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A defection in the Mormon Church, led by Joseph Smith, Junior, then in Plano, Illinois, was the subject of much controversy during our visit. These dissenters were known as Josephites. Their creed, denouncing polygamy and declaring that Brigham Young had apostatized from the true faith, is set forth in Waite's The Mormon Prophet.

Much of the merchandise that was on our incoming ox train was consigned to William S. Godbe, who was at the head of the so-called Godbeite movement, for which revolt he and others were ex-communicated and "delivered over to the buffetings of Satan" "for the period of 1000 years," which seemed to be the approved conventional term of buffeting to which recusants from the Orthodox Mormon Church were uniformly condemned. Whether any abridgment of this millennium might be expected in recognition of good behavior, seems never to have been revealed even to the most highly favored.

In opposition to Brigham's policy, Mr. Godbe had strongly urged the development of mining in Utah, – a fact that might have recommended him to the friendly consideration of the accomplished Buffeter, who is thought to take much interest at least in coal mining.

It was on the evening of October 8th, immediately after my return from a trip to the mountains, that I was invited to a conference with Governor Charles Durkee, Judge Fields, and Dr. O. H. Conger, at which time among other topics were discussed the perplexing state of political affairs in the territory and the situation with reference to mining industries.

At that time Dr. Conger was developing in the interest of other parties a promising silver mine, which Godbe investigated with some care. It was located up in the Wasatch range, at the head of Little Cottonwood canyon, and three years later it became historic and notorious as the Emma Mine.

The sale of it three years later to an English Syndicate for 1,000,000 pounds sterling has taken rank as one of the most prodigious mining swindles on record. At the time of this sale the original owners had parted company with the venture. To give his younger friend a view of the attractive scenery, I was invited by the doctor to accompany him on a trip to the new diggings, which were up on the side of the Twin Peaks. The ride up that wild gorge, one of the grandest in Utah, was intensely interesting. The water race at the mine, newly cut through a ledge of marble yet unstained by exposure and therefore white as snow, wherein to conduct the wonderfully transparent mountain stream, was a striking feature. The whiteness of the conduit made the clear water invisible, except when it received the reflected sunlight. A careless pedestrian might easily attempt heedlessly to walk down in the bottom upon the marble bed. In dipping from the surface it was necessary to feel one's way to where the pure air ended and the water began. The white marble channel bed was the chief cause of this uncommon transparency. The miners' cabin built from logs of balsam fir, the berths filled with twigs from that fragrant tree, and the brilliant wood fire in the massive open fireplace in which were burned resinous balsam logs, made the great room redolent with a delightful perfume, which I have never forgotten. But all these suggestions of purity were smothered later in the ethically malodorous transaction already mentioned.

Incidentally I continued the ascent of the Twin Peaks, from the top of which is doubtless obtained the finest possible view of the Jordan Valley and Great Salt Lake. To this remarkable body of water a brief reference seems appropriate. It has been so frequently described that it seems proper only to state on the authority of the American Encyclopedia that it contains 22 per cent of Chloride of Sodium (salt), with a specific gravity ordinarily of 1.17, and is probably the purest and most concentrated brine constituting any large body of water on the globe.

Having bathed also in the Dead Sea I have found its waters to be equally transparent and about equal in buoyancy, the specific gravity being about the same as that of Salt Lake. The most noticeable difference in effect is the prickling sensation and the smooth oily feeling of the Dead Sea waters, which are attributed to the presence of nearly 3 per cent of Chloride of Calcium; a bitter taste is also imparted by the more than 10 per cent of Chloride of Magnesium. The desire for a rinse in fresh water is strongly felt on emerging from the Palestinian Sea. The warm spring, which as already stated had at one time been pre-empted by Dr. Robinson, was a favorite resort where we occasionally took a plunge. The waters have a temperature of 95 degrees and are impregnated with sulphur.

During the summer my companions, Ben and Fred, made a trip to Montana. They assured me that the primary purposes of their expedition were business and seeing the country but who would suppose that they would fail to find the young ladies from whom they had separated at the Parting of the Ways!

