As our descent proceeds, we catch sight, in the distance, of a herd of wild elk, and where these rolling prairies have better herbage, we see herds of horses with ranch buildings here and there. We pass the ranch of William Cody, who, by virtue of his being a Senator of the State of Nebraska, is called Honourable, but who was known in London, a short time ago, at Mr. Whitley's "Wild West" show as "Buffalo Bill." As we pass Fort Laraime, one of the forts erected by the United States Government as a protection against the Indians, I was told some stories of Cody's exploits against the Indians. In former days, emigrants traversing these great prairies to found a home in this Wild West, were often harassed by Indians, and the soldiers at the fort had to protect them. Buffalo Bill has been in many a skirmish, and, if rumour is true, many redskins have succumbed to him; the Government took counsel with him in all Indian difficulties in that part of the country, and the day before I passed his ranch he had been sent for by the authorities that they might confer with him as to the outbreak which then existed, and which cost "Sitting Bull" his life. We passed a house cut clean in two by the wind, great herds of horses and cattle, beautiful specimens of the bald and other eagles and vultures, some deer, and a very fine grey wolf about the size of a Newfoundland dog.
The distant mountain scenery at times is very grand, and everywhere snow-capped. The air is very pure and keen. I much enjoyed the society of two fellow travellers over this part of my journey, Mr. Lee, of General Lee's family, of Virginia, and Mr. Hurley, Solicitor to the Directors of the line we were traversing. We passed the "Divide of the Continent" at an altitude of 7,100 feet, which is the dividing line of the running of water; that running east empties into the North Platte River, thence into the Missouri, thence into the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean; that running west empties into the Green River, thence into the Colorado, thence into the Pacific Ocean.
In the early morning of December 5th we ran into Ogden, which is near Salt Lake, at the base of the Wasatch Mountains, which are snow-capped, and have some very fine peaks. Salt Lake is 126 by 45 miles, and on it is situate the great City of the Mormons. On the more fertile parts of the prairies I gathered, at Humboldt Wells, some of the sage grass which used to be the food of the buffaloes when they existed; at other places I gathered samples of herbage on less favoured soils. As we proceed, we see an encampment of Indians with red paint on their faces, which was put on to show sympathy with, and, if necessary, take part with other tribes of Indians, then commencing a "war" with the United States soldiers. This district was not far, as distances go in America from the scene of action. Presently we commence our run through the great barren alkali plains, emerging from which we get into a more fertile country, and, at Cedar Pass, notice the great ranch of Messrs. Sparks and Tinnin, who are reputed to have 100,000 head of cattle. Mr. Byrne, of Elko, Nevada, also the owner of a large ranch, was on board the cars, and gave me some useful information. He said that cattle raising is very profitable, as they double in number every four years, i.e., a profit of 25 per cent.; thus, if a man start with a 1,000 head of stock cattle, he will have 4,000 head in four years.
If a thousand head of stock cattle were purchased off a ranch, they would be sold just as they run, without any selection whatever—steers, heifers, cows, calves, bulls, yearlings, both sexes and all ages, but calves which still suck their mothers are not counted, and go for nothing. Many head of cattle perish in the winter, when the land is covered with snow, as on many large ranches no food is given them. I urged that it would pay to have stock-yards and give food during the snow time, and Mr. Byrne said that he always did so himself, and that the great ranch men were having their eyes opened to this necessity.
We passed various other encampments of Indians, and far from any encampment or habitation saw an Indian on the track carrying a small light bundle, and following him a long way behind was his squaw, labouring under a very heavy burden.
During this day we ran through ranges of uneven mountains, rising one above another in broken undulations and with ever-varying tops, such as table lands, sharp conical peaks, rounded heads, and broken indentations.
The distant mountains are enveloped in snow, upon which gleams a resplendent setting sun, presenting a prospect which only such a region could produce. From the dazzling whiteness of one range we look upon the dense darkness of another, as being out of the sun's influence. The lights and shades, the gorges, the fissures, the striations in the range upon range, with their intervals of plains and valleys, here and there opening up peeps of great tracts of country, and then again shutting all in to the circumference of their gigantic heads, interspersed with the brilliance of rich gold, tingeing some tops and revealing dark recesses, some ruby tints and fantastic shadows,—all combine to reflect a glory which lifts the mind beyond the great heights of hills to a height, greater still, whence originated all natural grandeur.
We had run through Utah and Nevada, and were now approaching the northern part of California. In the very early morning of December 6th I awoke and found that the train was at a standstill. Thinking that we were at a station I tried to sleep again, but, finding that we continued motionless, I went out on to the platform connecting our car with the next and found all around was deep snow, and that another train on the other metals had broken down, and that our men were apparently helping to get it off. We were then two miles from Truckee, and at an elevation of nearly 6,000 feet. After a long delay we got away and ran into Truckee. The scenery on this day was also of a truly grand character: precipices, declivities, chasms; and in one very romantic spot, of weird and wild mountain sides, graduating to narrow gullies, with pine and other trees, some perfect, others broken by the wind was one great wreck of a forest monster—a tree rudely snapped asunder by wind or lightning, about 40 feet from the ground, and stripped of every branch, so that it looked like a broken column; on its top sat a great vulture in the well-known attitude of its kind, as motionless as rock, and apparently meditating on the incongruity of a noisy, vulgar bit of machinery, with its train of cars, invading such a nook of Nature's solitudes.
As we proceeded we came upon the succession of Placer gold diggings, known as the hydraulic mines, which were then for the most part abandoned, and these brought to my remembrance many similar spots I had seen in Australia. The débris of the mines had stopped up, or diverted, or otherwise interfered with the Sacramento River, the Bear River, and other rivers, to the great detriment of agriculture, horticulture, stock rearing, etc., whereupon the State Legislature of California passed an Act to prohibit all interference with the water, for without water the miners could not wash their dirt, and so had to abandon the diggings. All around this part, ravine followed ravine, with beautiful vistas between, affording a continuous luxury of scenic gratification. Presently we reached what is called by many the grandest scenery on the American Continent, known as Cape Horn; it is where the train winds round a mountain side, on a narrow ledge, and at such a height, that to hold one's hand out of the window would be to hold it over a sheer precipice of 2,500 feet. The train runs along the ledge or narrow roadway cut in the face of the mountain rock, and all around is presented a spectacle of the majesty of Nature, which only such a range of mountains as the Sierra Nevada could produce.
About 14 miles from Truckee, we reach a station called "Summit," which lies at an elevation of 7,017 feet, and is the highest point on the Sierra Nevada Mountains reached by railroads, but the granite peaks rise up to an altitude of over 10,000 feet. Grizzly bears, and other wild creatures, find their homes in the recesses of these fastnesses. On leaving these mountains we make a rapid descent, and in an hour feel that we are in another country. At Colfax I bought fruit; at Arlington the temperature was like summer. At Rockling Station I saw some very fine orange trees, full of splendid fruit. Now we have entered the fertile plains of North California, and run through cultivated lands, till we reach Sacramento, the capital of the State. It is a great change: from desert, alkaline plains, miles of snow sheds, snow-covered mountains, a semi-civilization, and a freezing atmosphere, we find ourselves in a warm, genial climate, cultivated farms, vineyards, gardens, and orchards of nectarines, pears, apples, and the rest.