Across America; Or, The Great West and the Pacific Coast

by James Fowler Rusling

BOISÈ CITY TO THE COLUMBIA.

Idaho, one of the latest of our new Territories, was formed by lopping off the eastern prolongations of Oregon and Washington, and calling the incipient state by that euphoneous name. Lewiston, the head of navigation then, via the Columbia, was originally its capital; but the "shrieks of locality" demanded a more central position, and so Boisè City secured the honor. We found it (Nov., 1860) a mushroom town of log and frame buildings, but thoroughly alive every way. Three years before, there was nothing there but the Boisè bottoms, and a scattered ranch or two. Now she boasted three thousand inhabitants, two daily newspapers, stage-lines in all directions, and ebullient prosperity. A hotel, of large capacity, that was to "take the shine" out of all the rest, was just being completed. The Episcopalians and Presbyterians already had their churches up, and the Methodists were expecting soon to build theirs, though then worshipping temporarily in the Court House. Excellent free-schools, to accommodate all the children and more, abounded, and the sermon we heard on Sunday was chiefly a "pitching into" Brigham Young, largely for the want of these. The preacher had been down to Salt Lake, spying out the land for missionary purposes, and had returned filled with hearty unction against the whole system of Mormonism. Boisè City was then the centre of the mining regions of Idaho, though not of them—like Denver, as related to Colorado. The mines were chiefly miles away, at Owyhee, Ruby, Idaho City, and Silver City; but all business sprang from and converged here at Boisè, as the most central point, all things considered, and most of the "bricks" dropped first into her lap. Mining operations were mostly over for that season, and the streets and saloons of Boisè were thronged with rough miners, en route for the Columbia, or even California, to winter and return. They claimed they could save money by this temporary exodus—the price of living was so high in Idaho—and at the same time escape the rigor of the climate. With expansive hats, clad chiefly in red-shirts, and "bearded like a pard," every man carried his bowie-knife and revolver, and seemed ready for any emergency. They were evidently a rougher crowd, than the Colorado miners, and in talking with them proved to be from California, Arizona, Nevada, Oregon, Frazer's River, Montana, and about everywhere else, except Alaska. Your true miner is a cosmopolite, who has "prospected" everywhere, from the British Dominion to Mexico, and he is always ready to depart for any new "diggings," that promise better than where he is, on half a day's notice, no matter how far. His possessions are small, soon bundled up or disposed of, and he mocks at the old maxim, "A rolling stone gathers no moss," though usually he is a good exemplification of it.

The chief business of Boisè, just then, seemed to be drinking whiskey, and gambling. The saloons were the handsomest buildings in town, and were thronged at all hours of the day and night. The gamblers occupied corners of these, and drove a brisk trade unmolested by anybody. The restaurants were also important points of interest, and gave excellent meals at not unreasonable prices, all things considered. Here at Boisè, our U. S. greenbacks for the first ceased to be "currency," and the precious metals became the only circulating medium. It did one's eyes good to see our old gold and silver coins in use once more, though gold and silver "dust" was also a recognized medium of exchange. All the stores, restaurants, and saloons kept a delicate pair of scales, and their customers carried buck-skin or leather bags of "dust," from which they made payment, and into which they returned their change. Disputes now and then arose, from the "dust" offered not being up to the standard; but these were usually settled amicably, unless the "dust" proved basely counterfeit, and then the saloons sometimes flashed with bowie-knives, or rung with revolvers.

Here, also at Boisè, for the first, we met John Chinaman. Quite a number of the Celestials had already reached Idaho from California, via the Columbia, and were scattered through the towns, as waiters, cooks, launderers, etc. A few had sought the mines, but not many, as they preferred the protection of the towns. Along with the rest, these Chinese miners were also migrating to the Columbia and beyond; and as they paid their stage-fare and rode, while many others footed it to the "River," of course, we augured well of them. The imbecile, brutal, and barbarous laws of the whole Pacific Coast, where Chinamen are concerned, it appeared, however, were still in force in Idaho. A good illustration of their practical workings had just occurred over in Owyhee, or somewhere there, and should be recorded here. Three or four ruffians over there, it appears, had set upon an unoffending Chinaman at Work in the mines, and had first abused and insulted him, and then robbed and killed him. Other miners, hearing of the circumstances, arrested the murderers and took them before an Idaho Dogberry, who promptly liberated them on the ground, that no Anglo-Saxon was present at the transaction, and that the Chinamen (who were) were incompetent as witnesses, as against white men! This was good Idaho Law and Justice, no doubt. But it was too strong for the indignant miners, and the same day Judge Lynch amended it, by hanging all the miscreants in the nearest gulch. This was rude law, and rough justice, no doubt; but was it not infinitely better, than the absurd and inhuman code of the Pacific Coast?

