PART II. TO CALIFORNIA AND BACK.
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New York, Oct. 13, 1863.
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The steamer Ariel starts for California at noon.
Her decks are crowded with excited passengers,
who insanely undertake to “look after” their trunks
and things; and what with our smashing against
each other, and the yells of the porters, and the
wails over lost baggage, and the crash of boxes, and
the roar of the boilers, we are for the time being
about as unhappy a lot of maniacs as were ever
thrown together.
I am one of them. I am rushing round with a
glaring eye in search of a box.
Great jam, in which I find a sweet young lady
with golden hair, clinging to me fondly, and saying,
“Dear George, farewell!”—Discovers her mistake,
and disappears.
I should like to be George some more.
Confusion so great that I seek refuge in a
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stateroom which contains a single lady of forty-five summers,
who says, “Base man! leave me!” I leave
her.
By-and-by we cool down, and become somewhat
regulated.
Next Day.
When the gong sounds for breakfast we are fairly
out on the sea, which runs roughly, and the Ariel
rocks wildly. Many of the passengers are sick, and
a young naval officer establishes a reputation as a
wit by carrying to one of the invalids a plate of
raw salt pork, swimming in cheap molasses. I am
not sick; so I roll round the deck in the most cheerful
sea-dog manner.
The next day and the next pass by in a serene
manner. The waves are smooth now, and we can
all eat and sleep. We might have enjoyed ourselves
very well, I fancy, if the Ariel, whose
capacity was about three hundred and fifty passengers,
had not on this occasion carried nearly nine
hundred, a hundred at least of whom were children
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of an unpleasant age. Captain Semmes captured
the Ariel once, and it is to be deeply regretted that
that thrifty buccaneer hadn't made mince-meat of
her, because she is a miserable tub at best, and
hasn't much more right to be afloat than a secondhand
coffin has. I do not know her proprietor, Mr.
C. Vanderbilt. But I know of several excellent
mill privileges in the State of Maine, and not one of
them is so thoroughly Dam'd as he was all the way
from New York to Aspinwall.
I had far rather say a pleasant thing than a harsh
one; but it is due to the large number of respectable
ladies and gentlemen who were on board the steamer
Ariel with me that I state here that the accommodations
on that steamer were very vile. If I did not
so state, my conscience would sting me through life,
and I should have horrid dreams like Richard III. Esq.
The proprietor apparently thought we were undergoing
transportation for life to some lonely island,
and the very waiters who brought us meats that any
warden of any penitentiary would blush to offer convicts,
seemed to think it was a glaring error our not
being in chains.
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As a specimen of the liberal manner in which this
steamer was managed I will mention that the purser
(a very pleasant person, by the way) was made to
unite the positions of purser, baggage clerk, anddoctor;
and I one day had a lurking suspicion that he
was among the waiters in the dining-cabin, disguised
in a white jacket and slipshod pumps.
I have spoken my Piece about the Ariel, and I hope
Mr. Vanderbilt will reform ere it is too late. Dr.
Watts says the vilest sinner may return as long as
the gas-meters work well, or words to that effect.
We were so densely crowded on board the Ariel
that I cannot conscientiously say we were altogether
happy. And sea-voyages at best are a little stupid.
On the whole I should prefer a voyage on the Erie
Canal, where there isn't any danger, and where you
can carry picturesque scenery along with you—so to
speak.
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On the ninth day we reach Aspinwall in the Republic
of Grenada. The President of New Granada
is a Central American named Mosquero. I was told
that he derived quite a portion of his income by
carrying passengers' valises and things from the
steamer to the hotels in Aspinwall. It was an infamous
falsehood. Fancy A. Lincoln carrying carpetbags
and things! and indeed I should rather trust
him with them than Mosquero, because the former
gentleman, as I think some one has before observed,
is “honest.”
I intrust my bag to a speckled native, who confidentially
gives me to understand that he is the only
strictly honest person in Aspinwall. The rest, he
says, are niggers—which the colored people of the
Isthmus regard as about as scathing a thing as
they can say of one another.
I examine the New Grenadian flag, which waves
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from the chamber-window of a refreshment saloon.
It is of simple design. You can make one.
Take half of a cotton shirt, that has been worn
two months, and dip it in molasses of the Day &
Martin brand. Then let the flies gambol over it for
a few days, and you have it. It is an emblem of
Sweet Liberty.
At the Howard House the man of sin rubbeth
the hair of the horse to the bowels of the cot, and
our girls are waving their lily-white hoofs in the
dazzling waltz.
We have a quadrille, in which an English person
slips up and jams his massive brow against my stomach.
He apologizes, and I say, “all right, my
lord.” I subsequently ascertained that he superintended
the shipping of coals for the British steamers,
and owned fighting cocks.
The ball stops suddenly.
Great excitement. One of our passengers intoxicated
and riotous in the street. Openly and avowedly
desires the entire Republic of New Grenada to
“come on.”
In case they do come on, agrees to make it lively
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for them. Is quieted down at last, and marched off
to prison, by a squad of Grenadian troops. Is musical
as he passes the hotel, and smiling sweetly upon
the ladies and children on the balcony, expresses a
distinct desire to be an Angel, and with the Angels
stand. After which he leaps nimbly into the air
and imitates the war-cry of the red man.
The natives amass wealth by carrying valises, &c.,
then squander it for liquor. My native comes to me
as I sit on the veranda of the Howard House smoking
a cigar, and solicits the job of taking my things
to the cars next morning. He is intoxicated, and
has been fighting, to the palpable detriment of his
wearing apparel; for he has only a pair of tattered
pantaloons and a very small quantity of shirt left.
We go to bed. Eight of us are assigned to a
small den up-stairs, with only two lame apologies for
beds.
Mosquitoes and even rats annoy us fearfully.
One bold rat gnaws at the feet of a young Englishman
in the party. This was more than the young
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Englishman could stand, and rising from his bed he
asked us if New Grenada wasn't a Republic? We
said it was. “I thought so,” he said. “Of course I
mean no disrespect to the United States of America
in the remark, but I think I prefer a bloated monarchy!”
He smiled sadly—then handing his purse
and his mother's photograph to another English person,
he whispered softly, “If I am eaten up, give
them to Me mother—tell her I died like a true Briton,
with no faith whatever in the success of a republican
form of government!” And then he crept
back to bed again.
We start at seven the next morning for Panama.
My native comes bright and early to transport my
carpet sack to the railway station. His clothes have
suffered still more during the night, for he comes to
me now dressed only in a small rag and one boot.
At last we are off. “Adios, Americanos!” the
natives cry; to which I pleasantly reply, “Adous!
and long may it be before you have a chance to Do
us again.”
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The cars are comfortable on the Panama railway,
and the country through which we pass is very
beautiful. But it will not do to trust it much, because
it breeds fevers and other unpleasant disorders,
at all seasons of the year. Like a girl we
most all have known, the Isthmus is fair but false.
There are mud huts all along the route, and half-naked
savages gaze patronizingly upon us from their
door-ways. An elderly lady in spectacles appears
to be much scandalized by the scant dress of these
people, and wants to know why the Select Men
don't put a stop to it. From this, and a remark she
incidentally makes about her son who has invented
a washing machine which will wash, wring, and dry
a shirt in ten minutes, I infer that she is from the
hills of Old New England, like the Hutchinson family.
The Central American is lazy. The only exercise
he ever takes is to occasionally produce a Revolution.
When his feet begin to swell and there are premonitory
symptoms of gout, he “revolushes” a spell, and
then serenely returns to his cigarette and hammock
under the palm trees.
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These Central American Republics are queer concerns.
I do not of course precisely know what a
last year's calf's ideas of immortal glory may be, but
probably they are about as lucid as those of a Central
American in regard to a republican form of
government.
And yet I am told they are a kindly people in the
main. I never met but one of them—a Costa-Rican,
on board the Ariel. He lay sick with fever, and I
went to him and took his hot hand gently in mine.
I shall never forget his look of gratitude. And the
next day he borrowed five dollars of me, shedding
tears as he put it in his pocket.
At Panama we lose several of our passengers, and
among them three Peruvian ladies, who go to Lima,
the city of volcanic irruptions and veiled black-eyed
beauties.
The Señoritas who leave us at Panama are splendid
creatures. They learned me Spanish, and in the
soft moonlight we walked on deck and talked of
the land of Pizarro. (You know old Piz. conquered
Peru! and although he was not educated at West
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Point, he had still some military talent.) I feel as
though I had lost all my relations, including my
grandmother and the cooking stove, when these gay
young Señoritas go away.
They do not go to Peru on a Peruvian bark, but
on an English steamer.
We find the St. Louis, the steamer awaiting us at
Panama, a cheerful and well-appointed boat, and
commanded by Capt. Hudson.
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We make Acapulco, a Mexican coast town of some
importance, in a few days, and all go ashore.
The pretty peasant girls peddle necklaces made
of shells, and oranges, in the streets of Acapulco, on
steamer days. They are quite naïve about it. Handing
you a necklace they will say, “Me give you pres
ent, Senor,” and then retire with a low curtsey.
Returning, however, in a few moments, they say
quite sweetly, “You give me pres-ent, Senor, of
quarter dollar!” which you at once do unless you
have a heart of stone.
Acapulco was shelled by the French a year or so
before our arrival there, and they effected a landing.
But the gay and gallant Mexicans peppered them
so persistently and effectually from the mountains
near by that they concluded to sell out and leave.
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Napoleon has no right in Mexico. Mexico may
deserve a licking. That is possible enough. Most
people do. But nobody has any right to lick Mexico
except the United States. We have a right, I
flatter myself, to lick this entire continent, including
ourselves, any time we want to.
The signal gun is fired at 11, and we go off to the
steamer in small boats.
In our boat is an inebriated United States official,
who flings his spectacles overboard and sings a flippant
and absurd song about his grandmother's spotted
calf, with his ri-fol-lol-tiddery-do. After which
he crumbles, in an incomprehensible manner, into
the bottom of the boat, and howls dismally.
We reach Manzanillo, another coast place, twenty-four
hours after leaving Acapulco. Manzanillo is a
little Mexican village, and looked very wretched indeed,
sweltering away there on the hot sands. But
it is a port of some importance nevertheless, because
a great deal of merchandise finds its way to the interior
from there. The white and green flag of
Mexico floats from a red steam-tug (the navy of
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Mexico, by the way, consists of two tugs, a disabled
raft, and a basswood life-preserver) and the Captain
of the Port comes off to us in his small boat, climbs
up the side of the St. Louis, and folds the healthy
form of Captain Hudson to his breast. There is no
wharf here, and we have to anchor off the town.
There was a wharf, but the enterprising Mexican
peasantry, who subsist by poling merchandise ashore
in dug-outs, indignantly tore it up. We take on here
some young Mexicans, from Colima, who are going
to California. They are of the better class, and one
young man (who was educated in Madrid) speaks
English rather better than I write it. Be careful not
to admire any article of an educated Mexican's dress,
because if you do he will take it right off and give
it to you, and sometimes this might be awkward.
I said: “What a beautiful cravat you wear!”
“It is yours!” he exclaimed, quickly unbuckling
it; and I could not induce him to take it back again.