Later in the season they took the stage for San Francisco and thence sailed for New York via Panama. In the meantime, it became my duty to make a number of excursions, some of which may be of sufficient interest to describe.

CHAPTER XXVII
The Boarding House Train

THE boarding house train of the older days was not an institution peculiar to the West alone, for we know that tramp outfits afforded protection to wanderers in ancient times, and even now in the Orient and for an agreed pecuniary consideration the peripatetic traveler may plod along as best he may, or possibly ride at times, and have the dust of the train and the society and fare of the Cameleers.

Although more or less familiar also with the mode of travel as seen in the early immigration to the west of Lake Michigan, I had never seen anything of its kind quite so picturesque or that in America brought together so heterogeneous a party of men, as the boarding-house train that I accompanied through the mountains in September, 1866.

The time had arrived when it was hoped that our big ox train would be approaching the mountains, and desiring to meet it and assist in bringing it through the canyons, I watched for an opportunity to join some East bound train. The late summer and early autumn had given us time to dispose of some merchandise that reached Salt Lake earlier in the season, and I was now free to leave the city.

Learning of a small mule outfit that was about to start for the Missouri River, I concluded arrangements for transportation.

This transportation embraced the so-called "grub" and the conveniences of a covered wagon in which one might ride on easy roads, the expectation being that the passenger would walk up the hills or over difficult tracts.

The captain of the outfit, a big, burly freighter, seemed proud to have come from Pike County, Missouri, which he stated had produced the most distinguished men whom he had ever known.

It had not been my privilege to meet any of the passengers booked for this Missouri outfit until their arrival at the corral at the appointed hour for starting. In accordance with the custom of the country, each passenger was to furnish his own lodging; in other words, each brought such blankets as were supposed to be necessary for protection at night. My bundle was deposited in the rear wagon, as I was desirous of securing the advantage of an observation car, which would afford an unobstructed view behind us. All the vehicles were ordinary large wagons with canvas covers.

My companions in that wagon were two young men from Ohio, each of whom had recently purchased a broncho horse, which he intended to take back to the States and incidentally to use under the saddle, as he might have opportunity, on the Eastward journey. These two quadrupeds were haltered to the rear of the last wagon, which they were expected to follow. That the bronchos might become gradually accustomed to a burden upon their backs, the young men had cinched tightly upon them their bundles of blankets. Thus equipped we rolled out from the city up the terraced slope of "the bench" toward the entrance into Parley's Canyon. (It may be stated that the bench is the narrow level table land, evidently an ancient shore line, that skirts the foothills of those mountains and indicates that during some period the waters in the valley reached that high level).

The young men had commented favorably on the docility of their bronchos, which had for a time followed the wagon in a satisfactory manner, and expressed the belief that the animals would afford great comfort on the long trip, by enabling them to take horse-back rides.

On entering an area covered with sage brush, a new purpose seemed suddenly to enter the heads of the uncertain bronchos. It may have been inspired by the sight of a little patch of grass on the otherwise arid bench, or it may have been an innate inclination to do something unexpected, an inclination very characteristic of the broncho. Suddenly and almost simultaneously they dropped back on their halters and were soon free and making a flight for the brush. The young men watched their next proceedings with dismay. Having reached an eligible location in an open space, the bronchos at once began a series of evolutions so interesting that the train was brought to a halt. In his favorite pastime of bucking, the broncho has no peer among all the quadrupeds of the earth. It had been my privilege and misfortune to make a personal test of this form of amusement and with the usual results, but never before had I seen it so successfully performed upon inanimate matter, as on this occasion in the sage brush of Utah.

The bundles upon the bronchos were light, and were strapped tightly upon them with double girths. The buckers operating closely together apparently entered into a contest, to ascertain which of the two could first relieve himself of his impedimenta.

