[May 25th - 28th]

	Helen Marhham Palache. 1896. Courtesy of Judith Palache Gregory.

                                           Omaha, May 25th

My dear -

     We have been and are travelling much too fast to make letter writing a pleasure.  55 to 65 miles an hour is high speed even on the best of tracks and the cars swing around at a great rate.  I have just been aroused from a nap with the announcement that ---

     A few moments remain before we start on again and I must at least send my greetings.  We have been here 2 hours during which we took an electric car ride out to the old Fair Grounds.

     We are [illegible word, this ¶ scrawled] off Goodby—good night love and many kisses from your devoted

                                          Charlie

                                           6 P.M.

                                           Friday Morn. May 25

                                           near Cheyenne

My dear -

     I am very much ashamed that yesterday passed without my getting off a letter to you.  The trouble was that I did not start early and therefore did not get to it at all.

     Now I am up early—six o'clock with us—9 with you—for a chat before the smoking room fills up with the crowd.  We are climbing the Rockies—still going fast however as witness this writing which is better than it would be in ink.  So please forgive the pencil on that score.  Yesterday was not particularly eventful being chiefly marked by my visits to the private car which is decidedly nice.  The car is last on the train and the last third of it is an observation room with big plate windows from floor to roof on end and sides.  Comfortable chairs—electric fans—maps conveniently hung—flowers, books—candy, and all the other "comforts of home" including the company of the four girls who are jolly and simple and not in the least spoiled by the luxury of their surroundings.  We talked and read there nearly all the morning.  After lunch I was very sleepy and lay down for a nap to be awakened as told in my abbreviated note of Omaha.  We all finally got out to the Fair Buildings which are now empty but produce an effect well worth seeing.  Returned to the train we were soon off again at a terrific rate across the Nebraska plains and up the North Platte Valley.  There was a grand sunset with high piled masses of silver lined dark clouds and fleecy gold veils and after that was over the girls took some of us back to the observation car for some "singing" (God save the mark!).  I also sang as you will be distressed to learn but they all stood it nobly and indeed there were some no better than myself.  We all enjoyed it anyway and I was thinking of you all the time and so I know was Miss Mary Harriman for the girls are of an age to take a romantic interest in anything like our separation.  Altogether both the young ladies and Mrs. H. are very nice and show their millions absolutely not atall which is delightful.

     I had a grand sleep last night and wake up ready for an interesting day in the mountains.  We are in the great grazing country of Wyoming—endless rolling fields of yellowish-green short grass—no bush or tree to break its carpet and rarely a flower.  I had always before seen the plains brown, dusty and forlorn and this spring dress gives me an entirely different notion of the country.

     We have been organized into a regular scientific body with all sorts of officers committees etc.  I hope they will succeed withal in making it possible to accomplish much good work.  We have all registered in a big "log book" and appointed John Burroughs as Historian so we shall have the trip well written up anyhow.

     We have just brought the first mts. into view—the Laramie Hills and here is Cheyenne where this letter must be mailed.  I wish it were a better messenger to carry to you my loving thoughts.  Believe me you are ever in my thoughts and shall be till we meet again.

     Farewell with much love from your devoted

                                          Charlie

Ogden                Cheyenne—           Omaha

514 miles                                       516 miles

     This is what I read as I look out the window at the station.

                                           9 P.M.

                                           May 26

Dear Helen -

     This has been a fine day in many respects and for me at least contained one novel experience.  We crossed the summit of the line in the early morning and all day long every new turn brought into view some new vista of distant snow clad mountain or rocky cliff.  Each stop we all scramble off to pick some tiny flower or some rock from the road side. 

     Then it's all aboard again and on we go to the next stop.  We have been in the Rocky Mts all day but it is mostly a high plateau country, the lofty ranges all lying 50 or 60 miles to the north or south.  The highest point on the line is almost 8000 ft. at Sherman.  It was high enough to give the air a fine bracing quality anyway and as it was cool as well it was a joy to be outdoors.  Most of the morning for the time I was smoking I was on the back platform amusing the ladies and enjoying the view.  After the midday meal I was for a long time with mr. Burroughs trying to explain to him some of the geology of the remarkable scenery thro' which we were passing which was so wholly new to him.  He seemed very interested in what I told him and I enjoyed the conversation.  About six P.M. we reached and crossed the Green River quite a good sized stream in fine scenery and a little later came to Granger the point where we left the regular overland Union Pacific line for the Portland line which goes to the north through Idaho.

