Over the Rocky Mountains to Alaska | Page 5

the eyes of the average
prospector in the Klondyke:
MENU.
SOUP. A la Bean.
FISH. Brook Trout, a la catch 'em first.
MEATS. Antelope larded, pioneer style.
BREAD. Biscuit, hand-made, full weight, a la yellow.
VEGETABLES. Beans, mountain style, warranted boiled forty-eight
hours, a la soda.
DESSERT. Dried Apples, Russell gulch style. Coffee, served in tin
cups, to be washed clean for the occasion, overland style, a la no cream.
In those days Horace Greeley, returning from his California tour, halted
to cast his eye over the now West. The miners primed an old
blunderbus with rich dust, and judiciously salted Gregory gulch. Of
course Horace was invited to inspect it. Being somewhat horny-handed,
he seized pick and shovel and went to work in earnest. The pan-out was

astonishing. He flew back to New York laden with the glittering proofs
of wealth; gave a whole page of the Tribune to his tale of the golden
fleece; and a rush to the new diggings followed as a matter of course.
Denver and Auraria were rival settlements on the opposite shores of
Cherry Creek; in 1860 they consolidated, and then boasted a population
of 4000, in a vast territory containing but 60,000 souls. The boom was
on, and it was not long before a parson made his appearance. This was
the Rev. George Washington Fisher of the Methodist Church, who
accepted the offer of a saloon as a house of worship, using the bar for a
pulpit. His text was: "Ho, everyone that thirsteth! come ye to the waters.
And he that hath no money, come ye, buy and eat. Yea, come buy wine
and milk without money and without price." On the walls were
displayed these legends: "No trust," "Pay as you go," "Twenty-five
cents a drink," etc.
Colorado Territory was organized in 1861, and was loyal to the Union.
Denver was still booming, though she suffered nearly all the ills that
precocious settlements are heir to. The business portion of the town
was half destroyed in 1863; Cherry Creek flooded her in 1864, floating
houses out of reach and drowning fifteen or twenty of the inhabitants.
Then the Indians went on the war-path; stages and wagon trains were
attacked; passengers and scattered settlers massacred, and the very
town itself threatened. Alarm-bells warned the frightened inhabitants of
impending danger; many fled to the United States Mint for refuge, and
to cellars, cisterns, and dark alleys. This was during the wild reign of
Spotted Horse along the shores of the Platte, before he was captured by
Major Downing at the battle of Sand Creek, and finally sent to Europe
on exhibition as a genuine child of the forest.
Those were stirring times, when every man had an eye to business, and
could hardly afford to spare it long enough to wink. It is related of a
certain minister who was officiating at a funeral that, while standing by
the coffin offering the final prayer, he noticed one of the mourners
kneeling upon the loose earth recently thrown from the grave. This man
was a prospector, like all the rest, and in an absent-minded way he had
tearfully been sifting the soil through his fingers. Suddenly he arose

and began to stake out a claim adjoining the grave. This was, of course,
observed by the clergyman, who hastened the ceremonials to a
conclusion, and ended his prayer thus: "Stake me off a claim, Bill. We
ask it for Christ's sake. Amen."
Horace Greeley's visit was fully appreciated, and his name given to a
mountain hamlet, long after known familiarly as "Saint's Rest," because
there was nothing stimulating to be found thereabout. Poor Meeker, for
many years agricultural editor of the New York Tribune, founded that
settlement. He was backed by Greeley, and established the Greeley
Tribune at Saint's Rest. In 1877 Meeker was made Indian agent, and he
did his best to live up to the dream of the Indian-maniacs; but, after two
years of self-sacrifice and devotion to the cause, he was brutally
betrayed and murdered by Chief Douglas, of the Utes, his guest at the
time. Mrs. Meeker and her daughters, and a Mrs. Price and her child,
were taken captive and subjected to the usual treatment which all
women and children may expect at the hands of the noble red-man.
They were rescued in due season; but what was rescue to them save a
prolongation of inconsolable bereavement?
When General Grant visited Central, the little mountain town received
him royally. A pavement of solid silver bricks was laid for him to walk
upon from his carriage to the hotel door. One sees very little of this
barbaric splendor nowadays even in Denver, the most pretentious of far
Western burgs. She is a metropolis of magnificent promises. Alighting
at the airy station, you