While the train was at rest, the boarders and drivers secured favorable positions, where they might witness the match. Our captain from Pike County, Missouri, broke forth into curses, berating the intelligence of any man who would buy such good-for-nothing creatures, and yet he was the first person to assist in their capture. Again and again the bucking bronchos, facing each other, repeated their vicious plunges, leaping into the air with heads down and backs curved upward, and coming down upon their fore feet, until in some way the bundles were dashed upon the ground and their contents were widely distributed under the animals' feet, after which a sense of victory and freedom seemed to come over them, and only after a long pursuit were they again secured. During the time that I remained with the train, no human being ventured to mount the refractory brutes.

The night came on as we turned into camp near the summit of the canyon. The familiar fragrance of fried bacon and coffee was beginning to pervade the atmosphere when the captain from Pike County gave the command to "fall to," which was his method of announcing to the boarders that supper was served. Drawing around the camp fire we faced the same old "Menu" and the same type of battered tin dishes and cutlery that we had become familiar with on our own train, except that the cooking and serving paraphernalia bore evidences of greater antiquity and more violent service.

We sat or kneeled upon the ground in a sort of irregular semi-circle. With but few exceptions each man was a stranger to all the others. Each man had a revolver in his belt, and in most cases the men had rifles with their effects in the wagons. Each was curious to know where the other fellow came from, and without much ceremony the blunt, but good-natured question, "Where do you hail from?" was propounded to one's neighbor in the circle. The roster was soon completed, and before we left the camp fire my record showed that one of the party had recently closed his apprenticeship under Morgan, the raider; another, an ex-confederate, was from Old Virginia; one was from the Sandwich Islands; one from New Hampshire; one each from Arkansas, South Carolina, Michigan, and Wisconsin, and two were from Missouri. Our cook was a young Snake Indian, but the rest of the crew had not yet disclosed any facts concerning their life-history.

From the members of such a miscellaneous gathering there came naturally some sparring and good-natured reviling tinged at times with acrimony, for the bitterness of the Civil War had not yet materially lessened. But after the first parry of words all realized that they were now comrades for mutual protection.

A quiet place was soon found up the mountain side, and wrapping my blanket around me I watched the bright stars until I fell asleep.

In the morning we had a touch of camp life that was calculated to bring to the surface that trait of character which would manifest itself in an hour of trial. The captain had been heard to shout from a distant point, where he was attending to a mule, to ask the young Indian cook why in h – l he didn't call breakfast, as it was time for the train to pull out. The brush fire had burned long enough to have boiled coffee many times, but the Snake Indian seemed to be wandering abstractedly round the wagons as if searching for some missing article. As the Captain approached and again demanded an explanation for the delay, the boy informed him, in the few English words at his command, that some one had taken the bacon. He declared that the great slab of meat referred to had on the night before been placed in the covered mess box at the tail end of the wagon.

The Captain again swore, and, with the air of a commander of men, proceeded in his endeavors to solve the mystery. Two mules had been picketed all night near the wagon, and the Captain, doubtless aware of the omnivorous habits of those amalgamated beasts, examined their surroundings, and observed squarely under the fore feet of one an elevated surface that appeared suspicious. He backed the mule, and with his foot scraped away an inch or two of dirt, beneath which he struck the stratum of bacon, disfigured somewhat by the heavy pressure of the animal's hoofs, but nevertheless recognizable as bacon. The mule had evidently, at some time during the night, lifted the lid of the mess box with his nose, and seizing the bacon with his teeth had undertaken the task of eating it, but finding some coarser food better suited to his incisors had abandoned the bacon in disgust, dropped it upon the ground, pawed dirt upon it, and then planted his feet on the pile.

"Here's your bacon," said the Captain, with an oath, and a sneer of superiority. "Now hurry up that breakfast." This event occurred prior to the development of our present theory of germs and the sterilization of food, so vexing to modern epicures.

An empty stomach needs no appetizing sauce. When I have listened to adverse criticisms concerning dishes served at elaborately prepared banquets, I have more than once recalled that breakfast of bacon and coffee prepared by a Snake Indian cook in the Wasatch Mountains. There was no bacon to be wasted.