I am glad I did not tell his sister, who was with
him and with whom I was lucky enough to get acquainted,
what a beautiful white hand she had. She
might have given it to me on the spot; and that, as
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she had soft eyes, a queenly form, and a half million
or os in her own right, would have made me feel bad.
Reports reach us here of high-handed robberies
by the banditti all along the road to the City of
Mexico. They steal clothes as well as coin. A few
days since the mail coach entered the city with all
the passengers stark-naked! They must have felt
mortified.
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We reach San Francisco one Sunday afternoon.
I am driven to the Occidental Hotel by a kind-hearted
hackman, who states that inasmuch as I have
come out there to amuse people, he will only charge
me five dollars. I pay it in gold, of course, because
greenbacks are not current on the Pacific coast.
Many of the citizens of San Francisco remember
the Sabbath day to keep it jolly; and the theatres,
the circus, the minstrels, and the music halls are all
in full blast to-night.
I “compromise” and go to the Chinese theatre,
thinking perhaps there can be no great harm in listening
to worldly sentiments when expressed in a
language I don't understand.
The Chinaman at the door takes my ticket with
the remark, “Ki hi-hi ki! Shoolah!”
And I tell him that on the whole I think he is right.
The Chinese play is “continued,” like a Ledger
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story, from night to night. It commences with the
birth of the hero or heroine, which interesting event
occurs publicly on the stage; and then follows him
or her down to the grave, where it cheerfully
ends.
Sometimes a Chinese play lasts six months. The
play I am speaking of had been going on for about
two months. The heroine had grown up into womanhood,
and was on the point, as I inferred, of being
married to a young Chinaman in spangled pantaloons
and a long black tail. The bride's father comes in
with his arms full of tea chests, and bestows them,
with his blessing, upon the happy couple. As this
play is to run four months longer, however, and as
my time is limited, I go away at the close of the
second act, while the orchestra is performing an overture
on gongs and one-stringed fiddles.
The door-keeper again says, “Ki hi-hi ki! Shoolah!”
adding, this time however, “Chow-wow.”
I agree with him in regard to the ki hi and hi ki,
but tell him I don't feel altogether certain about the
chow-wow.
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To Stockton from San Francisco.
Stockton is a beautiful town, that has ceased to
think of becoming a very large place, and has quietly
settled down into a state of serene prosperity. I
have my boots repaired here by an artist who informs
me that he studied in the penitentiary; and I visit
the lunatic asylum, where I encounter a vivacious
maniac who invites me to ride in a chariot drawn by
eight lions and a rhinoceros.
John Phoenix was once stationed at Stockton, and
put his mother aboard the San Francisco boat one
morning with the sparkling remark, “Dear mother,
be virtuous and you will be happy!”
Forward to Sacramento—which is the capital of
the State, and a very nice old town.
They had a flood here some years ago, during
which several blocks of buildings sailed out of town
and have never been heard from since. A Chinaman
concluded to leave in a wash-tub, and actually set
sail in one of those fragile barks. A drowning man
hailed him piteously, thus: “Throw me a rope, oh
throw me a rope!” To which the Chinaman
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excitedly cried, “No have got—how can do?” and
went on, on with the howling current. He was
never seen more; but a few weeks after his tail was
found by some Sabbath-school children in the north
part of the State.
I go to the mountain towns. The sensational
mining days are over, but I find the people jolly and
hospitable nevertheless.
At Nevada I am called upon, shortly after my
arrival, by an athletic scarlet-faced man, who politely
says his name is Blaze.
“I have a little bill against you, sir,” he observes.
“A bill—what for?”
“For drinks.”
“Drinks?”
“Yes, sir—at my bar, I keep the well known and
highly-respected coffee-house down street.”
“But, my dear sir, there is a mistake—I never
drank at your bar in my life.”
“I know it, sir. That isn't the point. The point
is this: I pay out money for good liquors, and it is
people's own fault if they don't drink them. There
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are the liquors—do as you please about drinking them,
but you must pay for them! Isn't that fair?”
His enormous body (which Puck wouldn't put a
girdle round for forty dollars) shook gleefully while
I read this eminently original bill.
Years ago Mr. Blaze was an agent of the California
Stage Company. There was a formidable and
well organized opposition to the California Stage
Company at that time, and Mr. Blaze rendered them
such signal service in his capacity of agent that they
were very sorry when he tendered his resignation.
“You are some sixteen hundred dollars behind in
your accounts, Mr. Blaze,” said the President, “but
in view of your faithful and efficient services, we shall
throw off eight hundred dollars of that amount.”
Mr. Blaze seemed touched by this generosity. A
tear stood in his eye and his bosom throbbed audibly.
“You will throw off eight hundred dollars—you
will?” he at last cried, seizing the President's hand
and pressing it passionately to his lips.
“I will,” returned the President.
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Blaze, “I'm a gentleman, I
am, you bet! And I won't allow no Stage Company
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An inebriated California miner desires to be an angel, and with
the angels stand. See page 181.
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to surpass me in politeness. I'll throw off the other
eight hundred dollars, and we'll call it square! No
gratitude, sir—no thanks; it is my duty.”
I get back to San Francisco in a few weeks, and
am to start home Overland from here.
The distance from Sacramento to Atchison, Kansas,
by the Overland stage route, is twenty-two hundred
miles, but you can happily accomplish a part of the
journey by railroad. The Pacific railroad is completed
twelve miles to Folsom, leaving only two thousand
and one hundred and eighty-eight miles to go by
stage. This breaks the monotony; but as it is
midwinter, and as there are well substantiated reports
of Overland passengers freezing to death, and of the
Piute savages being in one of their sprightly moods
when they scalp people, I do not—I may say that
I do not leave the Capital of California in a lighthearted
and joyous manner. But “leaves have their
time to fall,” and I have my time to leave, which is
now.
We ride all day and all night, and ascend and
descend some of the most frightful hills I ever saw.
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We make Johnson's Pass, which is 6752 feet high,
about two o'clock in the morning, and go down the
great Kingsbury grade with locked wheels. The
driver, with whom I sit outside, informs me, as we
slowly roll down this fearful mountain road, which
looks down on either side into an appalling ravine,
that he has met accidents in his time, and cost the
California stage company a great deal of money;
“because,” he says, “juries is agin us on principle,
and every man who sues us is sure to recover.
But it will never be so agin, not with me, you
bet.”
“How is that?” I said.
It was frightfully dark. It was snowing withal,
and notwithstanding the brakes were kept hard
down, the coach slewed wildly, often fairly touching
the brink of the black precipice.
“How is that?” I said.
“Why, you see,” he replied, “that corpses never
sue for damages, but maimed people do. And the
next time I have a overturn I shall go round and
keerfully examine the passengers. Them as is dead,
I shall let alone; but them as is mutilated I shall
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finish with the king-bolt! Dead folks don't sue. They
ain't on it.”
Thus with anecdote did this driver cheer me up.
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We reach Carson City about nine o'clock in the
morning. It is the capital of the Silver-producing
territory of Nevada.
They shoot folks here somewhat, and the law is
rather partial than otherwise to first-class murderers.
I visit the territorial Prison, and the Warden
points out the prominent convicts to me, thus:
“This man's crime was horse-stealing. He is
here for life.
“This man is in for murder. He is here for three
years.”
But shooting isn't as popular in Nevada as it
once was. A few years since they used to have a
dead man for breakfast every morning. A reformed
desperado told me that he supposed he had killed
men enough to stock a grave-yard. “A feeling of
remorse,” he said, “sometimes comes over me! Bu
I'm an altered man now. I hain't killed a man for
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over two weeks! What'll yer poison yourself with?”
he added, dealing a resonant blow on the bar.
There used to live near Carson City a notorious
desperado, who never visited town without killing
somebody. He would call for liquor at some drinking-house,
and if anybody declined joining him he
would at once commence shooting. But one day he
shot a man too many. Going into the St. Nicholas
drinking-house he asked the company present to
join him in a North American drink. One individual
was rash enough to refuse. With a look of
sorrow rather than of anger the desperado revealed
his revolver, and said, “Good God! Must I kill a
man every time I come to Carson?” and so saying
he fired and killed the individual on the spot. But
this was the last murder the bloodthirsty miscreant
ever committed, for the aroused citizens pursued
him with rifles and shot him down in his own door-yard.
I lecture in the theatre at Carson, which opens
out of a drinking and gambling house. On each side
of the door where my ticket-taker stands there are
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montè-boards and sweat-cloths, but they are deserted
to-night, the gamblers being evidently of a
literary turn of mind.
Five years ago there was only a pony-path over
the precipitous hills on which now stands the marvellous
city of Virginia, with its population of twelve
thousand persons, and perhaps more. Virginia, with
its stately warehouses and gay shops; its splendid
streets, paved with silver ore; its banking houses
and faro-banks; its attractive coffee-houses and elegant
theatre; its music halls and its three daily newspapers.
Virginia is very wild, but I believe it is now pretty
generally believed that a mining city must go through
with a certain amount of unadulterated cussedness
before it can settle down and behave itself in a conservative
and seemly manner. Virginia has grown
up in the heart of the richest silver regions in the
world, the El Dorado of the hour; and of the immense
numbers who swarming thither not more
than half carry their mother's Bible or any settled
religion with them. The gambler and the strange
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woman as naturally seek the new sensational town
as ducks take to that element which is so useful for
making cocktails and bathing one's feet; and these
people make the new town rather warm for awhile.
But by-and-by the earnest and honest citizens get
tired of this ungodly nonsense and organize a Vigilance
Committee, which hangs the more vicious of
the pestiferous crowd to a sour apple-tree; and then
come good municipal laws, ministers, meeting-houses,
and a tolerably sober police in blue coats with brass
buttons. About five thousand able-bodied men are
in the mines underground, here; some as far down as
five hundred feet. The Gould & Curry Mine employs
nine hundred men, and annually turns out
about twenty million dollars' worth of “demnition
gold and silver,” as Mr. Mantalini might express it—
though silver chiefly.
There are many other mines here and at Gold-Hill
(another startling silver city, a mile from here), all
of which do nearly as well. The silver is melted
down into bricks of the size of common house bricks;
then it is loaded into huge wagons, each drawn by
eight and twelve mules, and sent off to San
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Francisco. To a young person fresh from the land of green-
backs this careless manner of carting off solid silver
is rather of a startler. It is related that a young
man who came Overland from New Hampshire a
few months before my arrival became so excited
about it that he fell in a fit, with the name of his
Uncle Amos on his lips! The hardy miners supposed
he wanted his uncle there to see the great sight, and
faint with him. But this was pure conjecture, after
all.
I visit several of the adjacent mining towns, but
I do not go to Aurora. No, I think not. A lecturer
on psychology was killed there the other night by
the playful discharge of a horse-pistol in the hands
of a degenerate and intoxicated Spaniard. This circumstance,
and a rumor that the citizens are agin
literature, induce me to go back to Virginia.
I had pointed out to me at a Restaurant a man
who had killed four men in street broils, and who
had that very day cut his own brother's breast open
in a dangerous manner with a small supper knife.
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He was a gentleman, however. I heard him tell
some men so. He admitted it himself. And I don't
think he would lie about a little thing like that.
The theatre at Virginia will attract the attention
of the stranger, because it is an unusually elegant
affair of the kind, and would be so regarded anywhere.
