LETTER FROM SALT LAKE.
[FROM OUR SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.]
GREAT SALT LAKE CITY, April 5,1862.
The Interruption of the Mails.
I commence my letter in the expectation that it will start westward this evening, with the continuation of that expected from the East-the first through mail for the last ten days. By this time California is no doubt perplexed over the Central Daily Mail—“perplexed" is mild; thousands have doubtless gone a step or two further, and consigned the institution to-Davy Jones. It is, and has been for some time back, a very doubtful institution, and its lon-gevity has been everything but prayed for. Situated on the backbone of the con-tinent, and right at the junction of the two companies, I have looked at the movements of the managers and tried to dis-cover how much they felt their responsibility, and how well they tried to discharge their obii ations. There is no use in disguising it— government contract is always expected to be a "fat job, and a million per annum “sounds big." With just such notions, I have expected the Central Overland Mail contractors to feel large, swagger and put on the airs of "Who cares?" But investigation of the "contingen-cies" has spoiled notions of swelling impor-tance; and a million, though a comfortable dowry for a blooming virgin, and very conven-ient for a variety of other things, is not such an almighty big pile for running a daily stage from St. Joseph to Placerville, and vice versa; and the directors, managers, agents, employees and what not, are, after all, but the descendants of the great Noah, the ship builder, who can (they, not Noah, of course,) be looked in the face and talked to like any other “dust and ashes." I have looked at them and talked to them, and though in times past they could point to contract, then to schedule, crack fingers, and feel touch me if you dare, you editors and cor-respondents—they are now agreeably modest, and I expect are as satisfied that they are pub-lic servants as anybody (including the SACRA-MENTO UNION) ever wanted them to feel, to see, to understand and to act accordingly. It takes time to understand folks—so it does companies, and a better "lesson still is learned in under-standing one's self—they have got thar.
In ordinary good weather their arrangements for carrying the daily mail within schedule time were complete and abundant; they did so with ease. Either company could rest at Salt Lake City, and resume the connection, when it suited taste or the convenience of friends; hours were no consideration, and a day or two could be made up if required. The past Winter has been unusually severe, in fact there has been nothing like it since the settlers came here, and "Jack Robinson"—the veritable "Jack," a splendid fellow, who has lived thirty years contiguous to Bridger, says that for eighteen years they have had no such Winter. The shanties and wigi-ups that had been built and stuck down for trading purposes, on an ele-vation impregnable to the rushing of the mighty waters, have all got deluged, submerged and otherwise steeped in the melting snows. There are no great rivers to point to on the map, but the streams are innumerable, and for 250 miles to the east of Bridger the country has been in-undated. Of course I receive with many grains of allowance all statements that come over the wires, but if only the one half of the reports have been true about rain and snow, the eastern company has had quite & high time in the moun-tains; and then they have had quite a nice amount of snow between Yellow creek and the mouth of the famous Echo Canon. Snow thirty feet higher than the telegraph poles! I have not yet learned who did the measuring. It has been deep enough, no doubt of it, when Brom-ley, the division agent—a fellow hard to beat, out of doors—was three days traveling ten miles; "making" ten, I expect, is the vernacu-lar of the Jehus.
The agents here have been unremitting in their attentions to the public service, during this time, and to my certain knowledge have ap-plied every at their disposal. Their stages have run daily as before, as far as they could run, and then "packing" the lock sacks where water was not too deep and snow too soft, has been attempted every day. The mail hourly expected is said to be the gatherings of seven days, and the last messenger from the East reports no mail was now piled up on this side of Echo Canon—it had all "gone in," and packing was somewhat successful.