On those clear frosty nights it was a pleasure to creep up the mountain side, and beneath the open starry sky to roll up in a blanket and be lulled to sleep by the music of streams rushing down those canyons. Strange as it may seem, no colds ever resulted from this life in the open air. Every breath inhaled in the waking hours or while asleep, was of pure air not vitiated by exhalations from the lungs of others, nor breathed in part over and over again. This immunity from colds is also true under some conditions that might seem seriously dangerous to one accustomed only to the comforts of civilized life. An example of this was afforded on Tuesday evening, the 18th of September, when we reached Quaking Asp Hill, near the summit of the Divide. A fine driving rain, which extinguished our fires, began to fall at dusk, before we had finished our bacon and coffee, and there were indications of a cold and heavy storm. That he might the better protect himself against the elements, the Sandwich Islander entered into negotiations to double our blankets, a proposal that was promptly accepted, as he was provided with one which was waterproof to place on the wet ground. Each of us had the regular double army blanket and overcoat. This was not the first rainy night that I had spent without a roof above me, but it was certainly the wildest.

As the night advanced and the wind was blowing violently, we naturally turned our feet toward the gale and loaded the edges of the blankets with rocks to hold them in place. We then settled down to await the time when the water would penetrate our clothing.

Fortunately the rain turned into a driving snow storm. The gale veered round and came from the North, increasing in intensity, and although our blankets were frozen, the wind now coming toward our heads, pressed down between us and lifted the covering like a balloon until it found escape at our feet, while the covers waved and flapped in the air. It seemed too late to reverse our position, but we held tightly to the coverings until the accumulating snow gradually weighted them down. The wind also became more moderate toward midnight, but the snow continued to fall rapidly until after we fell asleep. My companion and I had "spooned" as closely as possible that we might share each other's warmth, and if one was inclined to turn over his partner promptly responded.

I awoke after daylight, conscious of the heavy weight resting upon us. Opening my eyes I looked upward through the white funnel in the snow which had been formed by our breaths, melting the falling flakes, but everything was still. The storm had ceased, and although the sun had not yet risen above the mountain peaks, we saw that a bright morning was dawning upon us. A council with my companion led us to lift the blankets with care, and remove the weight of snow that covered us. After rising to a sitting position, it was discovered that we were not alone. Here and there at different points were undulations on the brilliant white surface of the snow. In one end of each of these was the funnel which told us that the warm breath of the sleepers had also preserved for them an open view of the sky above.

Must we, as first-class boarders, dig the walks through the snow and build the fire? We decided in the negative, and accordingly called the camp to service. One by one snow mounds were lifted and living beings arose from beneath the thick white mantle. The Captain had slept in his wagon, but he promptly assumed command. Preparations were soon under way for breakfast, and the stock was cared for. Nearly eight inches of snow had fallen. Not a track was visible to guide us along the road during the greater part of the following day, but as we descended into the valleys, there was but little snow upon the ground, and that disappeared rapidly. Not one of our party "caught cold."

The days rolled by until one morning after we had passed Fort Bridger, we met our long ox train moving Westward. It halted until I could transfer my baggage, after which I bade a hearty farewell to the fellow travelers in the boarding-house train. Taking possession of a good saddle horse, I started Westward again with our own long caravan.

This brings us to new experiences. It was no trifling matter to conduct a long ox train up and down the mountain canyons, as will be discovered later. This was not because it was difficult to find the trail, but it was because the trail itself was often difficult. It was the principal highway through the ranges of mountains, and from Fort Bridger westward was the regular stage road, yet it was often steep and dangerous. Captain Whitmore and his men were somewhat weary, having had a hard trip, and my services, therefore, seemed to be very welcome. The provisions were running low. Sugar for coffee and soda for bread were long since exhausted. In fact, the stock of food was reduced to flour, bacon, and a little coffee. Milk or vegetables were never obtainable, and canned goods had not come into use. Two or three men who were with the train had endeavored to incite the others to rebellion, and appearing before Captain Whitmore told him substantially in the words once addressed to Moses of the time when back in the States, "They sat by the flesh pots and did eat bread to the full," but now they could not get a square meal in the wilderness. It appears that these mutineers were recognized by their companions as wasteful, shiftless men, too proud and lazy to work when at home. From Whitmore's rulings there would be no appeal in that country, except to the law of force. There were no cucumbers, melons, leeks, or onions in that wilderness. Bacon or unleavened bread or death was the alternative, unless they could hustle for wild game. Regarding the subsequent careers of the three men above referred to as an object lesson, it may be interesting to note the fact that to the end of their lives none appeared ever to be in a position to assist another, or to keep want from his own door.

