Chapter 51

ACROSS THE SIERRA NEVADA.

RAPID ASCENT--THE TRESTLE-BRIDGES--MOUNTAIN PROSPECTS--"PLACERS"--SUNSET--CAPE HORN--ALTA--THE SIERRAS BY NIGHT--CONTRAST OF TEMPERATURES--THE SNOW-SHEDS--THE SUMMIT--RENO--BREAKFAST AT HUMBOLDT--THE SAGE-BRUSH--BATTLE MOUNT--SHOSHONIE INDIANS--TEN MILE CANYON--ELKO STATION--GREAT AMERICAN DESERT--ARRIVAL AT OGDEN.

We had now begun the ascent of the difficult mountain country that separates the Eastern from the Western States of the Union, and through which the Central Pacific Railway has been recently constructed and completed--one of the greatest railway works of our time. As we advance, the scenery changes rapidly. Instead of the flat and comparatively monotonous country we have for some time been passing through, we now cross deep gullies, climb up steep ascents, and traverse lovely valleys. Sometimes we seem to be enclosed in mountains with an impenetrable barrier before us. But rushing into a tunnel, we shortly emerge on the other side, to find ourselves steaming along the edge of a precipice.

What struck me very much was the apparent slimness of the trestle-bridges over which we were carried across the gullies, in the bottom of which mountain torrents were dashing, some fifty or a hundred feet below us. My first experience of such a crossing was quite startling. I was standing on the platform of the last car, looking back at the fast vanishing scene--a winding valley shut in by pine-clad mountains which we had for some time been ascending,--when, glancing down on the track, instead of solid earth, I saw the ground, through the open timbers of the trestle-bridge, at least sixty feet below me! The timber road was only the width of the single iron track; so that any one looking out of the side carriage-windows would see sixty feet down into space. The beams on which the trestle-bridge is supported, are, in some cases, rested on stone; but oftener they are not. It is not easy to describe the sensation first felt on rattling over one of these trembling viaducts, with a lovely view down some mountain gorge, and then, perhaps, suddenly plunging into a dark cutting on the other side of the trestle. But use is everything; and before long I got quite accustomed to the sensation of looking down through the open woodwork of the line on to broken ground and mountain torrents rushing a hundred feet or more below me.

We left Sacramento at 2 P.M., and evening was coming on as we got into the mountains. Still, long before sunset we saw many traces of large "placers," where whole sides of the hills had been dug out and washed away in the search for gold; the water being brought over the hill-tops by various ingenious methods. Sometimes, too, we came upon signs of active mining, in the water-courses led across valleys at levels above us, consisting of wooden troughs supported on trestles similar to those we are so frequently crossing. In one place I saw a party of men busily at work along the mountain side, preparatory to letting the water in upon the auriferous ground they were exploring.

I stood for more than two hours on the platform at the rear of the train, never tired of watching the wonderful scenery that continually receded from my gaze,--sometimes the track suddenly disappearing as we rounded a curve; and then looking ahead, I would find that an entirely new prospect was opening into view.

Never shall I forget the lovely scene that evening, when the golden sun was setting far away on the Pacific coast. The great red orb sank slowly behind a low hill at the end of the valley which stretched away on our right far beneath us. The pine-trees shone red in the departing sunlight for a short time; then the warm, dusky glimmer gradually faded away on the horizon, and all was over. The scene now looked more dreary, the mountains more rugged, and everything more desolate than before.

Up we rushed, still ascending the mountain slopes, winding in and out--higher and higher--the mountains becoming more rugged and wild, and the country more broken and barren-looking. Crossing slowly another trestle-bridge seventy-five feet high, at the upper part of a valley, we rounded a sharp curve, and found ourselves on a lofty mountain-side along which the road is cut, with a deep glen lying 2500 feet below us wrapped in the shades of evening. It seems to be quite night down there, and the trees are so shrouded in gloom that I can scarcely discern them in the bottom of that awful chasm. I can only clearly see defined against the sky above me, the rugged masses of overhanging rock, black-looking and terrible.