It was built, of course, by Mr. Thomas Maguire,
the Napoleonic manager of the Pacific, and
who has built over twenty theatres in his time and
will perhaps build as many more, unless somebody
stops him—which, by the way, will not be a remarkably
easy thing to do.
As soon as a mining camp begins to assume the
proportions of a city; at about the time the whiskey-
vender draws his cork or the gambler spreads his
green cloth, Maguire opens a theatre, and with a
hastily-organized “Vigilance Committee” of actors,
commences to execute Shakspeare.
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My arrival at Virginia City was signalized by the
following incident:
I had no sooner achieved my room in the garret
of the International Hotel than I was called upon by
an intoxicated man, who said he was an Editor.
Knowing how rare it was for an Editor to be under
the blighting influence of either spirituous or malt
liquors, I received this statement doubtfully. But
I said:
“What name?”
“Wait!” he said, and went out.
I heard him pacing unsteadily up and down the
hall outside.
In ten minutes he returned, and said:
“Pepper!”
Pepper was indeed his name. He had been out
to see if he could remember it; and he was so flushed
with his success that he repeated it joyously several
-- 155 --
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times, and then, with a short laugh, he went
away.
I had often heard of a man being “so drunk that
he didn't know what town he lived in,” but here was
a man so hideously inebriated that he didn't know
what his name was.
I saw him no more, but I heard from him. For
he published a notice of my lecture, in which he said
I had a dissipated air!
-- -- p483-177
[figure description] Page 156.[end figure description]
When Mr. Greeley was in California ovations
awaited him at every town. He had written powerful
leaders in the Tribune in favor of the Pacific
Railroad, which had greatly endeared him to the
citizens of the Golden State. And therefore they
made much of him when he went to see them.
At one town the enthusiastic populace tore his
celebrated white coat to pieces, and carried the pieces
home to remember him by.
The citizens of Placerville prepared to fête the
great journalist, and an extra coach, with extra relays
of horses, was chartered of the California Stage
Company to carry him from Folsom to Placerville—
distance, forty miles. The extra was in some way
delayed, and did not leave Folsom until late in the
afternoon. Mr. Greeley was to be fêted at 7 o'clock
that evening by the citizens of Placerville, and it was
altogether necessary that he should be there by that
-- 157 --
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hour. So the Stage Company said to Henry Monk,
the driver of the extra, “Henry, this great man must
be there by 7 to-night.” And Henry answered,
“The great man shall be there.”
The roads were in an awful state, and during the
first few miles out of Folsom slow progress was made.
“Sir,” said Mr. Greeley, “are you aware that I
must be at Placerville at 7 o'clock to-night?”
“I've got my orders!” laconically returned Henry
Monk.
Still the coach dragged slowly forward.
“Sir,” said Mr. Greeley, “this is not a trifling
matter. I must be there at 7!”
Again came the answer, “I've got my orders!”
But the speed was not increased, and Mr. Greeley
chafed away another half hour; when, as he was
again about to remonstrate with the driver, the horses
suddenly started into a furious run, and all sorts
of encouraging yells filled the air from the throat of
Henry Monk.
“That is right, my good fellow!” cried Mr. Greeley.
“I'll give you ten dollars when we get to
Placerville. Now we are going!”
-- 158 --
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They were indeed, and at a terrible speed.
Crack, crack! went the whip, and again “that
voice” split the air. “Git up! Hi yi! G'long!
Yip—yip!”
And on they tore, over stones and ruts, up hill and
down, at a rate of speed never before achieved by
stage horses.
Mr. Greeley, who had been bouncing from one end
of the coach to the other like an india-rubber ball,
managed to get his head out of the window, when
he said:
“Do—on't—on't—on't you—u—u think we—e—
e—e shall get there by seven if we do—on't—on't
go so fast?”
“I've got my orders!” That was all Henry Monk
said. And on tore the coach.
It was becoming serious. Already the journalist
was extremely sore from the terrible jolting, and
again his head “might have been seen” at the window.
“Sir,” he said, “I don't care—care—air, if we
don't get there at seven!”
“I have got my orders!” Fresh horses.
-- 159 --
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Forward again, faster than before. Over rocks and
stumps, on one of which the coach narrowly escaped
turning a summerset.
“See here!” shrieked Mr. Greeley, “I don't care
if we don't get there at all!”
“I've got my orders! I work for the Californy
Stage Company, I do. That's wot I work for.
They said, `git this man through by seving.' An'
this man's goin' through. You bet! Gerlong!
Whoo-ep!”
Another frightful jolt, and Mr. Greeley's bald
head suddenly found its way through the roof of
the coach, amidst the crash of small timbers and the
ripping of strong canvas.
“Stop, you —— maniac!” he roared.
Again answered Henry Monk:
“I've got my orders! Keep your seat, Horace!”
At Mud Springs, a village a few miles from Placerville,
they met a large delegation of the citizens
of Placerville, who had come out to meet the celebrated
editor, and escort him into town. There was
a military company, a brass band, and a six-horse
wagon-load of beautiful damsels in milk-white
-- 160 --
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dresses, representing all the States in the Union. It was
nearly dark now, but the delegation were amply
provided with torches, and bonfires blazed all along
the road to Placerville.
The citizens met the coach in the outskirts of
Mud Springs, and Mr. Monk reined in his foam-covered
steeds.
“Is Mr. Greeley on board?” asked the chairman
of the committee.
“He was, a few miles back!” said Mr. Monk;
“yes,” he added, after looking down through the
hole which the fearful jolting had made in the coach-roof—
“yes, I can see him! He is there!”
“Mr. Greeley,” said the Chairman of the Committee,
presenting himself at the window of the coach,
“Mr. Greeley, sir! We are come to most cordially
welcome you, sir——why, God bless me, sir, you
are bleeding at the nose!”
“I've got my orders!” cried Mr. Monk. “My
orders is as follers: Git him there by seving! It
wants a quarter to seving. Stand out of the way!”
“But, sir,” exclaimed the Committee-man, seizing
the off leader by the reins—“Mr. Monk, we are come
-- 161 --
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to escort him into town! Look at the procession,
sir, and the brass band, and the people, and the
young women, sir!”
“I've got my orders!” screamed Mr. Monk.
“My orders don't say nothin' about no brass bands
and young women. My orders says, `git him there
by seving!' Let go them lines! Clear the way
there! Whoo-ep! Keep your seat, Horace!” and
the coach dashed wildly through the procession, upsetting
a portion of the brass band, and violently
grazing the wagon which contained the beautiful
young women in white.
Years hence grey-haired men, who were little boys
in this procession, will tell their grandchildren how
this stage tore through Mud Springs, and how Horace
Greeley's bald head ever and anon showed
itself, like a wild apparition, above the coach-roof.
Mr. Monk was on time. There is a tradition that
Mr. Greeley was very indignant for awhile; then he
laughed, and finally presented Mr. Monk with a brannew
suit of clothes.
Mr. Monk himself is still in the employ of the California
Stage Company, and is rather fond of relating
-- 162 --
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a story that has made him famous al lover the
Pacific coast. But he says he yields to no man in
his admiration for Horace Greeley.
-- -- p483-184
[figure description] Page 163.[end figure description]
I leave Virginia for Great Salt Lake City, via the
Reese River Silver Diggings.
There are eight passengers of us inside the coach—
which, by the way, isn't a coach, but a Concord
covered mud wagon.
Among the passengers is a genial man of the name
of Ryder, who has achieved a wide-spread reputation
as a strangler of unpleasant bears in the mountain
fastnesses of California, and who is now an eminent
Reese River miner.
We ride night and day, passing through the land
of the Piute Indians. Reports reach us that fifteen
hundred of these savages are on the Rampage, under
the command of a red usurper named Buffalo-Jim,
who seems to be a sort of Jeff Davis, inasmuch as
he and his followers have seceded from the regular
Piute organization. The seceding savages have
announced that they shall kill and scalp all pale-faces
-- 164 --
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(which makes our faces pale, I reckon) found loose
in that section. We find the guard doubled at all
the stations where we change horses, and our passengers
nervously examine their pistols and readjust
the long glittering knives in their belts. I feel in my
pockets to see if the key which unlocks the carpetbag
containing my revolvers is all right—for I had
rather brilliantly locked my deadly weapons up in
that article, which was strapped with the other baggage
to the rack behind. The passengers frown on
me for this carelessness, but the kind-hearted Ryder
gives me a small double-barrelled gun, with which I
narrowly escape murdering my beloved friend Hingston
in cold blood. I am not used to guns and things,
and in changing the position of this weapon I pulled
the trigger rather harder than was necessary.
When this wicked rebellion first broke out I was
among the first to stay at home—chiefly because of
my utter ignorance of firearms. I should be valuable
to the Army as a Brigadier-General only so far as
the moral influence of my name went.
-- 165 --
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However, we pass safely through the land of the
Piutes, unmolested by Buffalo James. This celebrated
savage can read and write, and is quite an orator,
like Metamora, or the last of the Wampanoags. He
went on to Washington a few years ago and called
Mr. Buchanan his Great Father, and the members of
the Cabinet his dear Brothers. They gave him a
great many blankets, and he returned to his beautiful
hunting grounds and went to killing stage-drivers.
He made such a fine impression upon Mr. Buchanan
during his sojourn in Washington that that statesman
gave a young English tourist, who crossed the
plains a few years since, a letter of introduction
to him. The great Indian chief read the
English person's letter with considerable emotion,
and then ordered him scalped, and stole his
trunks.
Mr. Ryder knows me only as “Mr. Brown,” and
he refreshes me during the journey by quotations
from my books and lectures.
“Never seen Ward?” he said.
“Oh no.”
“Ward says he likes little girls, but he likes large
-- 166 --
[figure description] Page 166.[end figure description]
girls just as well. Haw, haw haw! I should like
to see the d—— fool!”
He referred to me.
He even woke me up in the middle of the night
to tell me one of Ward's jokes.
I lecture at Big Creek.
Big Creek is a straggling, wild little village; and
the house in which I had the honor of speaking a
piece had no other floor than the bare earth. The
roof was of sage-brush. At one end of the building
a huge wood fire blazed, which, with half-a-dozen
tallow-candles, afforded all the illumination desired.
The lecturer spoke from behind the drinking bar.
Behind him long rows of decanters glistened; above
him hung pictures of race-horses and prize-fighters;
and beside him, in his shirt-sleeves and wearing a
cheerful smile, stood the bar-keeper. My speeches
at the Bar before this had been of an elegant character,
perhaps, but quite brief. They never extended
beyond “I don't care if I do,” “No sugar in mine,”
and short gems of a like character.
I had a good audience at Big Creek, who seemed
-- 167 --
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to be pleased, the bar-keeper especially; for at the
close of any “point” that I sought to make, he would
deal the counter a vigorous blow with his fist and
exclaim, “Good boy from the New England States!
listen to William W. Shakspeare!”
Back to Austin. We lose our way, and hitching
our horses to a tree, go in search of some human
beings. The night is very dark. We soon stumble
upon a camp-fire, and an unpleasantly modulated
voice asks us to say our prayers, adding that we are
on the point of going to Glory with our boots on.
