own teams out on the mountain tops to procure and haul poles at the different points where an insufficient quantity had been provided. The first contract made with the Mormons was also a failure. Brigham Young denounced the contractors who agreed to furnish the poles from the pulpit, and said the work of furnishing the poles should and must be carried out. The work of getting them out was intrusted to other

nearly two hundred miles, most of them being taken from the mountains in the vicinity of Salt Lake, there being very few to be had west of that point.

at the start, that any man of the expedition getting into trouble with the Indians, or their squaws, would be immediately dismissed from the service, and this rule was strictly enforced. An incident occurred once during the construction of the line that doubtless had a lasting effect upon one Indian, at least, as to the power contained in the wire, which to them was so great a mystery. While our men were engaged stretching the wires up to a stage sta- | parties. Some of the poles had to be hauled tion, about two hundred miles east of the Sierra | Nevada, a thunder storm broke over the valley at some distance from where they were working. The electric charges from the clouds were so heavy that the men were obliged to use buckskin gloves to avoid the shocks. Some strange Indians coming up just at that time, one of the men motioned to them to come and help him pull at the wire. One more willing than the rest took hold of it, and while drawing the wire along, the ground being moist, and the Indian in his bare feet, he received an electric charge that doubled him up in a knot. A more astonished Indian was probably never seen. sprung to his feet and started on a full run. His companions, not knowing what had occurred, looked on with perfect astonishment. The electrified Indian stopped after running a short distance, and called to his comrades to join him, to whom, I presume, he explained the effect, without exactly knowing the cause. He and the others spread the news of this occurrence, and after that no Indian could be induced to go near the wire or touch the poles. Governor Nye, of Nevada, who also acted as Indian Agent, informed me, shortly after the completion of the overland line, that on his meeting with the Indians in Ruby Valley he noticed that whenever they had occasion to pass under the wire they got as nearly equidistant between the poles as possible, and appeared anxious to keep as far away from the line as they could. When I told him of the incident I have just related, he said it was very likely the cause of what he had observed.

He

In the meantime the construction of the line was being rapidly pushed forward. Many serious difficulties were, however, from time to time encountered, requiring our greatest energies to overcome. Deserts had to be crossed, which in many cases taxed the efforts and strength of the expedition to its very utmost. In one instance sixteen miles of line were built in one day, in order to reach a point where water could be obtained. As the weather was extremely hot, teams with barrels of water had to be kept with the different parties when crossing these deserts. Again, our pole-contractors failed us, and it was found necessary to send our

Up to the first of October the work had progressed as well as could have been expected, all things considered. The poles were nearly all delivered, and the line completed with the exception of some fifty or sixty miles between Ruby Valley and Schell Creek, about midway between Carson City and Salt Lake. But at that time it began to be apparent that the polecontractors were going to fail on that section. Mountaineers and Indians were at once secured to scour the mountains, and procure, if possible, a sufficient number of poles to complete the remaining portion of the line. As the season was growing late, and cold weather coming on, I began to have serious fears that it would be impossible to complete it before winter. The men were also getting frightened, and many of them wanted to return home, as they feared we would be overtaken by the snow. I finally ascertained that poles could be had on the top of a high mountain, about fifteen miles from a place called Egan Cañon, but that the only way to procure them was with our own men and teams. This I directed done, and with as little delay as possible. The teams left Ruby Valley at once, with orders to go to this mountain, cut the poles, and get them down. Twenty wagons started in the train, under the direction of the wagonmaster and a foreman of construction. In a few days, after having had time, as I judged, to reach Egan Cañon, the stage brought me a note from the foreman, advising me that they had reached that point, but that his workmen and teamsters refused to go into the mountains, saying it was too late in the season to attempt it, and that they had determined to leave and go home. Matters were becoming serious, and I saw that nothing but strong determination on my part would induce the men to reverse their decision and encounter the risks of going into the mountains. I held a conference with my assistant, Mr. Hubbard, and Jasper McDonald, the commissary of the expedition. We decided to take the next stage for Egan Cañon, enforce orders, and, if such a thing were still possible,