Idaho, as a whole, seemed then to be at a stand-still, and her merchants, as a rule, were sighing for the flush times of '63 and '64, when our miners were on the rush there. Her total yield of the precious metals for '66 was computed at about $5,000,000, against Montana's $15,000,000. Ross Browne, indeed, with "conspicuous inexactness," reported Idaho at $15,000,000 that year; but nearly everybody seemed to think this at least three times too much—Mr. Halsey, who was a good judge, especially. Her "placer" mines, or "diggings," it was thought, were already well exhausted, and her quartz-mining will always prove very expensive, because of the scarcity of fuel, and the heavy cost of transportation. Railroads, it was hoped, would cheapen both of these items in the future, but as yet they seemed distant. From the Columbia to Boisè City, was only about three hundred miles, and yet the charge then for transportation over this short distance was more than half the charge from the Missouri to Salt Lake, some twelve hundred miles. This was explained, as one result of their coin basis, and of the high price of wages, and everything else in Idaho. But the fact remained, as an ugly circumstance, for Boisè to digest.

Fort Boisè, on the outskirts of the town, was headquarters of military affairs in Idaho, but had ceased to be of much importance. The Territorial Legislature had already applied to the proper Department at Washington, for the post buildings, for use of the Territorial Government, and the troops were ready to vacate any day. We stopped there a week, studying Idaho affairs generally, and were delightfully entertained by the post-officers. One of them had been stationed in California, at Benicia Barracks, when the war broke out, and he gave us an interesting account of the attempted Rebel movement there, which the sudden arrival of Gen. Sumner on the Coast so effectually squelched. Another was a Baltimorean, who by reading the Tribune had become a staunch Republican, and was one of the intensest Union men I ever met. One day a Paymaster happened along, whose baggage a fortnight before had been robbed of $65,000 in greenbacks, and an equal amount in vouchers, while he was taking supper at Fort Boisè. At first, he was paralyzed to lose such an amount, in that wild region. But subsequently he struck a "lead," and followed it up with the pertinacity of a sleuth-hound, until he recovered most of the money and vouchers, and arrested all the thieves. His success was simply wonderful for Idaho, and his story sounded more like romance than sober reality, as he told of the long chase and final capture, with the finding of his greenbacks in carpet-bags, knapsacks, etc., buried by the roadside, and some even under the ruts of the very roadway. While halting there, the news also reached us by telegraph of the November elections East, and the final outcome of Mr. Johnson's "Swinging round the circle!" Army officers though we were, we could not repress a mild hurrah, and how intensely proud we felt of the loyal North! Surely we were a great and noble people, after all. Step by step—nulla vestigia retrorsum—we had overcome all obstacles, in the name of Humanity and Justice; and now, evidently, our reactionary leaders had better take care how they trifled with the Republic! We talked it all over among ourselves, as we sat around the camp-fires, at that distant post in Idaho; and thanked God for America, and that there was "life in the old land yet!"

Recruited up again pretty well by our stay at Boisè, we left there Nov. 19th for Umatilla and the Columbia. Stages ran three times a week, but they were going so crowded, and the roads were reported so heavy, that I deemed it more advisable to proceed by ambulance. It was three hundred miles, and by ambulance it would take three times as long; but this would give me an opportunity of resting at night, and I feared to venture on otherwise, anxious as we were to reach the Columbia before winter set in. Our route lay substantially down the valley of the Boisè, and other tributaries of the Snake, to the Snake at Farewell Bend, and thence across the Blue Mountains to the Umatilla, and down that to the Columbia. The chief tributaries of the Snake just there were the Boisè, Pratt's River, Burnt River, and Powder River, and we traversed the valleys of each of these successively. These valleys were all substantially alike, and consisted usually of bottoms from two to three miles wide, very fertile throughout, but all requiring irrigation, except for grass which grew tolerably well without this. Here and there irrigation had been resorted to, to some extent, with fine crops in return; but only a very little of the land had yet been brought under cultivation. Generally, beyond these bottoms, on either side, were elevated benches or plateaus, from five to six miles in width, extending back to the outlying bluffs or mountains. These were covered chiefly with the inevitable sage-brush and grease-wood; but the soil looked fat and fertile enough, and evidently required only patient irrigation, to become as prolific as the fields of Utah. Water for this might be supplied in part from the rivers mentioned, and in part perhaps from the neighboring cañons, if they be not dry cañons. The chief drawback of the country to the Snake, indeed, seemed to be the scarcity of timber, for fencing and building purposes. For fuel, coal had been discovered, both at Farewell Bend and near Boisè City; but timber for other purposes was everywhere scarce and dear. In the valley of the Boisè, "Shanghai" fences were frequent, such as we had seen in eastern Kansas; but the Idahoans used thongs instead of nails, to fasten the boards or rails to the posts—hides evidently being cheaper there, than hardware.

