Start by Train For Omaha—My Fellow-Passengers—Passage through the Devil's Gate—Weber Cañon—Fantastic Rocks—"Thousand Mile Tree"—Echo Cañon—More Trestle-Bridges—Sunset amidst the Bluffs—A Wintry Night by Rail—Snow-Fences and Snow-Sheds—Laramie City—Red Buttes—The Summit at Sherman—Cheyenne City—The Western Prairie in Winter—Prairie Dog City—The Valley of the Platte—Grand Island—Cross the North Fork of the Platte—Arrival in Omaha.
I decided not to break the journey by visiting Utah—about which so much has already been written—but to go straight on to Omaha; and I accordingly took my place in the train about to start eastward. Here I encountered quite a new phase of American railroad society. One of my fellow-passengers was a quack doctor, who contemplated depositing himself in the first populous place he came to on the track-side, for the purpose of picking up some "'tarnal red cents." A colonel and a corporal in the American army were on their way home from some post in the Far West, where they had been to keep the Indians in order. There were several young commercial travellers, some lucky men returning from the silver-mines in Idaho, a steward of one of the Pacific mail steamers returning to England, and an iron-moulder with his wife and child on their way to Chicago.
The train soon started, and for some miles we passed through a well-cultivated country, divided into fields and orchards, looking pretty even under the thick snow, and reminding me of the vales of Kent. But we very soon left the cultivated land behind us, and were again in amongst the mountain gorges. I got out on to the platform to look around me, and, though the piercing cold rather chilled my pleasure, I could not help enjoying the wonderful scenery that we passed through during the next three hours. We are now entering the Wahsatch Mountains by the grand chasm called the Devil's Gate. We cross a trestle-bridge fifty feet above the torrent which boils beneath; and through the black, frowning rocks that guard the pass, I catch the last glimpse of the open sunlit plain below.
We are now within the wild Weber Cañon, and the scene is changing every moment. On the right, we pass a most wonderful sight, the Devil's slide. Two ridges of grey rock stand some ten feet out from the snow and brushwood; and they run parallel to each other for about 150 feet, right away up the mountain side. For a distance of thirty-five miles we run along the dark, deep cleft, the rocks assuming all sorts of fantastic shapes; and the river Weber running almost immediately beneath us, fretting and raging against the obstacles in its course. Sometimes the valley widens out a little, but again to force us against a cliff, where the road has been hewn out of the solid bluff. In the cañon we pass a pine-tree standing close to the track, with a large board hung upon it bearing the words, "1000 miles from Omaha." It is hence named the "Thousand Mile Tree." We have all that long way before us to travel on this Union Pacific Railway.
At last we emerge from Weber Cañon, and pull up at Echo City, a small place, chiefly inhabited by railway employés. We start again, and are soon plunged amidst red, rocky bluffs, more fantastic than any we have yet passed. We pass the Mormon fortifications at a place where a precipitous rock overhangs the narrowing cañon. Here, on the top of the rock, a thousand feet above us, are piled huge stones, placed close to the brink of the precipice: once ready to be hurled down upon the foes of Mormonism—the army sent out against them in 1857. The stones were never used, and are to be seen there yet. The rocks in the cañon are of a different colour from those we passed an hour ago. The shapes that they take are wonderful. Now I could fancy that I saw a beautiful cathedral, with spires and windows; then a castle, battlements and bastions, all complete; and more than one amphitheatre fit for a Cæsar to have held his sports in. What could be more striking than these great ragged masses of red rock, thrown one upon another, and mounting up so high above us? Such fantastical and curious shapes the weather-worn stone had taken! Pillars, columns, domes, arches, followed one another in quick succession. Bounding a corner, a huge circle of rocks comes into sight, rising story upon story. There, perched upon the top of the rising ground, is a natural castle, complete with gateway and windows. Indeed, the hour passed quickly, in spite of the cold, and I felt myself to have been in fairyland for the time. The whole seemed to be some wild dream. But dream it could not be. There was the magnificence of the solid reality—pile upon pile of the solid rock frowning down upon me; great boulders thrown together by some giant force; perpendicular heights, time-worn and battered by the elements. All combined to produce in me a feeling of the utmost wonder and astonishment.
