The City of the Saints, and Across the Rocky Mountains to California

I now terminate my observations upon the subject of Mormonism. It will be remarked that the opinions of others—not my own—have been recorded as carefully as my means of study have permitted, and that facts, not theories, have been the object of this dissertation.

It will, I think, be abundantly evident that Utah Territory has been successful in its colonization. Every where, indeed, in the New World, the stranger wonders that a poor man should tarry in Europe, or that a rich man should remain in America; nothing but the strongest chains of habit and vis inertiæ can reconcile both to their miserable lots. I can not help thinking that, morally and spiritually, as well as physically, the protégés of the Perpetual Emigration Fund gain by being transferred to the Far West. MORMONISM THE FAITH OF THE POOR.Mormonism is emphatically the faith of the poor, and those acquainted with the wretched condition of the English mechanic, collier, and agricultural laborer—it is calculated that a million of them exist on £25 per annum—who, after a life of ignoble drudgery, of toiling through the year from morning till night, are ever threatened with the work-house, must be of the same opinion. Physically speaking, there is no comparison between the conditions of the Saints and the class from which they are mostly taken. In point of mere morality, the Mormon community is perhaps purer than any other of equal numbers.[223] I have no wish to commend their spiritual, or, rather, their materialistic vagaries—a materialism so leveling in its unauthorized deductions that even the materialist must reject it; but with the mind as with the body, bad food is better than none. When wealth shall be less unequally distributed in England, thus doing away with the contrast of excessive splendor and utter destitution, and when Home Missions shall have done their duty in educating and evangelizing the unhappy pariahs of town and country, the sons of the land which boasts herself to be the foremost among the nations will blush no more to hear that the Mormons or Latter-Day Saints are mostly English.

About the middle of September the time of my departure drew nigh. Judge Flennikin found a change of venue to Carson Valley necessary; Thomas, his son, was to accompany him, and the Territorial marshal, Mr. Grice—a quondam volunteer in the Mexican War—was part of the cortége. Escort and ambulance had been refused; it was imperative to find both. Several proposals were made and rejected. At last an eligible presented himself. Mr. Kennedy, an Irishman from the neighborhood of Dublin, and an incola of California, where evil fate had made him a widower, had “swapped” stock, and was about to drive thirty-three horses and mules to the “El Dorado of the West.” For the sum of $150 each he agreed to convey us, to provide an ambulance which cost him $300, and three wagons which varied in price from $25 to $75. We had reason to think well of his probity, concerning which we had taken counsel; and as he had lost a horse or two, and had received a bullet through the right arm in an encounter with the Yuta Indians near Deep Creek on the 3d of July of the same year, we had little doubt of his behaving with due prudence. He promised also to collect a sufficient armed party; and as the road had lately seen troubles—three drivers had been shot and seventeen Indians had been reported slain in action by the federal troops—we were certain that he would keep his word. It was the beginning of the hungry season, when the Indians would be collecting their pine nuts and be plotting onslaughts upon the spring emigrants.

I prepared for difficulties by having my hair “shingled off” till my head somewhat resembled a pointer’s dorsum, and deeply regretted having left all my wigs behind me. The marshal undertook to lay in our provisions: we bought flour, hard bread or biscuit, eggs and bacon, butter, a few potted luxuries, not forgetting a goodly allowance of whisky and korn schnapps, whose only demerit was that it gave a taste to the next morning. The traveling canteen consisted of a little china, tin cups and plates, a coffee-pot, frying-pan, and large ditto for bread-baking, with spoons, knives, and forks.

The last preparations were soon made. I wrote to my friends, among others to Dr. Norton Shaw, who read out the missive magno cum risu audientium, bought a pair of leather leggins for $5, settled with M. Gebow, a Gamaliel at whose feet I had sat as a student of the Yuta dialect, and defrayed the expenses of living, which, though the bill was curiously worded,[224] were exemplarily inexpensive. Colonel Stambaugh favored me with a parting gift, the “Manual of Surveying Instructions,” which I preserve as a reminiscence, and a cocktail whose aroma still lingers in my olfactories. My last evening was spent with Mr. Stambaugh, when Mr. John Taylor was present, and where, with the kindly aid of Madam, we drank a café au lait as good as the Café de Paris affords. I thanked the governor for his frank and generous hospitality, and made my acknowledgments to his amiable wife. ADIEUX.All my adieux were upon an extensive scale, the immediate future being somewhat dark and menacing.

The start in these regions is coquettish as in Eastern Africa. We were to depart on Wednesday, the 19th of September, at 8 A.M.—then 10 A.M.—then 12 A.M.—then, after a deprecatory visit, on the morrow. On the morning of the eventful next day,“ALL ABOORD.” after the usual amount of “smiling,” and a repetition of adieux, I found myself “all aboord,” wending southward, and mentally ejaculating Hierosolymam quando revisam?