I think perhaps there may be some truth in this, as
the mouth of a horse-pistol almost grazes my forehead,
while immediately behind the butt of that
death-dealing weapon I perceive a large man with
black whiskers. Other large men begin to assemble,
also with horse-pistols. Dr. Hingston hastily explains,
while I go back to the carriage to say my prayers,
where there is more room. The men were miners
on a prospecting tour, and as we advanced upon them
without sending them word they took us for highway
obbers.
I must not forget to say that my brave and
-- 168 --
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kind-hearted friend Ryder of the mail coach, who had so
often alluded to “Ward” in our ride from Virginia
to Austin, was among my hearers at Big Creek. He
had discovered who I was, and informed me that he
had debated whether to wollop me or give me some
rich silver claims.
-- --
Horace Greeley's gay and festive adventures on the overland route
from California. See pge 156.
[figure description] 483EAF. Illustration page. Two cartoon images of Horace Greeley on his California
adventures. The first is Greeley in a stagecoach -- his head is too
big and has broken out of the top. The second is Greeley, again with
an enlarged head, fighting a reluctant Californian.[end figure description]
-- --
[figure description] Blank Page.[end figure description]
-- -- p483-192
[figure description] Page 169.[end figure description]
How was I to be greeted by the Mormons? That
was rather an exciting question with me. I had been
told on the plains that a certain humorous sketch of
mine (written some years before) had greatly incensed
the Saints, and a copy of the Sacramento Union
newspaper had a few days before fallen into my hands
in which a Salt Lake correspondent quite clearly intimated
that my reception at the new Zion might
be unpleasantly warm. I ate my dinner moodily
and sent out for some cigars. The venerable clerk
brought me six. They cost only two dollars. They
were procured at a store near by. The Salt Lake
House sells neither cigars nor liquors.
I smoke in my room, having no heart to mingle
with the people in the office.
Dr. Hingston “thanks God he never wrote against
he Mormons,” and goes out in search of a brother
Englishman. Comes back at night and says there
-- 170 --
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is a prejudice against me. Advises me to keep in.
Has heard that the Mormons thirst for my blood and
are on the look-out for me.
Under these circumstances I keep in.
The next day is Sunday, and we go to the Tabernacle,
in the morning. The Tabernacle is located
on —— street, and is a long rakish building of
adobe, capable of seating some twenty-five hundred
persons. There is a wide platform and a rather
large pulpit at one end of the building, and at the
other end is another platform for the choir. A
young Irishman of the name of Sloan preaches a
sensible sort of discourse, to which a Presbyterian
could hardly have objected. Last night this same
Mr. Sloan enacted a character in a rollicking Irish
farce at the theatre! And he played it well, I was
told; not so well, of course, as the great Dan Bryant
could: but I fancy he was more at home in the Mormon
pulpit than Daniel would have been.
The Mormons, by the way, are preëminently an
amusement-loving people, and the Elders pray for
the success of their theatre with as much earnestness
as they pray for anything else. The congregation
-- 171 --
[figure description] Page 171.[end figure description]
doesn't startle us. It is known, I fancy, that the
heads of the Church are to be absent to-day, and
the attendance is slim. There are no ravishingly
beautiful women present, and no positively ugly
ones. The men are fair to middling. They will
never be slain in cold blood for their beauty, nor
shut up in jail for their homeliness.
There are some good voices in the choir to-day,
but the orchestral accompaniment is unusually
slight. Sometimes they introduce a full brass and
string band in Church. Brigham Young says the
devil has monopolized the good music long enough,
and it is high time the Lord had a portion of it.
Therefore trombones are tooted on Sundays in Utah
as well as on other days; and there are some splendid
musicians there. The orchestra in Brigham
Young's theatre is quite equal to any in Broadway.
There is a youth in Salt Lake City (I forget his
name) who plays the cornet like a North American
angel.
Mr. Stenhouse relieves me of any anxiety I had
felt in regard to having my swan-like throat cut by
the Danites, but thinks my wholesale denunciation
-- 172 --
[figure description] Page 172.[end figure description]
of a people I had never seen was rather hasty.
The following is the paragraph to which the Saints
objected. It occurs in an “Artemus Ward” paper
on Brigham Young, written some years ago:
“I girded up my Lions and fled the Seen. I
packt up my duds and left Salt Lake, which is a 2nd
Soddum and Germorer, inhabited by as theavin' &
onprincipled a set of retchis as ever drew Breth in
eny spot on the Globe.”
I had forgotten all about this, and as Elder Stenhouse
read it to me “my feelings may be better
imagined than described,” to use language I think
I have heard before. I pleaded, however, that it
was a purely burlesque sketch, and that this strong
paragraph should not be interpreted literally at all.
The Elder didn't seem to see it in that light, but we
parted pleasantly.
-- -- p483-196
[figure description] Page 173.[end figure description]
I go back to my hotel and go to bed, and I do not
get up again for two weary weeks. I have the
mountain fever (so called in Utah, though it closely
resembles the old-style typhus) and my case is pronounced
dangerous. I don't regard it so. I don't,
in fact, regard anything. I am all right, myself.
My poor Hingston shakes his head sadly, and Dr.
Williamson, from Camp Douglas, pours all kinds of
bitter stuff down my throat. I drink his health in
a dose of the cheerful beverage known as jalap, and
thresh the sheets with my hot hands. I address
large assemblages, who have somehow got into my
room, and I charge Dr. Williamson with the murder
of Luce, and Mr. Irwin, the actor, with the murder
of Shakespeare. I have a lucid spell now and then,
in one of which James Townsend, the landlord,
enters. He whispers, but I hear what he says far
too distinctly: “This man can have anything and
-- 174 --
[figure description] Page 174.[end figure description]
everything he wants; but I'm no hand for a sick
room. I never could see anybody die.”
That was cheering, I thought. The noble Californian,
Jerome Davis—he of the celebrated ranch—
sticks by me like a twin brother, although I fear
that in my hot frenzy I more than once anathematized
his kindly eyes. Nurses and watchers, Gentile
and Mormon, volunteer their services in hoops, and
rare wines are sent to me from all over the city,
which if I can't drink, the venerable and excellent
Thomas can, easy.
I lay there in this wild, broiling way for nearly
two weeks, when one morning I woke up with my
head clear and an immense plaster on my stomach.
The plaster had operated. I was so raw that I
could by no means say to Dr. Williamson, Welldone,
thou good and faithful servant. I wished he had
lathered me before he plastered me. I was fearfully
weak. I was frightfully thin. With either one of
my legs you could have cleaned the stem of a meerschaum
pipe. My backbone had the appearance of
a clothes-line with a quantity of English walnuts
strung upon it. My face was almost gone. My
-- 175 --
[figure description] Page 175.[end figure description]
nose was so sharp that I didn't dare stick it into
other people's business for fear it would stay there.
But by borrowing my agent's overcoat I succeeded
n producing a shadow.
I have been looking at Zion all day, and my feet
are sore and my legs are weary. I go back to the
Salt Lake House and have a talk with landlord
Townsend about the State of Maine. He came from
that bleak region, having skinned his infantile eyes
in York County. He was at Nauvoo, and was forced
to sell out his entire property there for $50. He
has thrived in Utah, however, and is much thought
of by the Church. He is an Elder, and preaches
occasionally. He has only two wives. I hear lately
that he has sold his property for $25,000 to Brigham
Young, and gone to England to make converts.
How impressive he may be as an expounder of the
Mormon gospel, I don't know. His beef-steaks and
chicken-pies, however, were first-rate. James and
I talk about Maine, and cordially agree that so far
as pine boards and horse-mackerel are concerned it
is equalled by few and excelled by none. There is
-- 176 --
[figure description] Page 176.[end figure description]
no place like home, as Clara, the Maid of Milan,
very justly observes; and while J. Townsend would
be unhappy in Maine, his heart evidently beats back
here now and then.
I heard the love of home oddly illustrated in Ore-gon,
one night, in a country bar-room. Some welldressed
men, in a state of strong drink, were boasting
of their respective places of nativity.
“I,” said one, “was born in Mississippi, where
the sun ever shines and the magnolias bloom all the
happy year round.”
“And I,” said another, “was born in Kentucky—
Kentucky, the home of impassioned oratory: the
home of Clay: the State of splendid women, of gallant
men!”
“And I,” said another, “was born in Virginia, the
home of Washington: the birthplace of statesmen:
the State of chivalric deeds and noble hospitality!”
“And I,” said a yellow-haired and sallow-faced
man, who was not of this party at all, and who had
been quietly smoking a short black pipe by the fire
during their magnificent conversation—“and I was
born in the garden spot of America.”
-- 177 --
[figure description] Page 177.[end figure description]
“Where is that?” they said.
“Skeouhegan, Maine!” he replied; “kin I sell
you a razor strop?”
-- -- p483-201
[figure description] Page 178.[end figure description]
There is no mistake about that, and there is a
good prospect of my staying here for some time to
come. The snow is deep on the ground, and more is
falling.
The Doctor looks glum, and speaks of his ill-starred
countryman Sir J. Franklin, who went to
the Arctic once too much.
“A good thing happened down here the other
day,” said a miner from New Hampshire to me.
“A man of Boston dressin' went through there, and
at one of the stations there wasn't any mules. Says
the man who was fixed out to kill in his Boston dressin',
`Where's them mules?' Says the driver,
`Them mules is into the sage-brush. You go catch'
em—that's wot you do.' Says the man of Boston
dressin', `Oh no!' Says the driver, `Oh yes!' and
he took his long coach-whip and licked the man of
-- 179 --
[figure description] Page 179.[end figure description]
Boston dressin' till he went and caught them mules.
How does that strike you as a joke?”
It didn't strike me as much of a joke to pay a
hundred and seventy-five dollars in gold fare, and
then be horse-whipped by stage-drivers, for declin
ing to chase mules. But people's ideas of humor dif-fer,
just as people's ideas differ in regard to shrewd-ness—
which “reminds me of a little story.” Sitting
in a New England country store one day I overheard
the following dialogue between two brothers:
“Say, Bill, wot you done with that air sorrel mare
of yourn?”
“Sold her,” said William, with a smile of satisfaction.
“Wot'd you git?”
“Hund'd an' fifty dollars, cash deown!”
“Show! Hund'd an' fifty for that kickin' spavin'd
critter? Who'd you sell her to?”
“Sold her to mother!”
“Wot!” exclaimed brother No. 1, “did you railly
sell that kickin' spavin'd critter to mother?
Wall, you air a shrewd one!”
-- 180 --
[figure description] Page 180.[end figure description]
A Sensation-Arrival by the Overland Stage of two
Missouri girls, who have come unescorted all the
way through. They are going to Nevada territory
to join their father. They are pretty, but, merciful
heavens! how they throw the meat and potatoes
down their throats. “This is the first Squar' meal
we've had since we left Rocky Thompson's,” said
the eldest. Then addressing herself to me, she said:
“Air you the literary man?”
I politely replied that I was one of “them fellers.”
“Wall, don't make fun of our clothes in the papers.
We air goin' right straight through in these here
clothes, we air! We ain't goin' to rag out till we git
to Nevady! Pass them sassiges!”
-- -- p483-204
[figure description] Page 181.[end figure description]
Brigham Young sends word I may see him to-morrow.