It was along this road that we fell in with Captain Chipman's ill-starred train of Mormon emigrants. Mingling with the Pilgrims in their camp, I became interested in a young Englishman named S. W. Sears, whose history is full of adventures and chequered with varied experiences.

Although then but twenty-two years of age, he was chaplain of the train; for be it known that notwithstanding the sins ascribed to the Mormons, they maintained regular devotional services in camp as well as temple. Sears' wife had died on their westward pilgrimage six months after their marriage and was buried on the banks of the North Platte.

A few days later their train was attacked by Indians who captured 300 of their horses and oxen.

The emigrants saved enough of their stock to move their wagons in divisions until they escaped from the hostile Indian territory.

Sears became prominent both as a missionary of the Mormon faith and in commercial life. Two wives survived him, one of whom was the adopted daughter of the distinguished Daniel H. Wells and was born in a wagon near the entrance to the city at the termination of her mother's long journey across the plains.

Travel, like politics, makes strange bedfellows, and especially that kind of travel in which all companions must, from necessity, mingle on a common level, eat their simple rations by the same camp fire, and sleep side by side beneath the same open sky. This observation is suggested by a night spent in camp near Bear River. Our ox train had just forded that rocky stream, to avoid the excessive toll which was demanded for the privilege of crossing upon the new bridge. Before going into camp near by, the Captain of a little train that had preceded us rode his horse rapidly into the stream in his effort to head off some intractable mules. The horse stumbled over some stones and fell upon its knees, throwing the rider over his head in a fairly executed somersault into the water. The feat evoked hearty applause from those who were fortunate enough to witness it.

Now it happened that among the men with our train was a modest but vigorous young man named Ferdinand Lee, whom I had known quite well before he had served his full time during the war just ended as a private in the Second Wisconsin Regiment, which distinguished itself as part of the famous Iron Brigade.

After supper I walked up the bank of the stream with Ferd, which was the name by which Lee was familiarly known, and we soon encountered a group of men composed of stragglers from two small parties that were camping near by and who like ourselves had gravitated toward the best camp fire.

"Was it your Captain what made that h – l of a dive from his hoss into the river?" asked a tall, black-whiskered Southerner of a small, red-headed chap, who we learned later was known as Sandy.

"I reckon it war. Didn't he do it all right?" was the reply. "What's your name, anyhow?" he continued.

"Well, it don't make much difference, but these fellows call me Shorty, and I was wondering if that Captain ever rid a hoss before."

"Guess he has, because he says he was in the army and raided in Kentucky with the Rebs," replied Sandy. "Those Kentuckyans think they can ride, you know." And with this he took a seat upon a little rock, lighted a pipe, and others followed his example.

"I guess you're a Yank," said Shorty.

"Well, I reckon I am," said Sandy, "and while we are guessing I would put you down for a Johnny Reb." A frown came over Shorty's face, when he said, with some bitterness, "You think the Kentucky boys can't ride much, hey?"

"I recollect hearing them tell about your General Winne, when he and some of his boys here were pretty close together near the Wilderness Tavern. He did the same thing in the water of Flat Run that your Captain did in Bear River."

"War you in the Wilderness two years ago?" asked Sandy.

"I was in the Iron Brigade of Maryland, sir."

"Then I reckon you have seen General Winne. But don't you think you fellows did a lot of careless shooting around there?"

"Wa'al, we pumped some lead the best we knew how, but were you careless enough to be standing around in that country when shooting was going on?" asked Shorty.

"There's a bullet inside of me that once in a while tells me that mebbe I wasn't in jest the right place."