The valley of the Snake, most sinuous of rivers, as its name well indicates, proved scarcely better, than where we had crossed it several hundred miles farther up, a fortnight or so before. But the Snake itself had now swelled into a broad and majestic river. We travelled down its banks for ten or twelve miles, and found its rocky and precipitous bluffs came quite down to the river generally; and where this was not the case, there were often only great banks of sand, whirled into such sheltered places by the winds of ages. Indifferent timber appeared here and there, but not much to speak of. The road wound along close to the bluffs, and was often quarried out of them, without room for more than one team to pass at a time. We passed one such place by moonlight, with the bluff high above and the river deep below, but fortunately got through safely. We reasoned, that the usual trains would have gone into camp by sundown, and took the chances for any accidental travellers like ourselves. It was a beautiful night, with the moon out in all her glory, walking a cloudless sky and filling the cañon of the Snake with a flood of light; but we were not sorry when we heard the lowing of the cattle, and the wee-hawing of the mules, belonging to the trains in camp beyond. It was eight p. m., (Nov. 20th), when we reached Farewell Bend, and here crossed the Snake again on a stout ferry-boat propelled by the current.

Farewell Bend—a hamlet of half a dozen houses—is so called, because here the Snake makes a sudden turn north, and goes off in a wide circuit through the mountains of Idaho and Oregon, instead of keeping straight on to the Columbia, as it seems it should have done. Here, too, is where the great Emigrant Trail, from the Missouri to the Columbia, finally leaves the Snake, and hence also perhaps the name to this bend. The Snake, or Lewis' Fork of the Columbia, as it is sometimes called, altogether is a right noble stream—by far the largest in all that region—and it seemed would yet be made available for navigation, though now badly beset with reefs and rapids. A steamboat had already been built at Farewell Bend, to run up to the neighborhood of Boisè and beyond; but that was her first season, and the results were yet to be seen. It was said, that by starting early in the season, she could reach a point within about two hundred miles of Salt Lake, and thus communicate with a vast region there, then comparatively isolated. A fine vein of good bituminous coal had just been opened in the overhanging bluff at Farewell Bend, and here was fuel cheap for all the country up the Snake. Below Farewell Bend there were rapids that would have to be circumvented by slack-water navigation or railroad portages, the same as on the Columbia. But with this done, the Snake had long stretches of navigable waters, that needed only population and business to make them teem with commerce. The same Company, that made the Columbia navigable, also built the boat at Farewell Bend, and doubtless intended to push the enterprise, though what they have since accomplished I can not say.

The Snake is the western boundary of Idaho, and, having crossed it at Farewell Bend, we were now fairly in Oregon. We soon struck the valley of Burnt River, and followed it up for many miles. At first, it abounded in wild and rocky cañons, that seemed to have no outlet; but farther on, it widened out, and frequent ranches dotted its broad and fertile bottoms. Powder River valley, the next beyond, was more promising still. This contained thousand of acres of rich grass lands, and hundred of settlers had already pre-empted homes there. Cattle and sheep were grazing along the bottoms in considerable numbers, and the adjacent mountains, we were told, abounded in timber for all necessary purposes. At Baker City, in the heart of Powder River valley, we halted one day for dinner, and found a brisk little town of perhaps five hundred inhabitants or so. It contained two quite respectable hotels, and at one of them we got a plain but excellent dinner. Just in the suburbs, we found a ten stamp quartz-mill in full blast, much to our surprise, yielding—it was said—a clear profit of $4,000 in coin per month. The ores came from a silver mine, ten or twelve miles away in the mountains, and the mill was located here to take advantage of Powder River, which was here really a fine stream.