NUMBER III.
San Francisco, Nov. 1, 1870.
The Central Pacific from Ogden to California is by no means a duplicate of the Union Pacific from Omaha to Ogden. The sleeping cars and eating stations are inferior; gold and silver take the place of scrip, and a “good square meal” cannot always be had. Chinese laborers and track-repairers replace the Irish. California fruits, especially pears and grapes, grow cheaper at every station, and we begin to realize that we are on the Western Slope of the Continent. But one train a day each way is run between Omaha and San Francisco, which leaves Ogden at 6 p m. We wake the next morning in the valley of the Humboldt, and the day before us is perhaps the dreariest and most uncomfortable on the whole route. Vast Alkali plains surround us, where sage brush alone grows, and ot a drop of water can be had which man or beast can swallow. The ground is white with alkali as if covered with snow, the fine dust penetrates even through double windows and makes our hands and faces feel sticky and uncomfortable. Our eyes are slightly inflamed and reading becomes difficult. Water affords but a temporary relief, and a “dry wash” with a soft towel is much better. Such are a few of the annoyances of the railway traveler, while dashing over this worse than Sahara desert, twenty-five miles an hour in a first class car. Imagine what were the sufferings of the early emigrants, hundreds of whom perished miser-