I find, on inquiry, that this part of the road is called "Cape Horn," The bluffs at this point are so precipitous, that when the railroad was made, the workmen had to be lowered down the face of the rock by ropes and held on by men above, until they were enabled to blast for themselves a foot-hold on the side of the precipice. We have now ascended to a height of nearly 3200 feet above the level of the sea; and, as may be inferred, the night air grows sharp and cold. As little more can be seen for the present, I am under the necessity of taking shelter in the car.

At half-past six we stopped for tea at Alta, 207 miles from San Francisco, at an elevation of 3600 feet above the sea. Here I had a good meal for a dollar--the first since leaving 'Frisco. Had I known of the short stoppages and the distant refreshing places along the route, I would certainly have provided myself with a well-stored luncheon-basket before setting out; but it is now too late.

After a stoppage of twenty minutes, the big bell tolled, and we seated ourselves in the cars again; and away we went as before, still toiling up-hill. We are really climbing now. I can hear it by the strong snorts of the engine, and see it by the steepness of the track. I long to be able to see around me, for we are passing some of the grandest scenery of the line. The stars are now shining brightly over head, and give light enough to show the patches of snow lying along the mountain-sides as we proceed. The snow becomes more continuous as we mount the ascent, until only the black rocks and pine-trees stand out in relief against their white background.

I was contrasting the sharp cold of this mountain region with the bright summer weather I had left behind me in Australia only a few weeks ago, and the much more stifling heat of Honolulu only some ten days since, when the engine gave one of its loud whistles, like the blast of a fog-horn, and we plunged into darkness. Looking through the car window, I observed that we were passing through a wooden framework--in fact a snow-shed, the roof sloping from the mountain-side, to carry safely over the track the snow and rocky _debris_ which shoot down from above. I find there are miles upon miles of these snow-sheds along our route. At the Summit we pass through the longest, which is 1700 feet in length.

We reached the Summit at ten minutes to ten, having ascended 3400 feet in a distance of only thirty-six miles. We are now over 7000 feet above the level of the sea, travelling through a lofty mountain region. In the morning, I was on the warm shores of the Pacific; and now at night I am amidst the snows of the Sierras. After passing the Summit, we had some very tortuous travelling; going very fast during an hour, but winding in and out, as we did, following the contour of the hills, I found that we had only gained seven geographical miles in an hour. We then reached the "City" of Truckee, principally supported by lumbering. It is the last place in California, and we shall very soon be across the State boundary into the territory of Nevada.

After passing this station, I curled up on my bench, wrapped myself in my rugs, and had a snatch of sleep. I was wakened up by the stoppage of the train at the Reno station, when I shook myself up, and went out to have a look round me. As I alighted from the train, I had almost come to the ground through the slipperiness of the platform, which was coated with ice. It was a sharp frost, and the ground was covered with snow. At the end of the platform, the snow was piled up in a drift about twenty feet high on the top of a shed outside the station. I find there are two kinds of snow-sheds,--one sort used on the plains, with pointed roofs, from which the snow slides down on either side, thereby preventing the blocking of the line; the other, used along the mountain-sides, sloping over the track, so as to carry the snow-shoots clear over it down into the valley below.

I soon turned in again, wrapped myself up, and slept soundly for some hours. When I awoke, it was broad daylight; the sun was shining in at the car windows; and on looking out, I saw that we were crossing a broad plain, with mountains on either side of us. The conductor, coming through the car, informs us that we shall soon be at Humboldt, where there will be twenty minutes' stoppage for breakfast. I find that we are now 422 miles on our way, and that during the night we have crossed the great sage-covered Nevada Desert, on which so many travellers left their bones to bleach in the days of the overland journey to California, but which is now so rapidly and safely traversed by means of this railway. The train draws up at Humboldt at seven in the morning; and on descending, I find a large, well-appointed refreshment room, with the tables ready laid; and a tempting array of hot tea and coffee, bacon, steaks, eggs, and other eatables. "I guess" I had my full dollar's worth out of that Humboldt establishment--a "regular square meal," to quote the language of the conductor.