get out the necessary number of poles for the
completion of the line. On our arrival we found
the men very decided not to go farther. I in-
formed them they had started on the work un-
der an agreement to remain until it was com-
pleted, and that they would be held to it, or
forfeit their pay. They continued to express
great fears of being caught in the mountains by
winter storms, but on the assurance that we
would accompany them they agreed to go, and
early on the morning after my arrival we all
moved into the mountains. By sundown we
reached the timber. We had a hard day's
work to do so, as for a good portion of the way
we had to open up and make the road for the
teams to pass over. The poles were found at
a point high up in the mountains. They were
mostly fire-killed, hard and dry. The night that
we reached this place was dark and gloomy.
Heavy clouds overhanging the mountains an-
nounced the near approach of a storm.
men had been in the habit of rolling themselves
up in their blankets and sleeping on the ground
in the open air. We had tents with us, but
many of them did not think it worth while to
put them up. We were all very tired, climbing
the mountain being very fatiguing, so it was
not long after supper before the men were roll-
ed up in their blankets for the night. I had a
tent put up, into which I crawled with other
officers of the expedition. My heart was filled
with many misgivings as to what the morning
would bring forth. Anything like a heavy fall
of snow would, I knew well, seriously endanger,
if not altogether destroy, our chances of getting❘
out the poles, obliging me to leave the comple-
tion of the line until the following spring, to say
nothing of the danger of being snowed up and
of losing our lives. Wearied, I soon fell asleep,
and slept soundly until morning.

Our

When I awoke and raised the tent-door, my worst forebodings seemed fully realized: the ground was white with snow. But my attention was quickly diverted to the strangeness of the spectacle offered in the immediate surroundings of my tent. It was similar to that presented in a snow-clad churchyard, minus the headstones. Hummocks of snow, uniform in size, and arranged with all the silent precision of a cemetery, were grouped about me. good loud shout of "Rouse out! rouse out!" sufficed, however, to animate the scene, as the men in answer to my call shook themselves from their blankets and coverlet of snow. The rapidity of the change in scene from the deathlike silence of the snow-covered sleepers, of whom not a vestige could be seen, to the noise and activity of the mountain camp, was panoramically grotesque, and for the moment made

One

me forget the more serious part of the business on hand.

About six inches of snow had fallen during the night, and to increase our troubles not a single head of stock was to be found. They had all stampeded down the mountain side. The Indians were quickly rallied and started in pursuit. Instead of following down the cañon in search of the cattle, I was surprised to see them go up the mountain. It was not long before the reason of their doing so was made apparent. They got on to the ridge, from which point they could obtain a full view of the ravines and cañons below, and within a few hours from starting they had secured all the animals and driven them back to camp. By this time the sun was out, shining brightly, and the snow fast disappearing. The poles were all in sight, and the men went to work at them with a will. It did not take long to cut and trim them, and as fast as this was done they were "snaked" down the mountains by the Indians. In two days we had secured twenty wagon-loads, with which we hurried off to lose no time in placing them on the line of route.

Having now all the poles necessary for the completion of the line, and having given the necessary orders for winding up all matters and for the return of the expedition, I returned to Ruby Valley on my way home, so as to be in San Francisco at the moment of the opening of the line. On reaching Ruby Valley I found a number of Indians camped there, at the head of whom was Buck Soldier, a Shoshone chief. He had got this name from always being dressed in a military suit. Buck had shown himself very friendly during the entire period of the expedition. He as well as Sho-kup had taken especial pains to give us all the aid possible; so, on parting, I presented to him a number of sacks of flour, sides of bacon, and some clothing, and for which he was greatly pleased. The next morning, just as I was mounting the box of the overland stage with the driver, he came out of his wik-i-up (wigwam), and presented me with an old daguerreotype of himself in full dress, taken in Salt Lake several years before, begging me to receive it as a mark of his appreciation of the kindness I had manifested toward him. This was accompanied by the request that on my return home I would send him a portrait of myself. I promised to do so, and on arriving in San Francisco had myself photographed, and also had a copy taken from Buck Soldier's picture. I had them both placed in a gold double locket, with a chain, so that it could be worn around the neck, and forwarded it to him through the Indian Agent, who afterward presented it to Buck with great ceremony.