     Here came the experience—a fellow named Trudeaux and I took a twenty five mile ride on the cowcatcher of our engine.  It was fine and as the pace was slow absolutely free from danger.  It was up the valley of quite a stream which was over its banks.  The meadows were green and hemmed on both sides by brown rocky hills.  Numbers of birds rose on each side and two were killed by the engine.  There was considerable excitement in the rushing along thus on the very front of the train but the wind was fierce and at first we were well chilled but that passed soon.  I do not think I care to repeat the ride but am bound to get into the cab for a trip before we come to the end of our journey.  This is one of the privileges of being with railway magnates on a special train.  It has grown by the way to seven cars.

     We are off for a great trip tomorrow—a thirty mile ride to the great Shoshone Falls of the Snake river and back.  I am wondering what will be left of me after 30 miles on an indian pony—we only need to ride one way as coaches go along and we change off.  We start at 6 A.M. and expect to get back by dark.  So tomorrow you need not expect to hear from me.  Good night—"Yes I do!" very much—your devoted

                                          Charlie

                                           Boise City Idaho

                                          Sunday, May 28th

My dear -

     It is about 6 o'clock—9, your time—and I am up for a talk with you before breakfast.  It is quite incredible that only one week has passed since I was with you last—It seems ages ago—yesterday alone was so full a day that it made Cambridge seem more than ever far away.  I wonder what you are doing today  -  on what excursion bent?  Or are you writing letters and going to church?  I trust none of my poor letters have gone astray, they have been few enough at best.  How I did long for you time and again yesterday to enjoy with me the full life and grand scenery of the day.  It was one of the days of my life that will not soon be forgotten.  Let me tell you of it as well as I can.

     We came into the station of Shoshone during the night and at five A.M. all hands were waked and after a hurried breakfast at 5:30 were ready for the start.  Trunks had been overhauled the night before and all sorts of riding and hunting costume made its appearance.  If you wish to know mine think of me in my golf clothes as on our last Sunday walk.  For the twenty-seven mile trip to the Falls mixed conveyances were provided and it taxed the resources of the little place to get our 35 people over the road.  First there was the big Concord coach holding about 12-15 people with six horses—a 2 seated, 2 horse wagon for 6 passengers, Mr. Harriman's 2 horse buggy and ten saddle horses.  We got off at 6:30 in good style the freshness of the morning and the prospects of a very fine day putting all in the best of spirits.

____________________

     I began writing before we had quite reached Boise.  Now we are here and I have left the train and taken my seat on a pile of lumber near the station where I can breathe the fresh morning air hear the joyous songs of the robins and rest my aching bones.

     To go on with my story. --

     The saddle horses were a rather good lot of indian ponies or "cayuses" as the day's work proved tho' many of them were sorry looking brutes.  One of the Harriman girls was mounted and rode like a bird—and I too was among the cavalry, having little fancy for a dusty stage ride where horses were available.  And I never remember any ride atall comparable to the one we had.  We were in a region of gently rolling plains stretching away to the far-off bases of snow clad mountains which cloud the horizon.  To the East was the Saw Tooth Range and its beauty as the newly risen sun flooded its snowy slopes with light was indescribable.  The plain on which we rode was an ancient lava field still but thinly clad with soil and very dry, hence supporting little vegetation but the sage brush whose miniature trees were thickly scattered over its whole surface and lent the whole an olive green tint very restful to the eye.  But in among the sage were many lovely dainty blossoms of strange flowers and for the first five miles I was constantly off my horse picking some new flower.  Lupine, forget-me-not, gillias, lovely white evening primrose and bright sunflowers were some of many I noted.  A fine fresh wind came in our faces as we rode south and the ride was simply exhilarating —no other word suggests the sensation so well. 

On and on we rode, finally crossing a low divide and bringing into view the long descent of our plain to the Snake river twenty miles away.  The river was however invisible and the same gray green sloped up again beyond to the foot of the further purple mountains.