We mount again, and are off across the high plains. The sage-brush is the only vegetation to be seen, interspersed here and there with large beds of alkali, on which not even sage-brush will grow. The sage country extends from Wadsworth to Battle Mount Station, a distance of about two hundred miles. Only occasionally, by the river-sides, near the station, small patches of cultivated land are to be seen; but, generally speaking, the country is barren, and will ever remain so. We are still nearly 5000 feet above the level of the sea. There is no longer any snow on the ground alongside us, but the mountains within sight are all covered. Though the day is bright and sunshiny, and the inside of the car warm, with the stove always full of blazing wood or coke, the air outside is cold, sharp, and nipping.

At Battle Mount--so called because of a severe engagement which occurred here some years since between the Indians and the white settlers--the plains begin to narrow, and the mountains to close in again upon the track. Here I saw for the first time a number of Shoshonie Indians--the original natives of the country--their faces painted red, and their coarse black hair hanging down over their shoulders. Their squaws, who carried their papooses in shawls slung over their backs, came alongside the train to beg money from the passengers. The Indian men seemed to be of a very low type--not for a moment to be compared with the splendid Maoris of New Zealand. The only fine tribe of Indians left, are said to be the Sioux; and these are fast dying out. In the struggle of races for life, savages nowhere seem to have the slightest chance when they come in contact with what are called "civilized" men. If they are not destroyed by our diseases or our drink, they are by our weapons.

We are now running along the banks of the sluggish Humboldt river, up to almost its source in the mountains near the head of the Great Salt Lake. We cross the winding river from time to time on trestle-bridges; and soon we are in amongst the mountains again, penetrating a gorge, where the track is overhung by lofty bluffs; and climbing up the heights, we shortly leave the river, foaming in its bed, far beneath us. Steeper and higher rise the sides of the gorge, until suddenly when we round a curve in the canyon, I see the Devil's Peak, a large jagged mass of dark-brown rock, which, rising perpendicularly, breaks up into many points, the highest towering majestically above us to a height of 1400 feet above the level of the track. This is what is called the "Ten Mile Canon;" and the bold scenery continues until we emerge from the top of the gorge. At last we are in the open sunlight again, and shortly after we draw up at the Elko station.

We are now evidently drawing near a better peopled district than that we have lately passed through. Two heavy stage coaches are drawn up alongside the track, to take passengers to Hamilton and Treasure City in the White Pine silver-mining district, about 126 miles distant. A long team of mules stand laden with goods, destined for the diggers of the same district. Elko is "not much of a place," though I should not wonder if it is called a "City" here. It mostly consists of what in Victoria would be called shanties--huts built of wood and canvas--some of the larger of them being labelled "Saloon," "Eating-house," "Drug-store," "Paint-shop," and such like. If one might judge by the number of people thronging the drinking-houses, the place may be pronounced prosperous.

Our course now lies through valleys, which look more fertile, and are certainly much more pleasant to pass along than those dreary Nevada plains. The sun goes down on my second day in the train; as we are traversing a fine valley with rolling hills on either side. The ground again becomes thickly covered with snow, and I find we are again ascending a steepish grade, rising a thousand feet in a distance of about ninety miles, where we again reach a total altitude of 6180 feet above the sea.

At six next morning, I found we had reached Ogden in the territory of Utah. During the night we had passed "The Great American Desert," extending over an area of sixty square miles--an utterly blasted place--so that I missed nothing by passing over it wrapped in sleep and rugs. The country about Ogden is well-cultivated and pleasant looking. Ogden itself is a busy place, being the terminus of the Central Pacific Railroad, and the junction for trains running down to Salt Lake City. From this point the Union Pacific commences, and runs eastward as far as Omaha.