In connection with our treatment of the Indians during the period of this work, it might be well for me to mention that the consideration we manifested toward them appeared, in after years, to be fully appreciated. This was instanced in 1863, two years after the completion of the overland telegraph line, when an Indian war broke out on the overland route, causing trouble between the stage employés and the Indians. The stages had to be guarded, many of the employés of the company were killed at different points, the coaches fired upon, and passengers frequently killed. Several of the stage stations were destroyed, and finally troops had to be sent out to fight the Indians, and several battles took place before peace for the time was restored. During all these troubles, the telegraph line was not disturbed, and, if my recollection serves me right, no stage station in which a telegraph office was established was ever burned; nor was an employé of the Company ever molested or injured by the Indians. They seemed to look on the telegraph people as another tribe and against which they had no hostility.

|

| Indians, and, seeing them preparing for an attack, gave them a volley. The Indians promptly returned the fire, and the fight lasted for several days. At the first moment of attack the operator telegraphed to the nearest fort for troops to come to the rescue. Shortly after having done so, the wires were cut by the Indians in the hope that it would cut off communication for relief. They were knowing enough to do that. The wire being cut prevented the besieged operator and his comrades from communicating with their friends at the adjoining stations, and it was not until after the troops arrived and had dispersed the Indians that news could be had telling of their successful resistance. At another time five hundred Arrapahoes and Cheyennes attacked Fort Sedgwick, where some thirty troops and twelve civilians were established. The whites held out bravely, but lost seventeen of their number before assistance reached them.

In this attack, some of the Indians succeeded in reaching a shed, where, with sundry provisions, some carboys of nitric acid were stored for use in the battery. The acid had a smell to them something like good strong whisky. They carried off one of the carboys, to have, as they expected, a good time. Their good time did not last long. An Indian's "nip" is not a pony glass. Those of them who nipped from that carboy, did so for the last time. Their exit from this world was about as sudden as it would have been had a bullet gone through their brains. The effect produced on the remainder of them at the sight of their dead "lightningstruck" comrades, was for a moment favorable to the besieged. They ceased their attack, seemingly lost in wonder and admiration in the thought that white men could drink such powerful whisky and live.

On the eastern division some exceptions to this manifested themselves from time to time, where the operators were obliged to aid in resisting the attack of the Indians against the employés of the stage company. This was chiefly the case on the plains where the Indians roamed about, not confining themselves to any particular locality. The repair-stations of the operators employed by the telegraph company were established in the huts occupied by the stage company. These stations were from forty to fifty miles apart. The operators had nothing to do except to see that the line was in working order. In case of a break the nearest operator was ordered out. He generally went alone on horseback. It was supposed at first that it would be difficult to procure operators for this service and retain them; but such was not the case. They soon became accustomed to the work-the danger and excitement of it seemed to have for them an additional attraction. The risks they were exposed to were constant and great, and I cannot allow this opporturnity to pass without referring briefly to some of the many incidents constantly occurring, as showing the personal bravery of the men engaged in the overland telegraph service. Sweetwater Station, in the South Pass, was attacked by a band of Sioux Indians. The operator and stage men entrenched themselves as well as they could in their dug-out, a mud hut hollow-up at the end like sled-runners. Practice on ed out in the earth, part above and part below ground. Being well provided with rifles and ammunition they awaited the approach of the

The operators at the stations on the Sierra Nevada had other difficulties and dangers quite as formidable to contend with. The snow frequently fell to a depth of from fifteen to twentyfive feet, completely covering both the poles and the wires, and snow-slides were constantly occurring. As soon as the first overland wire was completed, a new and more substantially built line was constructed across the Sierra Nevada. The stations were established at from twelve to fifteen miles apart, and men only who were fearless of danger and willing to risk the mountain storms were employed as repairers of the lines. They used the Norwegian snow-shoes, twelve and sometimes fifteen feet long, turned

them soon rendered the repairers very expert in getting over the snow. In descending the mountains, they would use the guiding stick as

first overrates them and next underrates them.

a brake, putting it between their legs, sitting | lessened, but rather because our imagination at down on it, and letting themselves go. In going up the mountains, they would use a piece of woolen cloth or rope tied under the runners, which prevented them from slipping back as they ascended. Notwithstanding the danger and hardship of the work, no difficulties were encountered in procuring men to engage in it. They were well paid and performed their arduous task faithfully, repairing the line whenever broken with dispatch.

