UNFULFILLED WANTS--THE ARKANSAS RIVER
I had wanted to go to the Yellowstone river region--wanted specially to see the National Park, and the geysers and the "hoodoo" or goblin land of that country; indeed, hesitated a little at Pueblo, the turning point--wanted to thread the Veta pass--wanted to go over the Santa Fe trail away southwestward to New Mexico--but turn'd and set my face eastward--leaving behind me whetting glimpse-tastes of southeastern Colorado, Pueblo, Bald mountain, the Spanish peaks, Sangre de Christos, Mile-Shoe-curve (which my veteran friend on the locomotive told me was "the boss railroad curve of the universe,") fort Garland on the plains, Veta, and the three great peaks of the Sierra Blancas. The Arkansas river plays quite a part in the whole of this region--I see it, or its high-cut rocky northern shore, for miles, and cross and recross it frequently, as it winds and squirms like a snake. The plains vary here even more than usual--sometimes a long sterile stretch of scores of miles--then green, fertile and grassy, an equal length. Some very large herds of sheep. (One wants new words in writing about these plains, and all the inland American West--the terms, _far, large, vast_, &c., are insufficient.)
A SILENT LITTLE FOLLOWER-THE COREOPSIS
Here I must say a word about a little follower, present even now before my eyes. I have been accompanied on my whole journey from Barnegat to Pike's peak by a pleasant floricultural friend, or rather millions of friends--nothing more or less than a hardy little yellow five-petal'd September and October wild-flower, growing I think everywhere in the middle and northern United States. I had seen it on the Hudson and over Long Island, and along the banks of the Delaware and through New Jersey, (as years ago up the Connecticut, and one fall by Lake Champlain.) This trip it follow'd me regularly, with its slender stem and eyes of gold, from Cape May to the Kaw valley, and so through the cañons and to these plains. In Missouri I saw immense fields all bright with it. Toward western Illinois I woke up one morning in the sleeper and the first thing when I drew the curtain of my berth and look'd out was its pretty countenance and bending neck.
_Sept. 25th_.--Early morning--still going east after we leave Sterling, Kansas, where I stopp'd a day and night. The sun up about half an hour; nothing can be fresher or more beautiful than this time, this region. I see quite a field of my yellow flower in full bloom. At intervals dots of nice two-story houses, as we ride swiftly by. Over the immense area, flat as a floor, visible for twenty miles in every direction in the clear air, a prevalence of autumn-drab and reddish-tawny herbage--sparse stacks of hay and enclosures, breaking the landscape--as we rumble by, flocks of prairie-hens starting up. Between Sterling and Florence a fine country. (Remembrances to E. L., my old-young soldier friend of war times, and his wife and boy at S.)
THE PRAIRIES AND GREAT PLAINS IN POETRY
(_After traveling Illinois, Missouri, Kansas and Colorado_) Grand as is the thought that doubtless the child is already born who will see a hundred millions of people, the most prosperous and advanc'd of the world, inhabiting these Prairies, the great Plains, and the valley of the Mississippi, I could not help thinking it would be grander still to see all those inimitable American areas fused in the alembic of a perfect poem, or other esthetic work, entirely western, fresh and limitless--altogether our own, without a trace or taste of Europe's soil, reminiscence, technical letter or spirit. My days and nights, as I travel here--what an exhilaration!--not the air alone, and the sense of vastness, but every local sight and feature. Everywhere something characteristic--the cactuses, pinks, buffalo grass, wild sage--the receding perspective, and the far circle-line of the horizon all times of day, especially forenoon--the clear, pure, cool, rarefied nutriment for the lungs, previously quite unknown--the black patches and streaks left by surface-conflagrations--the deep-plough'd furrow of the "fire-guard"--the slanting snow-racks built all along to shield the railroad from winter drifts--the prairie-dogs and the herds of antelope--the curious "dry rivers"--occasionally a "dug-out" or corral--Fort Riley and Fort Wallace--those towns of the northern plains, (like ships on the sea,) Eagle-Tail, Coyoté, Cheyenne, Agate, Monotony, Kit Carson--with ever the ant-hill and the buffalo-wallow--ever the herds of cattle and the cow-boys ("cow-punchers") to me a strangely interesting class, bright-eyed as hawks, with their swarthy complexions and their broad-brimm'd hats--apparently always on horseback, with loose arms slightly raised and swinging as they ride.