Philosophers say that "out of evil cometh good.” No doubt of it when men are determined to do right for blockheads only consent to go through the world in everlasting babyhood. With the conviction that the million is not to be thrown away, I, therefore, conclude that the Overland Company will never find themselves again in such a position as that occupied during the past Winter. They say that they will not be found there, and I give them credit for know-ing their own interest. Their vision is extend-ing, not only to heavy snows and deep waters; but the conviction is forced upon them, and taking permanent hold of everybody, that this Central Overland Route is going to be the most important military highway within the domains of Uncle Sam. It must be so, if California does not become the Empire of the West which is to say is treason! Well, I am perhaps visionary, but can't help it; everything looks that way, and I am astonished at the blindness of those who don't see it Where would be the passage for treasure from the Pacific to the Atlantic, if War with a Euro-pean Power was the order of the day? I un-derstand nothing, if the late order from Wash-ington touching the protection of daily mail had not a direct allusion to this very con-tingency. The failures during the past Winter were unlocked for, and could not have been taken into account by the contractors and pro vision made to "tackle" the snow and fifth waters—the million could not cover that labor? The road had been shown to be the most practicable on the prairies and deserts, and time only, with the incentives to improvement which are looming up in the distance, will make it a sure and pleasant highway, I can and so could my person that has ever traveled over the mountains of Europe, tell the company how uninterrupted daily communication can be preserved between the Atlantic and Pacific States even though the snow was ten times deeper than it is now re-ported. I venture to affirm that Bingham Young, I should say Governor Young, could rig out teams enough among the disciples from Norway to carry over that daily letter mail without trouble over the highest mountains and deepest snows—and en passant they would, I think, be pleased with the job: i.e., if the chief said so; instead of counting their fingers over and over again in Winter they could more agreeably amuse themselves with turning over Uncle's outspread eagles and now and again kiss liberty and dream of dry goods and groceries coming in the Spring—for once this is certainly enough—yet all true.
Loss of Mail Stock,
The eastern company have to add to the extra expenditure of the past Winter a severe tax imposed by the Indians. They have recently cleaned out Willow Springs, Red Butte, Split Rock and Dry Sandy stations. Previous to these robberies the same tribe of Indians—the Sioux—stole upwards of sixty-head of mules. No passengers can travel under this circumstance for a little time at least. The mails will be transported, till a reinforce-ment of animals can be had from other stations. I have just learned from the agent that Bromley telegraphs from Bridger that on his division he has lost, within three days, thirty-eight mules and one horse. Washa-kee, Chief or the Sho-shones, is at present in the city, and proposes to go out with his band to try and recover the animals. Without speaking of the annoyance and inconvenience, these losses will touch the company at least $20,000. Possibly the breth-ren may see in these depredations a wire of the scheme for bringing the troops onto the route—whether or no. The Indians have stolen the animals, and the company, unless recovered, must lose them. • •
The Conference,
The Annual Conference of the "Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints" assembles to-morro—its thirty-second anniversary. The streets are now lively with the incoming dis-ciples who have come "to worship at the Taber-nacle." The Conference will probably hold over a day or two. We have had very variable and stormy weather recently, which may tend to prevent many from "assisting," as the French call it, otherwise there would be a large gathering; notwithstanding, I expect some five or six thousand persons are now trudging our bad roads to get here. The News requests the city folks to stay at home, and give the country brethren a change of a seat—but that does not include me. I’ll be there, if there is "any-thing up." The Theater,
Considering the demands for admission and the crowds that have been turned from the doors, the Dramatic Association is out with posters announcing an extra night, and the issue of tickets for each specified night only. Heretofore, tickets were good for any night; but the rush at the doors last Saturday, the fainting and the turned away disappointed hun-dreds have compelled a change. The playing is first class, music excellent, and altogether there is very little difference between Saint and sinner in a theater. The whistling, and yelling of "the gods" had to bring the manager before the footlights, with a request for moderation. There is a true philosophy in Shylock's soli-loquy over human nature—we are all mortal, and will laugh when we’re tickled, notwith-standing conventionalism.
Death of an Apostle of the other New Faith.
ln a future letter I must say something of a new faith, new prophet, and new Apostles right in the heart of Mormondom—apart and hostile to the reign of Brigham. It would be unfair to any person with such claims as the new prophet, to treat him only to a paragraph. On another occasion, and when not feverish over the ex-pected arrival of the mail, I shall do the great man all the justice an unbeliever can—there's music in the story. Meantime, let me say that one of his "Twelve," out with his gun this week, accidentally shot himself. His name, I believe, was Haskell; but as his renown has not reached outside of Weber Valley, I am un-able to say more of him—it sounds like an Englishman.
Brigham's Twelve are looking fine and well fed. The Chief is giving them a fair chance of living long and comfortably—he has set them all on working missions. Labor is a great virtue.
There is the mail—8 p.M. LIBERAL.
19th Century Mormon Article Newspaper Index