I reached San Francisco in time for the opening of the great trans-continental telegraph line, which took place on the evening of October 24th, 1861. The great work, which had been agitated so many years, both on this coast, in the East, and in Congress, was completed, and in the short space of five months from the time the expedition moved from Sacramento. had been proposed to get up a celebration in honor of such an important event, but owing to the uncertainty as to the exact time when the line would be completed, no preparation had been made. The employés of the company, who stood around, manifested the greatest anx

It

across the continent. At last it came and read as follows:

"SALT LAKE, October 24, 1861-5.13 P. M. "To General H. W. Carpentier :-Line just completed. Can you come to office? STREET."

I said good-bye to Buck Soldier and his Indians, and mounted the box. The stage driver cracked his whip, and I was off for San Francisco as fast as six wild mustangs could take me. How fast that is any one who has made the overland stage trip well knows. You go aiety, watching the first click of the instrument good deal faster than on a railway train even if you do not cover as much ground in the same space of time. On the old overland stage everything went-if I may be allowed the expression-not excepting the brain, which, in the continuous mental survey of possibilities, kept even pace with the horses and stage. At one moment tearing around the edge of a precipice at a hight dizzy to look down from; at another, plunging down the side, at a pace suggestive of the day of judgment, which a mountain slide or broken brake would have ushered in without further ceremony. The trip in those days was a constant whirl of excitement, rendered still more exciting by the always possible appearance of road agents and hostile Indians.

Yet, when I come to look back, it seems strange how inured and hardened one became to it. I recollect that when I made my first overland trip my hand was constantly on the revolver in my belt. Twenty and more times a day I was ready to pull it out on the shortest possible notice, and lodge its contents in the first animate object that disputed our right of way. In later trips I observed myself disposed to put it under the cushion of the seat, where I believed it to be more comfortably placed than sticking in the middle of my back or trying to force its way between my lower two ribs. Still later, when the trip had become an "old story," I seemed to think that the best place for my revolver was at the bottom of my carpet-bag. Had any one told me the first night I stood guard over our camp, with my rifle and revolver at full cock, when crossing the plains for the first time, that I would cross them again a few years later with my revolver at the bottom of my carpet-bag, I would have considered it base flattery-more than mortal courage was entitled to. But so it is; dangers that at first seem as big as mountains after a time become as molehills. It is not that the dangers are in any way

This telegram was received by the operator, John Leatch. This gentleman at that time had been in the employ of the company some six years, and has remained in its service nearly ever since. At this time he is engaged as an operator in the San Francisco office, and may well be classed among the veterans. The next dispatch was from Brigham Young, and read as follows:

"GREAT SALT LAKE CITY, October 24-7 P. M. "To Hon. H. W. Carpentier, President of the Overland Telegraph Company-Dear Sir: I am very much obliged for your kindness, manifested through you and Mr. Street, in giving me privilege of first message to California. May success ever attend the enterprise. The success of Mr. Street in completing his end of the line, under many unfavorable circumstances, in so short a time, is beyond our most sanguine anticipations.

Join your wires with the Russian Empire, and we will

converse with Europe.

"Your friend,

BRIGHAM YOUNG."

ELEÄNORE.

Upon a radiant morning

In dear, delicious June,

Each woodland bird was singing His sweetest, wildest tune.

The forest aisles were ringing
With their melodious trills;
The glory of the sunshine
Enfolded the green hills.

It shone upon the meadows,
It sifted through the leaves,
And fell among the shadows
Beneath the waving trees.

The river sparkled gayly

Its verdant shores between; The clouds, all wide and stately, Moved on through skies serene.