for dinner, and could hardly realize that we had driven over twenty miles.