I made note of the 888-mile post beyond Omaha, but the 1,000-mile telegraph pole and tree glided away while I was catching the lights and shadows on a fearfully tumbled landscape. The alkali has poisoned enormous tracts, and the tufts of sagebrush have a huge and sinister monotony. Looking out early in the morning there was in our track a "gaunt grey wolf" with sharp ears, unabashed by the roar of the train. His species find occasional scraps along the track and do not fear the trains. Then I saw something glisten in the herbage, and it was a rattlesnake, if it were not a whisky bottle.
The gigantic lumps of tawny earth, with castellated crags of stone, ghostly ruins one would say of cities that perished thousands of years before the bricks were made for Babylon. Profound beds for vanished torrents yawned into a scrap of green valley, and the glitter of a thread of water. A town blossomed from a coal mine, and there was an array of driven wells with force pumps to quench the thirst of seething and raging locomotives. A turn in the line and a beautiful cloud formation like billows of white roses, massive, delicately outlined fantastic spires like marble mountains, carved—ah! the cloud comes out clear as if it were a wall of pearl, and there are the everlasting mighty hills with their brows of exquisite snow!
These are lofty reservoirs from which the long days glowing with sunshine send down streams of water at whose touch the deserts bloom. The eye is refreshed as we make a closer acquaintance of the mountains. Where water flows and trees "wag their high tops" there is hope of homes. There are canyons that cause one to smile at remembrances of what were considered the dizzy gorges of the Alleghenies. There is a glow as of molten lead in one corner of a misty valley far away. It is Salt Lake, the Dead Sea of America. Beyond this at an immense elevation is a lake with the tinge of the indigo sky of the tropics. If one could stir a portion of the Caribbean Sea into Lake Geneva, the correct tint could be obtained. Thirty miles of snow sheds announce progress in the journey to the Pacific. There is still heat and dust, but beside the road are villages; and there are even fountains.
Each stream is a treasure, and its banks are rich with verdure. There are sleek cows on bright grass. The mountains are no longer forbidding. They take on robes of loveliness. The valleys broaden and on the easy slopes there are orchards where the oranges glisten. There are clusters of grapes. We have come upon that magic land, California. There is golden music in the name. This is a conquest. The war in which it was won was not one of philanthropy. We gathered an empire.
General Merritt never minded the weather, whether the wind blew or not, and instead of holding his ship for several hours after the appointed time, wanted to know five minutes after 10 o'clock whether the time for starting was not 10 o'clock and by whom the boat was detained. At ten minutes after 10 the gangplank was swung free, with a desperate man on it who scrambled on with the help of long legs and a short rope. As the ship swung from the dock and got a move on there were thousands of men and women exalted with emotion, and there were crowded steamers and tugs toppling with swarming enthusiasts resounding with brass bands and fluttering with streaming flags. The ladies were especially frantic. Spurts of white smoke jetted from forts and there were ringing salutes. Steam whistles pitched a tune beyond the fixed stars. The national airs with thrilling trumpet tones pierced the din, and a multitude of voices joined with the bands giving words and tone to the magnetic storm. How many miles the Newport was pursued I cannot conjecture. There were tall ladies standing on the high decks of tugs that were half buried in the foam of the bay, but as long as they could hold a "Star Spangled Banner" in one hand, and a few handkerchiefs in another, their skirts streaming in grace and defiance before the rising gale, they sang hosannas, and there were attitudes both of triumph and despair as the fair followers, dashed with spray, gave up the chase, passionately kissing their hands god-speed and good-by. This was going to the Indies through the Golden Gate!
A breakage of dishes, that sounded as though the ship were going to pieces, belied the prophesy that beyond the bar there was to be no moaning; and the Pacific would not be pacified. However, the reputation of the ocean was good enough to go to sleep on, but the berths squirmed in sympathy with the twisting and plunging ship. It was not a "sound of revelry by night," to which the wakeful listened through the dismal hours, and in the morning there was a high sea—grand rollers crowned with frothy lace, long black slopes rising and smiting like waves of liquid iron.
The Pacific was an average North Atlantic, and it was explained by the tale that the peaceful part of this ocean is away down South where the earth is most rotund, and the trade winds blow on so serenely that they lull the navigators into dreams of peace that induce a state of making haste slowly and a willingness to forget and be forgotten, whether—
Of those who husbanded the golden grain
Or those who flung it to the winds like rain,
The gulls are not our snowy birds of the Atlantic. We are lonesome out here, and the Albatross sweeps beside us, hooded like a cobra, an evil creature trying to hoodoo us, with owlish eyes set in a frame like ghastly spectacle glasses.
General Merritt's blue eyes shone like diamonds through the stormy experiences while the young staff officers curled up as the scientists did on the floor, and smiled a sort of sickly smile! The highest compliment that can be paid them is that the group of officers and gentlemen surrounding the commander of the expedition to the Philippines, express his own character.