Emerging from Echo Cañon and the Castle Rocks, we enter a milder valley, where we crawl over a trestle-bridge 450 feet long and 75 feet high. Shortly after passing Wahsatch Station, we cross the Aspen Summit and reach an opener country. Since we left Ogden, we have, in a distance of ninety-three miles, climbed an ascent of 2500 feet, and are now in a region of frost and snow. After another hour's travelling, the character of the scenery again changes, and it becomes more rugged and broken. The line crosses the Bear River on another trestle-bridge 600 feet long; and following the valley, we then strike across the higher ground to the head of Ham's Fork, down which we descend, following the valley as far as Bryan or Black's Fork, 171 miles from Ogden.
As the day is drawing to a close, I take a last look upon the scene outside before turning in for the night. The sun is setting in the west, illuminating with its last rays the red sandstone bluffs; the light contrasting with the deep-blue sky overhead, and presenting a most novel and beautiful effect. We are now traversing a rolling desert, sometimes whirling round a bluff in our rapid descent, or crossing a dry water-course on trestles, the features of the scenery every moment changing. Then I would catch a glimpse of the broken, rolling prairies in the distance, covered with snow; and anon we were rounding another precipitous bluff. The red of the sunlight grows dull against the blue sky, until night gradually wraps the scene in her mantle of grey. Then the moon comes out with her silvery light, and reveals new features of wondrous wildness and beauty. I stood for hours leaning on the rail of the car, gazing at the fascinating vision, and was only reminded by the growing coldness of the night that it was time to re-enter the car and prepare for my night's rest.
After warming myself by the stove, I arranged my extemporised couch between the seats as before, but was wakened up by the conductor, who took from me a cushion more than was my due; so I had to spend the rest of the night nodding on a box at the end of the car. However, even the longest and most comfortless night will come to an end; and when at last the morning broke, I went out to ascertain whereabouts we were. I found that it had snowed heavily during the night; and we now seemed to be in a much colder and more desolate country. The wind felt dreadfully keen as I stood on the car platform and looked about; the dry snow whisking up from the track as the train rushed along. The fine particles somehow got inside the thickest comforter and wrapper, and penetrated everywhere. So light and fine were the particles that they seemed to be like thick hoar-frost blowing through the air.
We have, I observe, a snow-plough fixed on the front of the engine; and, from the look of the weather, it would appear as if we should have abundant use for it yet. Snow-fences and snow-sheds are numerous along the line we are traversing, for the purpose of preventing the cuts being drifted up by the snow. At first, I could not quite make out the nature of these fences, standing about ten yards from the track, and in some parts extending for miles. They are constructed of woodwork, and are so made as to be capable of being moved from place to place, according as the snow falls thick or is drifting. That is where the road is on a level, with perhaps an opening amidst the rolling hills on one side or the other; but when we pass through a cutting we are protected by a snow-shed, usually built of boards supported on poles.
At Laramie City, we stop for breakfast. The name of "City" is given to several little collections of houses along the line. I observe that the writer of the 'Trans-Continental Guide-book' goes almost into fits when describing the glories of these "Cities," which, when we come up to them, prove to be little more than so many clusters of sheds. I was not, therefore, prepared to expect much from the City of Laramie; and the more so as I knew that but a few years since the original Fort Laramie consisted of only a quadrangular enclosure inhabited by trappers, who had established it for trading purposes with the Indians. I was accordingly somewhat surprised to find that the modern Laramie had suddenly shot up into a place of some population and importance. The streets are broad and well laid out; the houses are numerous, and some of them large and substantial. The place is already provided with schools, hotels, banks, and a newspaper. The Railway Company have some good substantial shops here, built of stone; and they have also provided a very commodious hospital for the use of their employés when injured or sick—an example that might be followed with advantage in places of even greater importance.