"What company were you in?" asked Shorty.

"I was fooling around a little with the Twentieth Maine," was the reply.

Ferd Lee had been a quiet but interested listener. One of our boys, without turning his head remarked that Lee just behind him did some business in the Wilderness.

"Lee? That's a good Virginia name. But you were not in our Brigade, were you?"

"No," replied Ferd. "I loafed around a few years with the Second Wisconsin in the Iron Brigade."

Shorty instantly rose to his feet, and approaching Ferd said, "I have surely met you before, sir. Although I hate the Yankees, I respect the bravery of the men in your Brigade, and I want to shake your hand."

Ferd rose, took the hand of the Confederate veteran, and they looked into each other's eyes as the firelight flickered in their faces, when Ferd said, "No men ever fought better than yours did."

The Iron Brigade had earned its name through the valor and inflexible courage of its men on many battle-fields, and its Second Wisconsin Regiment had borne an honorable part in its achievement.

Thus, for the first time since they had met in conflict on the battle-fields of Virginia, those veterans again confronted each other. True, the war was over, but it had left its bitterness. Nevertheless, like other brave men, they were impelled to respect the soldiers on the opposing side, whose deeds had been as valorous as those of any heroes immortalized in poetry and song. Until late that night, by the peaceful camp fire on the banks of Bear River, the boys rehearsed the thrilling events in which they had participated in the effort to shed each other's blood.

As would naturally be supposed, Captain Whitmore, as the opportunity presented itself, gave me from time to time the story of his experience thus far during his trip. One event, the particulars of which were confirmed by his men, seemed to be so interesting that I asked him to describe it again to another party of travelers at our night's camp. It appears that one afternoon his ox train was slowly crawling along near the north slope of a low range of hills west of Julesburg. A family of emigrants from Illinois consisting of a man, his wife, a grown son and a daughter about eighteen years of age, and a couple of assistants, had accompanied the train from the last military post. As these emigrants had horse teams, which travel somewhat faster than oxen, they were accustomed to driving half a mile or more in advance of the big train, although they had been warned of the hazard; but there they were on that fatal day to receive unaided the brutal raid of a band of Indians which swooped down from the hills. John Wilson on horseback and Mr. Stone of Iowa on foot were out in opposite directions for a hunt. Simultaneously with the attack on the emigrant's wagons, Wilson was seen racing down a valley toward the train pushing his horse to the top of its speed, and in close pursuit was a band of mounted savages yelling like demons. At the same moment Mr. Stone, who was in full view not a mile distant, became the object of an attack from still another detachment of warriors also on horse-back. The train was corralled in a circle for defense as speedily as possible. In the meantime Stone displayed marvelous tact and coolness. He was armed with a Henry repeating rifle loaded with sixteen cartridges, and, as was the usual custom with all hunters, he also carried in addition a case of loaded cartridges. On discovering the rapid approach of the savages he hastened to the top of a little mound that was near by and dropped upon his face. Pursuing their usual tactics the Indians in single file rode swiftly in a circle round and round the apparently doomed Iowan, gradually approaching their victim, who would soon be within range of their arrows. Stone remained quiet for a few moments until his enemies, filing rapidly by the line of his aim as they passed, were within fairly safe range, and then his rifle, directed with careful precision, opened up a series of discharges such as they probably had never before seen, for the Henry was a newly invented weapon and the savages doubtless intended to close in as soon as the rifle should be discharged. In Stone's first series of shots he emptied three saddles of their riders and wounded two horses. While the savages then swung outward for a moment, time was given him to refill the chamber of his rifle with fresh cartridges when at once he renewed his defensive tactics, with results that were startling. The Indians who were still in action seemed to be perplexed by the strange, persistent weapon that was turned upon them, and slowly withdrew. Stone retreated toward the train and was soon under cover of its rifles. The emigrant's party fared badly. All were slaughtered except the young girl, who was captured alive and was taken off with the horses and the plunder from the wagons. I learned later that she remained in captivity until the following spring, when she was restored to the military and thence transported to her former home.