     After three hours riding I turned over my horse to another, not because I was tired but wished to give some one else the pleasure and in another half hour we were at the river.  With a suddenness that almost takes away the breath you find yourself on the brink of a vast chasm 1000 ft. deep; the walls are vertical, of black basaltic lava and in the flat bottom about 1/4 mile wide flows the muddy river.  At our very feet as we stand on the brink of the chasm is the fall where the river makes a plunge of over 200 feet, first breaking over several terraces into fine cascades.  From the pool below where the dashing water is churned into foam rises a great cloud of spray which waves and shifts about in the gusty wind currents of the place.

     If you have seen Niagara you know what it is like.  But here the surroundings are so much more picturesque:  the lava crags tower above like frowning fortifications.  Islands with green shrubbery divide the current at the brink of the fall and on the summit on one of these crags a fish hawk has piled its huge nest in safety.

     The wagon road descends to the river but we get out and walk down, are ferried to the further side above the falls and hasten down for a nearer view of their beauties.  Points of vantage are numerous and we seek the outermost ones above and near the dashing waters.  We are drenched with the spray and the sun behind us casts a great rainbow arch across the gulf at our feet.  This bank, kept wet by the perpetual rain from the spray, is a garden of wild flowers of varied beauty, many of them familiar California friends.

     There is a little Hotel above the fall and we eat our lunch there and then hurry away to clamber by a steep path down to the base of the falls.  Here we get quite another aspect of the fall and see the heights above it, framing it as it were, at their best.  Up again and again out on the cliffs to study the magic beauty of the foamy seething waters as they lean toward the depths—to feast the eye on the majesty of proportion of the whole gigantic scene and with the geologist's eye to study the splendid section of the lava fields thus offered and to collect specimens of the rocks.  With regret we turn back, climb out of the canon, take a farewell look from the upper vantage point and so at 2 P.M. start on the return.  All the saddle horses were taken for the first stretch but I started off on foot ahead of the stage and covered 3 or 4 miles before overtaken and picked up.

     But before we are half way back someone gets tired riding and I take his place with pleasure, which is increased by finding the horse even easier and better than the one I had before.  By 6:30 P.M. we are back to the train, have washed the dust out of our throats with a magnificent glass of cask beer from the saloon (By the way I discovered the merits of this beer—so superior to the bottled article on the train—and made it known to certain favored ones on board) and the dust from our bodies with a towel bath, and at 7:30 sit down to a game and fish dinner with the appetites of wolves and satisfaction beaming from every face.  A cigar is soon smoked and I turn in by 9:30 to dream of you and waterfalls and aching limbs and to wake at day light this morning with a chorus of birds singing outside as we stand still at a station.

     Thus we visited the Shoshone Falls of the Snake River.  If I have not made you feel as you read my account that it was a rare experience—a perfect day—my pen has sadly failed to do its duty and my interest.

                                           Noon, May 28th

                                           Boise City.

     Since last writing I have had a pleasant morning's wandering and now before we start there are still a few minutes left to tell you what was to do.  This town is a charming spot—at the base of the mountains with abundant water so that its gardens and orchards flourish luxuriantly, it offers the pleasantest contrast to the weary miles of sage brush desert through which we have fared.  After breakfast we all took an electric car out about a mile to a huge swimming tank and natatorium wher they utilize the waters of powerful hot mineral springs to make a delightful warm bath.  I had a tub bath which quite took away the soreness resulting from yesterday's ride and then after a lounge on the grass, a bit of free lunch and some drinks and a smoke I went out to the neighboring hill to collect the local rock and see the hot springs.  On returning to the natatorium I found most of the party gone to church where our chaplain was to hold service.  One of the hospitable inhabitants of the town picked up two or three of us in his buggy and brought us back to the station after conducting us to the U.S. Assay Office where we saw a respectable number of real gold bricks.  Now while waiting for lunch and departure I write in the train.

     Our trip becomes each day more and more promising and pleasant.  We are a huge happy family on a delightful tour in the course of which each can follow unhindered his own bent.  This breaking up of the trip across the continent with so many halts has given me a chance of getting an idea of this western country such as twenty rides thro' on the train would not furnish.  And in addition it removes the tedium of constant travel making the journey a pleasure instead of a trial.  We shall stop again (tomorrow?) at Portland Oregona nd will probably get to Seattle about the 30th so as to sail on June 1st.  I grow anxious to get to the end to get letters from you which (I hope) are awaiting me there.  We are about to be off so I must close for now.  Love to Jeanette and to your self all the messasges of affection that a letter can carry from your lover

                                          Charlie