So I go to bed singing the popular Mormon
hymn:
Let the chorus still be sung,
Long live Brother Brigham Young,
And blessed be the vale of Deserét—rét—rét!
And blessed be the vale of Deserét.
At two o'clock the next afternoon Mr. Hiram B.
Clawson, Brigham Young's son-in-law and chief business
manager, calls for me with the Prophet's private
sleigh, and we start for that distinguished person's
block.
I am shown into the Prophet's chief office. He
comes forward, greets me cordially, and introduces
me to several influential Mormons who are present.
Brigham Young is 62 years old, of medium
height, and with sandy hair and whiskers. An
-- 182 --
[figure description] Page 182.[end figure description]
active, iron man, with a clear sharp eye. A man of
consummate shrewdness—of great executive ability.
He was born in the State of Vermont, and so by
the way was Heber C. Kimball, who will wear the
Mormon Belt when Brigham leaves the ring.
Brigham Young is a man of great natural ability.
If you ask me, How pious is he? I treat it as a conundrum,
and give it up. Personally he treated me
with marked kindness throughout my sojourn in
Utah.
His power in Utah is quite as absolute as that of
any living sovereign, yet he uses it with such consummate
shrewdness that his people are passionately
devoted to him.
He was an Elder at the first formal Mormon
“stake” in this country, at Kirtland, Ohio, and went
to Nauvoo with Joseph Smith. That distinguished
Mormon handed his mantle and the Prophet business
over to Brigham when he died at Nauvoo.
Smith did a more flourishing business in the Prophet
line than B. Y. does. Smith used to have his
little Revelation almost every day—sometimes two
before dinner. B. Y. only takes one once in awhile.
-- 183 --
[figure description] Page 183.[end figure description]
The gateway of his block is surmounted by a
brass American eagle, and they say (“they say”
here means anti-Mormons) that he receives his spiritual
dispatches through this piece of patriotic poultry.
They also say that he receives revelations from a
stuffed white calf that is trimmed with red ribbons
and kept in an iron box. I don't suppose these things
are true. Rumor says that when the Lion House
was ready to be shingled, Brigham received a message
from the Lord stating that the carpenters must
all take hold and shingle it and not charge a red
cent for their services. Such carpenters as refused
to shingle would go to hell, and no postponement on
account of the weather. They say that Brigham,
whenever a train of emigrants arrives in Salt Lake
City, orders all the women to march up and down
before his block, while he stands on the portico of
the Lion House and gobbles up the prettiest ones.
He is an immensely wealthy man. His wealth is
variously estimated at from ten to twenty millions
of dollars. He owns saw mills, grist mills, woollen
factories, brass and iron foundries, farms, brick-yards,
&c., and superintends them all in person. A man
-- 184 --
[figure description] Page 184.[end figure description]
in Utah individually owns what he grows and makes
with the exception of a one tenth part: that must
go to the Church; and Brigham Young, as the
first President, is the Church's treasurer. Gentiles
of course say that he abuses this blind confidence of
his people, and speculates with their money, and absorbs
the interest if he doesn't the principal. The
Mormons deny this, and say that whatever of their
money he does use is for the good of the Church;
that he defrays the expenses of emigrants from far
over the seas; that he is foremost in all local enterprises
tending to develop the resources of the territory,
and that, in short, he is incapable of wrong in
any shape.
Nobody seems to know how many wives Brigham
Young has. Some set the number as high as eighty,
in which case his children must be too numerous to
mention. Each wife has a room to herself. These
rooms are large and airy, and I suppose they are
supplied with all the modern improvements. But
never having been invited to visit them I can't speak
very definitely about this. When I left the Prophet
he shook me cordially by the hand, and invited me
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to call again. This was flattering, because if he dislikes
a man at the first interview he never sees him
again. He made no allusion to the “letter” I had
written about his community. Outside guards were
pacing up and down before the gateway, but they
smiled upon me sweetly. The veranda was crowded
with Gentile miners, who seemed to be surprised
that I didn't return in a wooden overcoat, with my
throat neatly laid open from ear to ear.
I go to the Theatre to-night. The play is Othello.
This is a really fine play, and was a favorite of
G. Washington, the father of his country. On this
stage, as upon all other stages, the good old conventionalities
are strictly adhered to. The actors cross
each other at oblique angles from L. U. E. to R. I.
E., on the slightest provocation. Othello howls,
Iago scowls, and the boys all laugh when Roderigo
dies. I stay to see charming Mrs. Irwin (Desdemona)
die, which she does very sweetly.
I was an actor once, myself. I supported Edwin
Forrest at a theatre in Philadelphia. I played a
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pantomimic part. I removed the chairs between scenes,
and I did it so neatly that Mr. F. said I would make
a cabinet-maker if I “applied” myself.
The parquette of the theatre is occupied exclusively
by the Mormons and their wives, and children.
They wouldn't let a Gentile in there any more than
they would a serpent. In the side seats are those
of President Young's wives who go to the play, and
a large and varied assortment of children. It is an
odd sight to see a jovial old Mormon file down the
parquette aisle with ten or twenty robust wives at
his heels. Yet this spectacle may be witnessed
every night the theatre is opened. The dress circle
is chiefly occupied by the officers from Camp Douglas
and the Gentile Merchants. The upper circles
are filled by the private soldiers and Mormon boys.
I feel bound to say that a Mormon audience is quite
as appreciative as any other kind of an audience.
They prefer comedy to tragedy. Sentimental plays,
for obvious reasons, are unpopular with them. It
will be remembered that when C. Melnotte, in the
Lady of Lyons, comes home from the wars, he folds
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Pauline to his heaving heart and makes several remarks
of an impassioned and slobbering character.
One night when the Lady of Lyons was produced
here, an aged Mormon arose and went out with his
twenty-four wives, angrily stating that he wouldn't
sit and see a play where a man made such a cussed
fuss over one woman. The prices of the theatre
are: Parquette, 75 cents; dress circle, $1; 1st upper
circle, 50; 2nd and 3rd upper circles, 25. In an
audience of two thousand persons (and there are almost
always that number present) probably a thousand
will pay in cash, and the other thousand in grain
and a variety of articles; all which will command
money, however.
Brigham Young usually sits in the middle of the
parquette, in a rocking-chair, and with his hat on.
He does not escort his wives to the theatre. They
go alone. When the play drags he either falls into a
tranquil sleep or walks out. He wears in winter
time a green wrapper, and his hat is the style introduced
into this country by Louis Kossuth, Esq., the
liberator of Hungaria. (I invested a dollar in the
liberty of Hungaria nearly fifteen years ago.)
-- 188 -- p483-211
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A piece hath its victories no less than war.
“Blessed are the Piece-makers.” That is Scripture.
The night of the “comic oration” is come, and
the speaker is arranging his back hair in the stardressing-room
of the theatre. The orchestra is playing
selections from the Gentile opera of Un Ballo in
Maschera, and the house is full. Mr. John F. Caine,
the excellent stage-manager, has given me an elegant
drawing-room scene in which to speak my little
piece.
[In Iowa, I once lectured in a theatre, and the
heartless manager gave me a Dungeon scene.]
The curtain goes up, and I stand before a Salt
Lake of upturned faces.
I can only say that I was never listened to more
attentively and kindly in my life than I was by this
audience of Mormons.
Among my receipts at the box-office this night
were—
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20 bushels of wheat.
5 bushels of corn.
4 bushels of potatoes.
2 bushels of oats.
4 bushels of salt.
2 hams.
1 live pig (Dr. Hingston chained him in the boxoffice).
1 wolf-skin.
5 pounds honey in the comb.
16 strings of sausages—2 pounds to the string.
1 cat-skin.
1 churn (two families went in on this; it is an ingenious
churn, and fetches butter in five minutes by
rapid grinding).
1 set children's under-garments, embroidered.
1 firkin of butter.
1 keg of apple-sauce.
One man undertook to pass a dog (a cross between
a Scotch terrier and a Welsh rabbit) at the
box-office, and another presented a German-silver
coffin-plate, but the Doctor very justly repulsed them
both.
-- -- p483-213
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The Mormons are fond of dancing. Brigham and
Heber C. dance. So do Daniel H. Wells and the
other heads of the Church. Balls are opened with
prayer, and when they break up a benediction is
pronounced.
I am invited to a ball at Social Hall, and am
escorted thither by Brothers Stenhouse and Clawson.
Social Hall is a spacious and cheerful room. The
motto of “Our Mountain Home” in brilliant evergreen
capitals adorns one end of the hall, while at
the other a platform is erected for the musicians,
behind whom there is room for those who don't
dance, to sit and look at the festivities. Brother
Stenhouse, at the request of President Young, formally
introduces me to company from the platform.
There is a splendor of costumery about the dancers
I had not expected to see. Quadrilles only are
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danced. The Mazourka is considered sinful. Even
the old-time round waltz is tabooed.
I dance.
The Saints address each other here, as elsewhere,
as Brother and Sister. “This way, Sister!” “Where
are you going, brother?” etc. etc. I am called
Brother Ward. This pleases me, and I dance with
renewed vigor.
The Prophet has some very charming daughters,
several of whom are present to-night.
I was told they spoke French and Spanish.
The Prophet is more industrious than graceful as
a dancer. He exhibits, however, a spryness of legs
quite remarkable in a man at his time of life. I
didn't see Heber C. Kimball on the floor. I am
told he is a loose and reckless dancer, and that many
a lily-white toe has felt the crushing weight of his
cowhide monitors.
The old gentleman is present, however, with a
large number of wives. It is said he calls them his
“heifers.”
“Ain't you goin' to dance with some of my wives?”
said a Mormon to me.
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These things make a Mormon ball more spicy than
a Gentile one.
The supper is sumptuous, and bear and beaver
adorn the bill of fare.
I go away at the early hour of two in the morning.
The moon is shining brightly on the snow-covered
streets. The lamps are out, and the town is still as
a graveyard.
-- --
The Boston man gets into a state of excitement with the
mule-driver. See page 178.
[figure description] 483EAF. Image of a well-dressed Bostonian prepares to fight the mule-driver,
who is wielding a whip.[end figure description]
-- --
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-- -- p483-218
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There is an eccentric Mormon at Salt Lake City
of the name of W. W. Phelps. He is from Cortland,
State of New York, and has been a Saint for a good
many years. It is said he enacts the character of
the Devil, with a pea-green tail, in the Mormon initiation
ceremonies. He also publishes an Almanac,
in which he blends astronomy with short moral
essays, and suggestions in regard to the proper
management of hens. He also contributes a poem
entitled “The Tombs” to his Almanac for the current
year, from which I quote the last verse:
“Choose ye; to rest with stately grooms;
Just such a place there is for sleeping;
Where everything, in common keeping,
Is free from want and worth and weeping;
There folly's harvest is a reaping,
Down in the grave, among the tombs.”
Now, I know that poets and tin-pedlars are “licensed,”
but why does W. W. P. advise us to sleep
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in the barn with the ostlers? These are the most
dismal Tombs on record, not excepting the Tomb
of the Capulets, the Tombs of New York, or the
Toombs of Georgia.
Under the head of “Old Sayings,” Mr. P. publishes
the following. There is a modesty about the
last “saying” which will be pretty apt to strike the
reader:
“The Lord does good and Satan evil, said Moses.
