Along the Black. Hills to Box-Elder. 15th August.
I AROSE “between two days,” a little before 4 A.M., and watched the dawn, and found in its beauties a soothing influence, which acted upon stiff limbs and discontented spirit as if it had been a spell.
To Platte Bridge. August 16th.
17th August. To the Valley of the Sweetwater.
Up the Sweetwater. 19th August.
To the Foot of South Pass. 19th August.
To the South Pass. August 20th.
To Green River. August 21st.
22d August. To Ham’s Fork and Millersville.
We were not under way before 8 A.M. Macarthy was again to take the lines, and a Giovinetto returning after a temporary absence to a young wife is not usually rejoiced to run his course. Indeed, he felt the inconveniences of a semi-bachelor life so severely, that he often threatened in my private ear, chemin faisant, to throw up the whole concern.
23d August. Fort Bridger.
Echo Kanyon, August 24th,
The End—Hurrah! August 25th.
To-day we are to pass over the Wásách,[1] the last and highest chain of the mountain mass between Fort Bridger and the Great Salt Lake Valley, and—by the aid of St. James of Compostella, who is, I believe, bound over to be the patron of pilgrims in general—to arrive at our destination, New Hierosolyma, or Jerusalem, alias Zion on the tops of the mountains, the future city of Christ, where the Lord is to reign over the Saints, as a temporal king, in power and great glory.