The Gentleman from Everywhere

by James Henry Foss

Then on went the mighty train; here a glimpse at Manitou of the "Garden of the Gods," with cathedral spires of old red sandstone towering hundreds of feet towards the clouds which capped their summits with halos; on through the grand canyon of the Arkansas River, in places two miles nearer heaven than Boston; here we see gigantic natural castles with battlements, bastions and fortresses whose leveled cannon you almost instinctively dodge to escape their imaginary bomb-shells. Now we climb almost perpendicular heights, thousands of feet; now we slide down into chasms barely escaping the rushing waters; then we shoot through a tunnel two miles long under 1,500 feet of solid rock; now we rush over vast plateaus 10,000 feet above the sea; then we catch glimpses of herds of cattle, now of great caves, lone trees with not a bit of earth visible about their roots; now we rush into Leadville, a mining camp of 10,000 people. At midnight a huge stone rolled down the mountainside onto the track, delaying us for two hours. Had it fallen a minute later we would have been crushed into nothingness.

In the morning I awoke in Utah, rode all the forenoon over arid plains; gaunt, hungry wolves scud away, cayotes ran yelping, and jack rabbits hopped out of sight for dear life; then we arrive at Salt Lake City, which the Mormons have transformed from a howling wilderness into a fine city, with a surrounding country budding and blossoming with bounteous harvests. The peak towers aloft where the United States Regulars halted after their terrible march over the mountains, near where the famous Nauvoo Legion of the Mormons surrendered, after their rebellion to make Brigham Young their king, though he said that by a wave of his hand he could hurl back the balls of the national cannon to annihilate the soldiers of the republic.

I drank in with delight the music of the grand organ and the four hundred trained singers of the Mormon choir in the vast tabernacle.

Then on thundered the train by the great Salt Lake, one hundred miles long and forty miles wide, so salt that it buoys you up on its surface like a feather; then on over the sage-brush desert to Reno, Nevada, where is the world-renowned Comstock mine, from which over one hundred millions of dollars' worth of silver has already been taken.

Then we climbed the Sierra Nevada Mountains, around and around in a circle, shot through a snow shed forty miles long; then lumber chutes appear many miles in length, through which enormous logs are shot down by water power from the mountain lake. Four billion feet of lumber are cut here in a year.

Then on we go past Lake Tahoe, twenty-two miles long, surrounded by mountains two miles in height; then past Cape Horn, along precipices down which I threw a stone which fell 2,500 feet into the American River.

We slide down the mountains to Auburn, California, and find fruit trees in blossom, grass green, and crops several inches high. A sudden change in a few minutes from deep snow and severe cold to blossoms and roses. On we go to Sacramento, surrounded by great ranches with vast herds of cattle and sheep feeding on the wild grasses; then on to San Francisco, the Golden Gate, and the unpacified Pacific.

The principal occupation of the street cars in 'Frisco, is climbing almost perpendicular heights, and then sliding down hill. All very pleasant except when the cogs in the cable slip, and you become part and parcel of a promiscuous mix-up, all passengers tumbling over and on to each other into the front end of the car, and if you are at the bottom of the struggling heap, with your nose banged against the door, and suffocating fat parties wedged on top of you, this rapid transit slide is not quite so delightful as when you ride on the top of the crowd.

Here you can get a good meal with a bottle of wine thrown in for "two bits" (twenty-five cents), you can buy three different kinds of newspapers for the same price as one, as they have no coins smaller than a nickel. For a nickel you can ride for miles to the Cliff House which is at the Golden Gate, where are acres of giant flowers of every conceivable variety, all beautiful, but odorless; you watch the sea lions nearly the size of oxen, and who roar and fight on the boulders. Then we enter a bath-house, acres in extent, covered with glass, where you can swim in sea water warmed by steam-pipes, listen to the band, examine the multitude of wild animals and curiosities collected from all parts of the world.

[Illustration: The Golden Gate of the Unpacified Pacific.]