Sun and Moon, see me conquer, said Joshua.
Virtue exalts a woman, said David.
Fools and folly frolic, said Solomon.
Judgments belong to God, said Isaiah.
The path of the just is plain, said Jeremiah.
The soul that sins dies, said Ezekiel.
The wicked do wicked, said Daniel.
Ephraim fled and hid, said Hosea.
The Gentiles war and waste, said Joel.
The second reign is peace and plenty, said Amos.
Zion is the house of the Gods, said Obadiah,
A fish saved me, said Jonah.
Our Lion will be terrible, said Micah.
Doctor, cure yourself, said the Saviour.
Live to live again, said W. W. Phelps.”
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Time, Wednesday afternoon, February 10. The
Overland Stage, Mr. William Glover on the box,
stands before the veranda of the Salt Lake House.
The genial Nat Stein is arranging the way-bill.
Our baggage (the overland passenger is only allowed
twenty-five pounds) is being put aboard, and we
are shaking hands, at a rate altogether furious, with
Mormon and Gentile. Among the former are brothers
Stenhouse, Caine, Clawson and Townsend; and
among the latter are Harry Riccard, the big-hearted
English mountaineer (though once he wore white
kids and swallow-tails in Regent street, and in his
boyhood went to school to Miss Edgeworth, the
novelist); the daring explorer Rood, from Wisconsin;
the Rev. James McCormick, missionary who
distributes pasteboard tracts among the Bannock
miners; and the pleasing child of gore, Capt. D. B.
Stover, of the Commissary department.
-- 196 --
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We go away on wheels, but the deep snow compels
us to substitute runners twelve miles out.
There are four passengers of us. We pierce the
Wahsatch mountains by Parley's canon.
A snow storm overtakes us as the might thickens,
and the wind shrieks like a brigade of strong-lunged
maniacs. Never mind. We are well covered
up—our cigars are good—I have on deerskin pantaloons,
a deerskin overcoat, a beaver cap and buffalo
overshoes; and so, as I tersely observed before,
Never mind. Let us laugh the winds to scorn, brave
boys! But why is William Glover, driver, lying
flat on his back by the roadside, and why am I turning
a handspring in the road, and why are the
horses tearing wildly down the Washatch mountains?
It is because William Glover has been
thrown from his seat, & the horses are running
away. I see him fall off, and it occurs to me that I
had better get out. In doing so, such is the velocity
of the sleigh, I turn a handspring.
Far ahead I hear the runners clash with the rocks
and I see Dr. Hingston's lantern (he always would
have a lantern) bobbing about like the binnacle
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light of an oyster sloop, very loose in a chopping
sea. Therefore I do not laugh the winds to scorn
as much as I did, brave boys.
William G. is not hurt, and together we trudge
on after the runaways in the hope of overtaking
them, which we do some two miles off. They are
in a snowbank, and “nobody hurt.”
We are soon on the road again, all serene;
though I believe the doctor did observe that such a
thing could not have occurred under a monarchical
form of government.
We reach Weber station, thirty miles from Salt
Lake City, and wildly situated at the foot of the
grand Echo Canon, at 3 o'clock the following
morning. We remain over a day here with James
Bromley, agent of the Overland Stage line, and who
is better known on the plains than Shakspeare is;
although Shakspeare has done a good deal for the
stage. James Bromley has seen the Overland line
grow up from its ponyicy; and as Fitz-Green Halleck
happily observes, none know him but to like his
style. He was intended for an agent. In his infancy
he used to lisp the refrain,
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“I want to be an agent,
And with the agents stand.”
I part with this kind-hearted gentleman, to whose
industry and ability the Overland line owes much
of its success, with sincere regret; and I hope he
will soon get rich enough to transplant his charming
wife from the Desert to the “White Settlements.”
Forward to Fort Bridger, in an open sleigh.
Night clear, cold, and moonlit. Driver Mr. Samuel
Smart. Through Echo Canon to Hanging Rock
Station. The snow is very deep, there is no path,
and we literally shovel our way to Robert Pollock's
station, which we achieve in the Course of Time.
Mr. P. gets up and kindles a fire, and a snowy
nightcap and a pair of very bright black eyes beam
upon us from the bed. That is Mrs. Robert Pollock.
The log cabin is a comfortable one. I make
coffee in my French coffee-pot, and let loose some
of the roast chickens in my basket. (Tired of fried
bacon and saleratus bread,—the principal bill of fare
at the stations,—we had supplied ourselves with
chicken, boiled ham, onions, sausages, sea-bread,
canned butter, cheese, honey, &c. &c., an example
-- 199 --
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all Overland traders would do well to follow.) Mrs.
Pollock tells me where I can find cream for the cof
fee, and cups and saucers for the same, and appears
so kind, that I regret our stay is so limited that we
can't see more of her.
On to Yellow Creek Station. Then Needle Rock—
a desolate hut on the Desert, house and barn in
one building. The station-keeper is a miserable,
toothless wretch with shaggy yellow hair, but says
he's going to get married. I think I see him.
To Bear River. A pleasant Mormon named
Myers keeps this station, and he gives us a first-rate
breakfast. Robert Curtis takes the reins from Mr.
Smart here, and we get on to wheels again. Begin
to see groups of trees—a new sight to us.
Pass Quaking Asp Springs and Muddy to Fort
Bridger. Here are a group of white buildings,
built round a plaza, across the middle of which runs
a creek. There are a few hundred troops here under
the command of Major Gallagher, a gallant
officer and a gentleman, well worth knowing. We
stay here two days.
We are on the road again, Sunday the 14th, with
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a driver of the highly floral name of Primrose. At
7 the next morning we reach Green River Station,
and enter Idaho territory. This is the Bitter Creek
division of the Overland route, of which we had
heard so many unfavorable stories. The division is
really well managed by Mr. Stewart, though the
country through which it stretches is the most
wretched I ever saw. The water is liquid alkali,
and the roads are soft sand. The snow is gone now,
and the dust is thick and blinding. So drearily,
wearily we drag onward.
We reach the summit of the Rocky Mountains
at midnight on the 17th. The climate changes suddenly,
and the cold is intense. We resume runners,
have a break-down, and are forced to walk four
miles.
I remember that one of the numerous reasons
urged in favor of General Fremont's election to
the Presidency in 1856, was his finding the path
across the Rocky Mountains. Credit is certainly
due that gallant explorer in this regard; but it occurred
to me, as I wrung my frost-bitten hands on
that dreadful night, that for me to deliberately go
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over that path in mid-winter was a sufficient reason
for my election to any lunatic asylum, by an overwhelming
vote. Dr. Hingston made a similar
remark, and wondered if he should ever clink
glasses with his friend Lord Palmerston again.
Another sensation. Not comic this time. One
of our passengers, a fair-haired German boy, whose
sweet ways had quite won us all, sank on the
snow, and said—Let me sleep. We knew only too
well what that meant, and tried hard to rouse him.
It was in vain. Let me sleep, he said. And so in
the cold starlight he died. We took him up tenderly
from the snow, and bore him to the sleigh that
awaited us by the roadside, some two miles away.
The new moon was shining now, and the smile on
the sweet white face told how painlessly the poor
boy had died. No one knew him. He was from
the Bannock mines, was ill clad, had no baggage or
money, and his fare was paid to Denver. He had
said that he was going back to Germany. That
was all we knew. So at sunrise the next morning
we buried him at the foot of the grand mountains
that are snow-covered and icy all the year round,
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far away from the Faderland, where, it may be,
some poor mother is crying for her darling who
will not come.
We strike the North Platte on the 18th. The
fare at the stations is daily improving, and we often
have antelope steaks now. They tell us of eggs
not far off, and we encourage (by a process not
wholly unconnected with bottles) the drivers to
keep their mules in motion.
Antelope by the thousand can be seen racing the
plains from the coach-windows.
At Elk Mountain we encounter a religious driver
named Edward Whitney, who never swears at the
mules. This has made him distinguished all over
the plains. This pious driver tried to convert the
Doctor, but I am mortified to say that his efforts were
not crowned with success. Fort Halleck is a mile
from Elk, and here are some troops of the Ohio
11th regiment, under the command of Major Thomas
L. Mackey.
On the 20th we reach Rocky Thomas's justly
celebrated station at 5 in the morning, and have
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a breakfast of hashed black-tailed deer, antelope
steaks, ham, boiled bear, honey, eggs, coffee, tea,
and cream. That was the squarest meal on the
road except at Weber. Mr. Thomas is a Baltimore
“slosher,” he informed me. I don't know what
that is, but he is a good fellow, and gave us a breakfast
fit for a lord, emperor, czar, count, etc. A
better couldn't be found at Delmonico's or Parker's.
He pressed me to linger with him a few days and
shoot bears. It was with several pangs that I
declined the generous Baltimorean's invitation.
To Virginia Dale. Weather clear and bright.
Virginia Dale is a pretty spot, as it ought to be
with such a pretty name; but I treated with no
little scorn the advice of a hunter I met there, who
told me to give up “literatoor,” form a matrimonial
alliance with some squaws, and “settle down thar.”
Bannock on the brain! That is what is the
matter now. Wagon-load after wagon-load of emigrants,
bound to the new Idaho gold regions, meet
us every hour. Canvas-covered and drawn for the
most part by fine large mules, they make a pleasant
panorama, as they stretch slowly over the plains and
-- 204 --
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uplands. We strike the South Platte Sunday, the
21st, and breakfast at Latham, a station of onehorse
proportions. We are now in Colorado (“Pike's
Peak”), and we diverge from the main route here
and visit the flourishing and beautiful city of Denver.
Messrs. Langrish & Dougherty, who have so
long and so admirably catered to the amusementlovers
of the Far West, kindly withdraw their dramatic
corps for a night, and allow me to use their
pretty little theatre.
We go to the Mountains from Denver, visiting
the celebrated gold-mining towns of Black Hawk
and Central City. I leave this queen of all the
territories, quite firmly believing that its future is to
be no less brilliant than its past has been.
I had almost forgotten to mention that on the
way from Latham to Denver Dr. Hingston and Dr.
Seaton (late a highly admired physician and surgeon
in Kentucky, and now a prosperous gold-miner)
had a learned discussion as to the formation of the
membranes of the human stomach, in which they
used words that were over a foot long by actual
measurement. I never heard such splendid words
-- 205 --
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in my life; but such was their grandiloquent profundity,
and their far-reaching lucidity, that I understood
rather less about it when they had finished
than I did when they commenced.
Back to Latham again over a marshy road, and
on to Nebraska by the main stage-line.
I met Col. Chivington, commander of the District
of Colorado, at Latham.
Col. Chivington is a Methodist clergyman, and
was once a Presiding Elder. A thoroughly earnest
man, an eloquent preacher, a sincere believer in the
war, he of course brings to his new position a
great deal of enthusiasm. This, with his natural
military tact, makes him an officer of rare ability;
and on more occasions than one, he has led his
troops against the enemy with resistless skill and
gallantry. I take the liberty of calling the President's
attention to the fact that this brave man
ought to have long ago been a Brigadier-general.
There is, however, a little story about Col. Chivington
that I must tell. It involves the use of a
little blank profanity, but the story world be
-- 206 --
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spoiled without it; and, as in this case, “nothing
was meant by it,” no great harm can be done. I
rarely stain my pages with even mild profanity. It
is wicked in the first place, and not funny in the
second. I ask the boon of being occasionally stupid;
but I could never see the fun of being impious.
