We saw an old Mormon here who tried hard to induce us to go by the way of Salt Lake City. He said it would be no farther than to follow the California trail, and offered us his services as a pilot. A majority of the company were at first in favor of adopting that plan, but on referring the matter to Peg Leg Smith, who is perfectly well acquainted with both routes, we learned that the old Mormon was lying and that the distance by way of the Mormon city would be at least 150 miles greater. Smith has a squaw wife, and trades with the Indians and immigrants.
We left the Mormon and traveled six miles and camped. (Distance, 18 miles.)
Wednesday, August 15.
Traveled 20 miles down Bear River and camped. The weather is fine.
Thursday, August 16.
Started in the morning and after 13 miles of travel reached the Soda Springs. From the journals of Col. John C. Fremont, Bryant and others, anyone would suppose that the waters of these springs were a delicious beverage to the weary traveler, and I had been led to anticipate having a fine draught of soda from nature’s own fountains, pure and unadulterated. I came up to one of the springs where several members of the company were drinking from a tin cup. Feeling somewhat thirsty I did not wait my turn for the cup, but lay down to drink from the spring. I drank one or two swallows when I arose, perfectly satisfied with soda water. I very much disliked its taste. Of all the bad water I have been obliged to drink on the plains it is the worst of all.
There are several of these springs in this vicinity, but the most interesting of all is near the bank of Bear River, and is known as the Steamboat Spring. It issues from a hole in a rock, a foot or more in diameter, and at one moment the water will boil up a foot or two above the surface of the rock and at the next it will settle down so that no water will be visible. Thus it continues to ebb and flow, and has ever since first discovered by white men, it is said.
The chemical qualities I will not undertake to explain. Some of the company seemed to like the taste of the soda water, but I noticed they did not drink very heartily from it. Three miles from the Soda Springs we came to a fork in the road—one branch leading to Fort Hall, it being the old Oregon Trail of about 1843. The other is a new trail called the “Immigrants’ Cutoff,” which is said to be 20 or 30 miles shorter.
By a majority vote of the company we concluded to take the cutoff. We soon after passed near an extinct crater, which at some time in the past, had vomited forth its molten lava and covered the plains over which we passed.
Traveled until about 9 o’clock and camped on a small stream. (Distance, 28 miles.)