looking band. Following the
directions which had been given us, we continued on the move. The chief
waved a signal to his men, to which they promptly responded, opening their
ranks and filing to the right and to the left. We passed on through this,
living wall bristling with spears, meeting with an occasional greeting of
"How do." Having passed through the long lines of the band my uncle said
to me, "Keep straight on till night. I will then rejoin you. I am going to
have a big smoke with the chief."

With alacrity we obeyed this mandate, glad enough to leave such customers
behind us. I confess that I was half frightened to death, and feared I
should never see my uncle again. In the evening he joined us and laughed
very heartily at me for wishing, in my trepidation, to give the chief all
my tobacco.

In after life, in my intercourse with the Indians, I got bravely over
being scared by any sights or sounds emanating from them. We pressed on
without molestation to Salt Lake, passing continually the newly made
graves of the dead. The cholera had broken out with awful fatality, along
the whole line of the emigrants' march, consigning thousands to burial in
the wilderness.

We reached the Great Salt Lake, the home of the Mormons, in safety. Here
we remained for nearly a month. I called on Brigham Young, and also on the
old patriarch Joe Smith. From the latter I received a commission, or power
of attorney, for the consideration of two dollars, authorizing me to heal
the sick, to raise the dead, and to speak all languages. Perhaps my want
of faith left me as powerless as other men, notwithstanding my commission.
We spent our time here in strolling around the city, visiting the
tabernacle, bathing and fishing in the river Jordan, which empties into
the lake, and in making sundry purchases for the continuation of our
journey to the Pacific.

Again we started upon our journey. After weary days of travel, without
encountering any adventure of special interest, we reached the vast ridge
of the Sierra Nevada mountains. Up, up, and still up, the trail led us
over the gigantic cliffs. On the summit we found snow hundreds of feet
deep, and apparently as hard as the rock which it surmounted. We crossed
the ridge by what is called the Carson route. Descending the mountains on
the western side, we find ourselves in California, and pressing on through
Sacramento, to Benicia, are at our journey's end.

We left Independence on the third