Col. Chivington vanquished the rebels, with his
brave Colorado troops, in New Mexico last year, as
most people know. At the commencement of the
action, which was hotly contested, a shell from the
enemy exploded near him, tearing up the ground,
and causing Capt. Rogers to swear in an awful
manner.
“Captain Rogers,” said the Colonel, “gentlemen
do not swear on a solemn occasion like this. We
may fall, but, falling in a glorious cause, let us die
as Christians, not as rowdies, with oaths upon our
lips. Captain Rogers, let us——”
Another shell, a springhtler one than its predecessor,
tears the earth fearfully in the immediate
vicinity of Col. Chivington, filling his eyes with
dirt, and knocking off his hat.
“Why, G—— d—— their souls to h——,” he
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roared, “they've put my eyes out—as Captain
Rogers would say!”
But the Colonel's eyes were not seriously
damaged, and he went in. Went in, only to come
out victorious.
We reach Julesberg, Colorado, the 1st of March.
We are in the country of the Sioux Indians now,
and encounter them by the hundred. A Chief
offers to sell me his daughter (a fair young Indian
maiden) for six dollars and two quarts of whiskey.
I decline to trade.
Meals which have hitherto been $1.00 each, are
now 75 cents. Eggs appear on the table occasionally,
and we hear of chickens further on. Nine
miles from here we enter Nebraska territory. Here
is occasionally a fenced farm, and the ranches have
bar-rooms. Buffalo skins and buffalo tongues are
for sale at most of the stations. We reach South
Platte on the 2d, and Fort Kearney on the 3d.
The 7th Iowa Cavalry are here, under the command
of Major Wood. At Cottonwood, a day's ride
back, we had taken aboard Major O'Brien,
-- 208 -- p483-233
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commanding the troops there, and a very jovial warrior
he is, too.
Meals are now down to 50 cents, and a great deal
better than when they were $1.00.
Kansas, 105 miles from Atchison. Atchison!
No traveller by sea ever longed to set his foot on
shore as we longed to reach the end of our dreary
coach-ride over the wildest part of the whole continent.
How we talked Atchison, and dreamed
Atchison for the next fifty hours! Atchison, I shall
always love you. You were evidently mistaken,
Atchison, when you told me that in case I “lectured”
there, immense crowds would throng to the
hall; but you are very dear to me. Let me kiss
you for your maternal parent!
We are passing through the reservation of the
Otoe Indians, who long ago washed the war-paint
from their faces, buried the tomahawk, and settled
down into quiet, prosperous farmers.
We rattle leisurely into Atchison on a Sunday
evening. Lights gleam in the windows of milk-white
churches, and they tell us, far better than
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anything else could, that we are back to civilization
again.
An overland journey in winter is a better thing
to have done than to do. In the spring, however,
when the grass is green on the great prairies, I
fancy one might make the journey a pleasant one,
with his own outfit and a few choice friends.
-- -- p483-235
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Are the Mormon women happy?
I give it up. I don't know.
It is at Great Salt Lake City as it is in Boston.
If I go out to tea at the Wilkinses in Boston, I am
pretty sure to find Mr. Wilkins all smiles and sunshine,
or Mrs. Wilkins all gentleness and politeness.
I am entertained delightfully, and after tea little
Miss Wilkins shows me her Photograph Album, and
plays the march from Faust on the piano for me. I
go away highly pleased with my visit; and yet the
Wilkinses may fight like cats and dogs in private.
I may no sooner have struck the sidewalk than Mr.
W. will be reaching for Mrs. W.'s throat.
Thus it is in the City of the Saints. Apparently,
the Mormon women are happy. I saw them at
their best, of course—at balls, tea-parties, and the
like. They were like other women as far as my
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observation extended. They were hooped, and
furbelowed, and shod, and white-collared, and
bejewelled; and like women all over the world,
they were softer-eyed and kinder-hearted than men
can ever hope to be.
The Mormon girl is reared to believe that the
plurality wife system (as it is delicately called here)
is strictly right; and in linking her destiny with a
man who has twelve wives, she undoubtedly considers
she is doing her duty. She loves the man, probably,
for I think it is not true, as so many writers
have stated, that girls are forced to marry whomsoever
“the Church” may dictate. Some parents no
doubt advise, connive, threaten, and in aggravated
cases incarcerate here, as some parents have always
done elsewhere, and always will do as long as petticoats
continue to be an institution.
How these dozen or twenty wives get along without
heartburnings and hairpullings, I can't see.
There are instances on record, you know, where a
man don't live in a state of uninterrupted bliss with
one wife. And to say that a man can possess
twenty wives without having his special favorite, or
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favorites, is to say that he is an angel in boots—
which is something I have never been introduced
to. You never saw an angel with a Beard, although
you may have seen the Bearded Woman.
The Mormon woman is early taught that man,
being created in the image of the Saviour, is far
more godly than she can ever be, and that for her
to seek to monopolize his affections is a species of
rank sin. So she shares his affections with five or
six or twenty other women, as the case may be.
A man must be amply able to support a number
of wives before he can take them. Hence, perhaps,
it is that so many old chaps in Utah have young
and blooming wives in their seraglios, and so many
yonng men have only one.
I had a man pointed out to me who married an
entire family. He had originally intended to marry
Jane, but Jane did not want to leave her widowed
mother. The other three sisters were not in the
matrimonial market for the same reason; so this
gallant man married the whole crowd, including
the girl's grandmother, who had lost all her teeth,
and had to be fed with a spoon. The family were
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in indigent circumstances, and they could not but
congratulate themselves on securing a wealthy husband.
It seemed to affect the grandmother deeply,
for the first words she said on reaching her new
home, were: “Now, thank God! I shall have my
gruel reg'lar!”
The name of Joseph Smith is worshipped in
Utah; and, “they say,” that although he has been
dead a good many years, he still keeps on marrying
women by proxy. He “reveals” who shall act as
his earthly agent in this matter, and the agent
faithfully executes the defunct Prophet's commands.
A few years ago I read about a couple being
married by telegraph—the young man was in Cincinnati,
and the young woman was in New Hampshire.
They did not see each other for a year afterwards.
I don't see what fun there is in this sort of
thing.
I have somewhere stated that Brigham Young
is said to have eighty wives. I hardly think he has
so many. Mr. Hyde, the backslider, says in his
book that “Brigham always sleeps by himself, in a
little chamber behind his office;” and if he has
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eighty wives I don't blame him. He must be bewildered.
I know very well that if I had eighty
wives of my bosom I should be confused, and
shouldn't sleep anywhere. I undertook to count
the long stockings, on the clothes-line, in his back
yard one day, and I used up the multiplication
table in less than half an hour.
In this book I am writing chiefly of what I saw.
I saw Plurality at its best, and I give it to you at
its best. I have shown the silver lining of this
great social Cloud. That back of this silver lining
the Cloud must be thick and black, I feel quite sure.
But to elaborately denounce, at this late day, a
system we all know must be wildly wrong, would
be simply to impeach the intelligence of the readers
of this book.
-- -- p483-240
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I have not troubled the reader with extracts from
Mormon documents. The Book of Mormon is ponderous,
but gloomy and at times incoherent, and I
will not, by any means, quote from that. But the
Revelation of Joseph Smith in regard to the absorbing
question of Plurality or Polygamy may be of
sufficient interest to reproduce here. The reader
has my full consent to form his own opinion of it.
REVELATION GIVEN TO JOSEPH SMITH, NAUVOO,
JULY 12, 1843.
Verily, thus saith the Lord unto you, my servant
Joseph, that inasmuch as you have inquired of my
hand to know and understand wherein I, the Lord,
justified my servants, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob;
as also Moses, David, and Solomon, my servants, as
touching the principle and doctrine of their having
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many wives and concubines: Behold! and lo, I am
the Lord thy God, and will answer thee as touching
this matter: therefore prepare thy heart to receive
and obey the instructions which I am about to give
unto you; for all those who have this law revealed
unto them must obey the same; for behold! I reveal
unto you a new and an everlasting covenant,
and if ye abide not that covenant, then are ye
damned; for no one can reject this covenant and be
permitted to enter into my glory; for all who will
have a blessing at my hands shall abide the law
which was appointed for that blessing, and the con-ditions
thereof, as was instituted from before the
foundations of the world; and as pertaining to the
new and everlasting covenant, it was instituted for
the fulness of my glory; and he that receiveth a
fulness thereof, must and shall abide the law, or he
shall be damned, saith the Lord God.
And verily I say unto you, that the conditions of
this law are these: All covenants, contracts, bonds,
obligations, oaths, vows, performances, connections,
associations, or expectations, that are not made, and
entered into, and sealed, by the Holy Spirit of
-- --
The Otoe Indian buries his tomahawk, and settles down to farming.
See page 208.
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promise, of him who is anointed, both as well for time
and for all eternity, and that, too, most holy, by
revelation and commandment, through the medium
of mine anointed, whom I have appointed on the
earth to hold this power (and I have appointed unto
my servant Joseph to hold this power in the last
days, and there is never but one on the earth at a
time on whom this power and the keys of this
priesthood are conferred), are of no efficacy, virtue,
or force in and after the resurrection from the dead;
for all contracts that are not made unto this end,
have an end when men are dead.
Behold! mine house is a house of order, saith the
Lord God, and not a house of confusion. Will I
accept of an offering, saith the Lord, that is not
made in my name? Or will I receive at your hands
that which I have not appointed? And will I
appoint unto you, saith the Lord, except it be by
law, even as I and my Father ordained unto you,
before the world was? I am the Lord thy God,
and I give unto you this commandment, that no man
shall come unto the Father but by me, or by my
word, which is my law, saith the Lord; and every
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thing that is in the world, whether it be ordained
of men, by thrones, or principalities, or powers, or
things of name, whatsoever they may be, that are
not by me, or by my word, saith the Lord, shall be
thrown down, and shall not remain after men are
dead, neither in nor after the resurrection, saith the
Lord your God; for whatsoever things remaineth
are by me, and whatsoever things are not by me,
shall be shaken and destroyed.
Therefore, if a man marry him a wife in the world,
and he marry her not by me, nor by my word, and
he covenant with her so long as he is in the world,
and she with him, their covenant and marriage is
not of force when they are dead, and when they are
out of the world; therefore they are not bound by
any law when they are out of the world; therefore,
when they are out of the world, they neither marry
nor are given in marriage, but are appointed angels
in heaven, which angels are ministering servants, to
minister for those who are worthy of a far more,
and an exceeding, and an eternal weight of glory;
for these angels did not abide my law, therefore they
can not be enlarged, but remain separately, and
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singly, without exaltation, in their saved condition,
to all eternity, and from henceforth are not gods,
but are angels of God for ever and ever.
And again, verily I say unto you, if a man marry
a wife, and make a covenant with her for time and
for all eternity, if that covenant is not by me or by
my word, which is my law, and is not sealed by the
Holy Spirit of promise, through him whom I have
anointed and appointed unto this power, then it is
not valid, neither of force when they are out of the
world, because they are not joined by me, saith the
Lord, neither by my word; when they are out of
the world, it can not be received there, because the
angels and the gods are appointed there, by whom
they can not pass; they can not, therefore, inherit
my glory, for my house is a house of order, saith
the Lord God.
