The Awakening of the Desert

by Julius Charles Birge

As was the invariable custom, a crowd of onlookers thronged the sidewalk, to watch the outgoing coach. The spirited horses, such as usually were selected for the runs into and out from stations where they were much observed, were fresh and eager. A few grand flourishes of the driver's whip ended by sending the lash out over the lead-horses with a sharp crack, and the team was off in grand form. As the outfit speeded down the street, it was a dress parade, advertising Ben Holliday's stage line. The first mile of this travel may be compared with the alluring picture advertisements with which modern railroad companies attract summer tourists. The real thing in tourist travel is better seen when one walks through a car crowded with weary, perspiring, dust-begrimed recreation-seeking passengers, who bear little resemblance to the fine and jauntily dressed figures paraded in the beautiful booklets. And so, when an hour later we traveled slowly up the long ascending grade and muddy roads in Parley's Canyon, which were saturated with melting snow, our plight seemed to be in striking contrast with our spectacular start.

There was but one woman among the passengers, and she with her husband occupied the front seat, facing me. Everybody "got acquainted" very quickly, after the manner of the West, and each told of the many prominent people in their home state, with whom they were intimate, and by four o'clock, at which time the eating station known as Kimball's was reached, each had become convinced that he was one of a party of distinguished and agreeable travelers.

It was after dusk, when with a fresh team we were whirling down the steep curves of Silver Creek Canyon with horses on a full run, urged on by the Jehu on the box. We were making up lost time, for the roads had been heavy. At our right we were following the tortuous brink of dizzy precipices, the bottoms of which were lost to sight in the gloom of the mountain shadows.

A passenger on the front seat, while holding tightly to the window frame, pushed his head outside and called at the top of his voice, "For Heaven's sake, driver, go slower." The only response was a renewed cracking of the whip and a more rapid clatter of the horses' hoofs upon the rocky road. As the coach plunged over an obstruction one passenger, who was changing his position on the back seat, was lifted to the roof of the coach by a sudden jolt and tumbled over the middle seat where he lay spread out, grasping the passengers in front for support. The horses speeded on just the same, for lost time must be made up on the down grades. All the passengers had been accustomed to travel by stages, but it was remarked that at the beginning of each journey of this character the apparent perils of rapid night riding in the mountains were more fully realized than after several days of tension. When the long up-grade of Echo Canyon was reached, and for hours the progress was slower, affairs again settled down to a peaceful condition. While some passengers maintained a desultory conversation others dropped into fitful dozes, usually brought to an end by a short, vigorous snore.

Early on the second morning, while the muddy ground was covered with white frost, we rode up to the breakfast station at Bear River, and an opportunity was given to relax the tense muscles of the legs, which had been pinioned down for the greater part of twenty-four hours. What would be their condition two weeks later?

Another night closed in upon us, accompanied by a cold, driving rain. The passengers pulled their caps down over their eyes, drew their wraps snugly about their bodies, and sank back into the most restful positions possible. By common consent nearly all of the men extended their feet to the opposite seat, to relieve their limbs from the continued confinement. The husband of my vis-à-vis negotiated for privileges on a portion of my seat for the feet of his wife, with his assurance of her full reciprocity, to which interchange I gratefully assented. The woman said that she was dying to stretch. I was quite willing to save her life by such an agreeable exchange of courtesy.

At intervals of twelve or fourteen miles the driver gave vent to a series of war-whoops, which announced his approach to some little hut where horses were to be exchanged. While this was being done by the dim light of a lantern, some passenger was sure to put his head out of the window and ask, "Where are we now?" The reply that it was Lone Tree or Salt Wells, conveyed but little information, as the stations were almost nowhere, being simply points in space marked by the stage company for convenience. Little could be seen from the coach except the stable and the vague outlines of some overshadowing hill behind it, and the men with the horses barely visible in the soft glow of the lantern.

The drizzly autumn rain continued to fall until, in the gray dusk of the early morning, while the other passengers seemed to be dozing, I became conscious of a slowly increasing dip of the coach, which continued until the vehicle rolled upon its side. Then came a brief period of profound silence, as if all were pausing to learn if the evolution was really complete, and if we were not now to roll further down into some deep ravine. In the meantime we were holding firmly one to another, but no sound of distress indicated that any one was injured.

The first voice that came to our ears was from the driver outside, who uttered a few well-assorted oaths, which were addressed to himself, in a low tone of voice, but were, however, an assurance to us that all was well and that he was in his normal condition. It was somewhat difficult for each passenger to extricate himself from the common mass of humanity with which he was implicated, and to get the several members of his own body clearly identified and segregated from those belonging to others.

One man, who was on the upper stratum, succeeded in escaping through the door, which now opened skyward, and emerged upon what had become the top of the coach, from which observatory he saw the driver standing quietly by his horses, deep in meditation, awaiting developments.