THE SPANISH PEAKS--EVENING ON THE PLAINS
Between Pueblo and Bent's fort, southward, in a clear afternoon sun-spell I catch exceptionally good glimpses of the Spanish peaks. We are in southeastern Colorado--pass immense herds of cattle as our first-class locomotive rushes us along--two or three times crossing the Arkansas, which we follow many miles, and of which river I get fine views, sometimes for quite a distance, its stony, upright, not very high, palisade banks, and then its muddy flats. We pass Fort Lyon--lots of adobie houses--limitless pasturage, appropriately fleck'd with those herds of cattle--in due time the declining sun in the west--a sky of limpid pearl over all--and so evening on the great plains. A calm, pensive, boundless landscape--the perpendicular rocks of the north Arkansas, hued in twilight--a thin line of violet on the southwestern horizon--the palpable coolness and slight aroma--a belated cow-boy with some unruly member of his herd--an emigrant wagon toiling yet a little further, the horses slow and tired--two men, apparently father and son, jogging along on foot--and around all the indescribable _chiaroscuro_ and sentiment, (profounder than anything at sea,) athwart these endless wilds.
AMERICA'S CHARACTERISTIC LANDSCAPE
Speaking generally as to the capacity and sure future destiny of that plain and prairie area (larger than any European kingdom) it is the inexhaustible land of wheat, maize, wool, flax, coal, iron, beef and pork, butter and cheese, apples and grapes--land of ten million virgin farms--to the eye at present wild and unproductive--yet experts say that upon it when irrigated may easily be grown enough wheat to feed the world. Then as to scenery (giving my own thought and feeling,) while I know the standard claim is that Yosemite, Niagara falls, the upper Yellowstone and the like, afford the greatest natural shows, I am not so sure but the Prairies and the Plains, while less stunning at first sight, last longer, fill the esthetic sense fuller, precede all the rest, and make North America's characteristic landscape.
Indeed through the whole of this journey, with all its shows and varieties, what most impress'd me, and will longest remain with me, are these same prairies. Day after day, and night after night, to my eyes, to all my senses--the esthetic one most of all--they silently and broadly unfolded. Even their simplest statistics are sublime.
EARTH'S MOST IMPORTANT STREAM
The valley of the Mississippi river and its tributaries, (this stream and its adjuncts involve a big part of the question,) comprehends more than twelve hundred thousand square miles, the greater part prairies. It is by far the most important stream on the globe, and would seem to have been marked out by design, slow-flowing from north to south, through a dozen climates, all fitted for man's healthy occupancy, its outlet unfrozen all the year, and its line forming a safe, cheap continental avenue for commerce and passage from the north temperate to the torrid zone. Not even the mighty Amazon (though larger in volume) on its line of east and west--not the Nile in Africa, nor the Danube in Europe, nor the three great rivers of China, compare with it. Only the Mediterranean sea has play'd some such part in history, and all through the past, as the Mississippi is destined to play in the future. By its demesnes, water'd and welded by its branches, the Missouri, the Ohio, the Arkansas, the Red, the Yazoo, the St. Francis and others, it already compacts twenty-five millions of people, not merely the most peaceful and money-making, but the most restless and warlike on earth. Its valley, or reach, is rapidly concentrating the political power of the American Union. One almost thinks it _is_ the Union--or soon will be. Take it out, with its radiations, and what would be left? From the car windows through Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, or stopping some days along the Topeka and Santa Fe road, in southern Kansas, and indeed wherever I went, hundreds and thousands of miles through this region, my eyes feasted on primitive and rich meadows, some of them partially inhabited, but far, immensely far more untouch'd, unbroken--and much of it more lovely and fertile in its unplough'd innocence than the fair and valuable fields of New York's, Pennsylvania's, Maryland's or Virginia's richest farms.