And again, verily I say unto you, if a man marry
a wife by my word, which is my law, and by the
new and everlasting covenant, and it is sealed unto
them by the Holy Spirit of promise, by him who is
anointed, unto whom I have appointed this power
and the keys of this priesthood, and it shall be said
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unto them, Ye shall come forth in the first resurrection;
and if it be after the first resurrection, in the
next resurrection; and shall inherit thrones, kingdoms,
principalities, and powers, dominions, all
heights and depths, then shall it be written in the
Lamb's Book of Life that he shall commit no murder
whereby to shed innocent blood; and if ye
abide in my covenant, and commit no murder
whereby to shed innocent blood, it shall be done
unto them in all things whatsoever my servant hath
put upon them in time and through all eternity;
and shall be of full force when they are out of the
world, and they shall pass by the angels and the
gods, which are set there, to their exaltation and
glory in all things, as hath been sealed upon their
heads, which glory shall be a fulness and a continuation
of the seeds for ever and ever.
Then shall they be gods, because they have no
end; therefore shall they be from everlasting to
everlasting, because they continue; then shall they
be above all, because all things are subject unto
them. Then shall they be gods, because they have
all power, and the angels are subject unto them.
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Verily, verily, I say unto you, except ye abide
my law, ye can not attain to this glory; for strait
is the gate, and narrow the way, that leadeth unto
the exaltation and continuation of the lives, and few
there be that find it, because ye receive me not in
the world, neither do ye know me. But if ye
receive me in the world, then shall ye know me,
and shall receive your exaltation, that where I am,
ye shall be also. This is eternal lives, to know the
only wise and true God, and Jesus Christ whom he
hath sent. I am he. Receive ye, therefore, my
law. Broad is the gate, and wide the way that
leadeth to the death, and many there are that go in
thereat, because they receive me not, neither do
they abide in my law.
Verily, verily, I say unto you, if a man marry a
wife according to my word, and they are sealed by
the Holy Spirit of promise according to mine
appointment, and he or she shall commit any sin
or transgression of the new and everlasting covenant
whatever, and all manner of blasphemies, and
if they commit no murder, wherein they shed innocent
blood, yet they shall come forth in the first
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resurrection, and enter into their exaltation; but
they shall be destroyed in the flesh, and shall be
delivered unto the buffetings of Satan, unto the
day of redemption, saith the Lord God.
The blasphemy against the Holy Ghost, which
shall not be forgiven in the world nor out of the
world, is in that ye commit murder, wherein ye
shed innocent blood, and assent unto my death,
after ye have received my new and everlasting
covenant, saith the Lord God; and he that abideth
not this law can in no wise enter into my glory, but
shall be damned, saith the Lord.
I am the Lord thy God, and will give unto thee
the law of my holy priesthood, as was ordained by
me and my Father before the world was. Abraham
received all things, whatsoever he received, by
revelation and commandment, by my word, saith
the Lord, and hath entered into his exaltation, and
sitteth upon his throne.
Abraham received promises concerning his seed,
and of the fruit of his loins—from whose loins ye
are, viz., my servant Joseph—which were to continue
so long as they were in the world; and as
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touching Abraham and his seed out of the world,
they should continue; both in the world and out
of the world should they continue as innumerable
as the stars; or, if ye were to count the sand upon
the sea-shore, ye could not number them. This
promise is yours also, because ye are of Abraham,
and the promise was made unto Abraham, and by
this law are the continuation of the works of my
Father, wherein he glorifieth himself. Go ye, therefore,
and do the works of Abraham; enter ye
into my law, and ye shall be saved. But if ye
enter not into my law, ye can not receive the promises
of my Father, which he made unto Abraham.
God commanded Abraham, and Sarah gave
Hagar to Abraham to wife. And why did she do
it? Because this was the law, and from Hagar
sprang many people. This, therefore, was fulfilling,
among other things, the promises. Was Abraham,
therefore, under condemnation? Verily, I say unto
you, Nay; for the Lord commanded it. Abraham
was commanded to offer his son Isaac; nevertheless,
it was written, Thou shalt not kill. Abraham,
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however, did not refuse, and it was accounted unto him
for righteousness.
Abraham received concubines, and they bare him
children, and it was accounted unto him for righteousness,
because they were given unto him, and he
abode in my law; as Isaac also, and Jacob, did
none other things than that which they were commanded;
and because they did none other things
than that which they were commanded, they have
entered into their exaltation, according to the promises,
and sit upon thrones; and are not angels, but
are gods. David also received many wives and
concubines, as also Solomon, and Moses my servant,
as also many others of my servants, from the
beginning of creation until this time, and in
nothing did they sin, save in those things which
they received not of me.
David's wives and concubines were given unto
him of me by the hand of Nathan my servant, and
others of the prophets who had the keys of this
power; and in none of these things did he sin
against me, save in the case of Uriah and his wife;
and, therefore, he hath fallen from his exaltation,
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and received his portion; and he shall not inherit
them out of the world, for I gave them unto
another, saith the Lord.
I am the Lord thy God, and I gave unto thee,
my servant Joseph, by appointment, and restore all
things; ask what ye will, and it shall be given unto
you, according to my word; and as ye have asked
concerning adultery, verily, verily, I say unto you,
if a man receiveth a wife in the new and everlasting
covenant, and if she be with another man, and
I have not appointed unto her by the holy anointing,
she hath committed adultery, and shall be
destroyed. If she be not in the new and everlasting
covenant, and she be with another man, she has
committed adultery; and if her husband be with
another woman, and he was under a vow, he hath
broken his vow, and hath committed adultery; and
if she hath not committed adultery, but is innocent,
and hath not broken her vow, and she knoweth it,
and I reveal it unto you, my servant Joseph, then
shall you have power, by the power of my holy
priesthood, to take her, and give her unto him that
hath not committed adultery, but hath been faithful;
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for he shall be made ruler over many; for I have
conferred upon you the keys and power of the
priesthood, wherein I restore all things, and make
known unto you all things in due time.
And verily, verily, I say unto you, that whatsoever
you seal on earth shall be sealed in heaven;
and whatsoever you bind on earth, in my name and
by my word, saith the Lord, it shall be eternally
bound in the heavens; and whosesoever sins you
remit on earth, shall be remitted eternally in the
heavens; and whosesoever sins you retain on earth,
shall be retained in heaven.
And again, verily, I say, whomsoever you bless,
I will bless; and whomsoever you curse, I will
curse, saith the Lord; for I, the Lord, am thy
God.
And again, verily, I say unto you, my servant
Joseph, that whatsoever you give on earth, and to
whomsoever you give any one on earth, by my
word and according to my law, it shall be visited
with blessings and not cursings, and with my power,
saith the Lord, and shall be without condemnation
on earth and in heaven, for I am the Lord thy God,
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and will be with thee even unto the end of the
world, and through all eternity; for verily I seal
upon you your exaltation, and prepare a throne for
you in the kingdom of my Father, with Abraham
your father. Behold! I have seen your sacrifices,
and will forgive all your sins; I have seen your
sacrifices, in obedience to that which I have told
you; go, therefore, and I make a way for your
escape, as I accepted the offering of Abraham,
of his son Isaac.
Verily, I say unto you, a commandment I give
unto mine handmaid, Emma Smith, your wife,
whom I have given unto you, that she stay herself,
and partake not of that which I commanded you to
offer unto her; for I did it, saith the Lord, to prove
you all, as I did Abraham, and that I might require
an offering at your hand by covenant and sacrifice;
and let mine handmaid, Emma Smith, receive all
those that have been given unto my servant Joseph,
and who are virtuous and pure before me; and
those who are not pure, and have said they were
pure, shall be destroyed, saith the Lord God; for I
am the Lord thy God, and ye shall obey my voice;
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and I give unto my servant Joseph, that he shall be
made ruler over many things, for he hath been faithful
over a few things, and from henceforth I will
strengthen him.
And I command mine handmaid, Emma Smith,
to abide and cleave unto my servant Joseph, and to
none else. But if she will not abide this commandment,
she shall be destroyed, saith the Lord, for I
am the Lord thy God, and will destroy her if she
abide not in my law; but if she will not abide this
commandment, then shall my servant Joseph do all
things for her, as he hath said; and I will bless
him, and multiply him, and give unto him an hundred-fold
in this world, of fathers and mothers,
brothers and sisters, houses and lands, wives and
children, and crowns of eternal lives in the eternal
worlds. And again, verily I say, let mine handmaid
forgive my servant Joseph his trespasses, and
then shall she be forgiven her trespasses, wherein
she hath trespassed against me; and I, the Lord
thy God, will bless her, and multiply her, and make
her heart to rejoice.
And again, I say, let not my servant Joseph put
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his property out of his hands, lest an enemy come
and destroy him—for Satan seeketh to destroy—for
I am the Lord thy God, and he is my servant; and
behold! and lo, I am with him, as I was with
Abraham thy father, even unto his exaltation and
glory.
Now, as touching the law of the priesthood,
there are many things pertaining thereunto. Verily,
if a man be called of my Father, as was Aaron, by
mine own voice, and by the voice of him that sent
me, and I have endowed him with the keys of the
power of this priesthood, if he do any thing in my
name, and according to my law, and by my word,
he will not commit sin, and I will justify him. Let
no one, therefore, set on my servant Joseph, for I
will justify him; for he shall do the sacrifice which
I require at his hands, for his transgressions, saith
the Lord your God.
And again, as pertaining to the law of the priesthood;
if any man espouse a virgin, and desire to
espouse another, and the first give her consent; and
if he espouse the second, and they are virgins, and
have vewed to no other man, then is he justified;
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he can not commit adultery, for they are given unto
him; for he can not commit adultery with that that
belongeth unto him, and to none else; and if he
have ten virgins given unto him by this law, he can
not commit adultery, for they belong to him, and
they are given unto him; therefore is he justified.
But if one or either of the ten virgins, after she is
espoused, shall be with another man, she has committed
adultery, and shall be destroyed; for they
are given unto him to multiply and replenish the
earth, according to my commandment, and to fulfil
the promise which was given by my Father before
the foundation of the world, and for their exaltation
in the eternal worlds, that they may bear the
souls of men; for herein is the work of my Father
continued, that he may be glorified.
And again, verily, verily, I say unto you, if any
man have a wife who holds the keys of this power,
and he teaches unto her the law of my priesthood
as pertaining to these things, then shall she believe
and administer unto him, or she shall be destroyed,
saith the Lord your God; for I will destroy her;
for I will magnify my name upon all those who
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receive and abide in my law. Therefore it shall be
lawful in me, if she receive not this law, for him to
receive all things whatsoever I, the Lord his God,
will give unto him, because she did not believe and
administer unto him according to my word; and
she then becomes the transgressor, and he is exempt
from the law of Sarah, who administered unto
Abraham according to the law, when I commanded
Abraham to take Hagar to wife. And now, as pertaining
to this law, verily, verily, I say unto you, I
will reveal more unto you hereafter, therefore let
this suffice for the present. Behold! I am Alpha
and Omega. Amen.
THE END.
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