CHAPTER VIII.
Excursions continued.
I had long been anxious to visit the little chain of lakes in the Wasach Mountains, southeast of the city, and the spot where the Saints celebrate their “Great Twenty-fourth of July.” At dinner the subject had been often on the carpet, and anti-Mormons had informed me, hinting at the presence of gold, that no Gentile was allowed to enter Cotton-wood KanyonCOTTON-WOOD KANYON. without a written permit from the President Prophet. Through my friend the elder I easily obtained the sign manual; it was explained to me that the danger of fires in a place which will supply the city with lumber for a generation, and the mischievousness of enemies, were at the bottom of the precaution. Before starting, however, two Saints were chosen to accompany me, Mr. S——, and Mr., or rather Colonel, Feramorz, popularly called Ferry, Little. This gentleman, a partner, relative, and connection of Mr. Brigham Young, is one of the “Seventies;” of small and spare person, he is remarkable for pluck and hardihood, and in conjunction with Ephe Hanks, the Danite, he has seen curious things on the Prairies.
A skittish, unbroken, stunted, weedy three-year-old for myself, and a tall mule for my companion, were readily lent by Mr. Kennedy, an Irish Gentile and stock-dealer, who, being bound on business to California, was in treaty with us for reward in case of safe-conduct. We chose the morning of the 14th of September, after the first snow had whitened the peaks, and a glorious cool, clear day it was—a sky diaphanous, as if earth had been roofed with rock crystal. While awaiting the hour to depart under the veranda of the hotel, Governor Cumming pointed out to me Bill Hickman, once the second of the great “Danite” triumvirate, and now somewhat notorious for meddling with Church property. He is a good-looking fellow, about forty-five, rather stout and square, with high forehead, open countenance, and mild, light blue eye, and owns, I believe, to only three deaths. On the last Christmas-day, upon occasion of a difficulty with a youth named Lot Huntingdon, the head of the youngster party, he had drawn his “bowie,” and a “shooting” took place, both combatants exchanging contents of revolvers across the street, both being well filled with slugs, and both living to tell the tale.
“Do you know what that fellow is saying to himself?” asked the governor, reading the thoughts of a fiercely frowning youth who swaggered past us.
I confessed to the negative.
“He is only thinking, ‘D—d gov’rnor, wonder if he’s a better man than me,’” said my interlocutor.
About 4 P.M. we mounted and rode out of the city toward the mouth of the kanyon, where we were to meet Mr. Little. Passing by the sugar-mills and turning eastward, after five or six miles we saw at a distance a block of buildings, which presently, as if by enchantment, sank into the earth; an imperceptible wave of ground—a common prairie formation—had intervened. From the summit of the land we again sighted the establishment. It is situated in the broad bed of a dry fiumara—which would, by-the-by, be a perilous place in the tropics—issuing from Parley’s Kanyon. The ravine, which is sometimes practiced by emigrant trains, is a dangerous pass, here and there but a few rods wide, and hemmed in by rocks rising perpendicularly 2000 feet. The principal house was built for defense, the garden was walled round, and the inclosure had but two small doors.
We were met at the entrance by Mr. Little, who, while supper was being prepared, led us to the tannery and the grist-mill, of which he is part proprietor. The bark used for the process is the red fir, costing $25 per cord, and the refuse is employed in composts. The hides are received unsalted; to save labor, they are pegged to soak upon wheels turned by water-power. The leather is good, and under experienced European workmen will presently become cheaper than that imported from England.
Beyond the tannery was an adobe manufacture. The brick in this part splits while burning, consequently the sun-dried article is preferred; when the wall is to be faced, pegs are driven into it to hold the plaster. The material is clay or silt from the creek, puddled with water, and if saltish it is better than sweet soil; unity of color and formation are the tests of goodness. Each brick weighs, when dry, 16 lbs., and the mould is mostly double. On the day after making they are stacked, and allowed to stand for two months; the season is June, July, and August, after which it becomes too cold. The workman is paid 75 per cent.; 400 per diem would be tolerable, 700 good work; thus an able-bodied bricklayer can make twenty-one shillings a day—rather a contrast to the wages of an unfortunate laborer in England.
Returning home, we walked through Mr. Little’s garden, and admired its neatness. The fruit-trees were mostly barren; in this year the city sets down a loss of $100,000 by frost. I tasted, for the first time, the Californian grape, “uvas admodum maturas, ita voluit anni intemperies;” they not a little resembled the northern French. A single vine sometimes bears $100 worth. There was a little rhubarb, but it is not much used where sugar costs forty-five cents per pound. After supping with Mr. Little, his wife and family, we returned to the andronitis, and prepared for the night with a chat. The principal point illustrated was the curious amount of connection caused by polygamy; all men, calling each other brothers, become cousins, and it is hardly possible, among the old Mormons, to stop a child in the street without finding that it is a relative.EVERY CHILD A RELATIVE. I was surprised at the comfort, even the luxury, of a Mormon householder in these remote wilds, and left it with a most favorable impression.