第120章

I sincerely hope you will excuse my absence--I am a man short--and have to work the moon myself.(Here Artemus would leave the rostrum for a few moments, and pretend to be engaged behind.The picture was painted for a night-scene, and the effect intended to be produced was that of the moon rising over the lake and rippling on the waters.It was produced in the usual dioramic way, by making the track of the moon transparent and throwing the moon on from the bull's eye of the lantern.When Artemus went behind, the moon would become nervous and flickering, dancing up and down in the most inartistic and undecided manner.The result was that, coupled with the lecturer's oddly expressed apology, the "moon" became one of the best laughed-at parts of the entertainment.)I shall be most happy to pay a good salary to any respectable boy of good parentage and education who is a good moonist.

(Picture of) The Endowment House.

In this building the Mormon is initiated into the mysteries of the faith.

Strange stories are told of the proceedings which are held in this building--but I have no possible means of knowing how true they may be.

Salt Lake City is fifty-five miles behind us--and this is Echo Canyon--in reaching which we are supposed to have crossed the summit of the Wahsatch Mountains.These ochre-colored bluffs--formed of conglomerate sandstone--and full of fossils--signal the entrance to the Canyon.At its base lies Weber Station.

Echo Canyon is about twenty-five miles long.It is really the sublimest thing between the Missouri and the Sierra Nevada.The red wall to the left develops farther up the Canyon into pyramids--buttresses--and castles--honey-combed and fretted in nature's own massive magnificence of architecture.

In 1856--Echo Canyon was the place selected by Brigham Young for the Mormon General Wells to fortify and make impregnable against the advance of the American army--led by General Albert Sidney Johnson.It was to have been the Thermopylae of Mormondom--but it wasn't general Wells was to have done Leonidas--but he didn't.

(Picture of) Echo Canyon.

The wild snowstorms have left us--and we have thrown our wolf-skin overcoats aside.Certain tribes of far-western Indians bury their distinguished dead by placing them high in air and covering them with valuable furs--that is a very fair representation of these mid-air tombs.Those animals are horses--I know they are--because my artist says so.Ihad the picture two years before I discovered the fact.--The artist came to me about six months ago--and said--"It is useless to disguise it from you any longer--they are horses."(Picture of) A more cheerful view of the Desert.

It was while crossing this desert that I was surrounded by a band of Ute Indians.They were splendidly mounted--they were dressed in beaver-skins--and they were armed with rifles--knives--and pistols.

(Picture of) Our Encounter with the Indians.

What could I do?--What could a poor old orphan do? I'm a brave man.--The day before the Battle of Bull's Run I stood in the highway while the bullets--those dreadful messengers of death--were passing all around me thickly--IN WAGONS--on their way to the battle-field.(This was the great joke of Artemus Ward's first lecture, "The Babes in the Wood." He never omitted it in any of his lectures, nor did it lose its power to create laughter by repetition.The audiences at the Egyptian Hall, London, laughed as immoderately at it, as did those of Irving Hall, New York, or of the Tremont Temple in Boston.) But there were too many of these Injuns--there were forty of them--and only one of me--and so I said--"Great Chief--I surrender." His name was Wocky-bocky.

He dismounted--and approached me.I saw his tomahawk glisten in the morning sunlight.Fire was in his eye.

Wocky-bocky came very close to me and seized me by the hair of my head.He mingled his swarthy fingers with my golden tresses--and he rubbed his dreadful Thomashawk across my lily-white face.He said--"Torsha arrah darrah mishky bookshean!"

I told him he was right.

Wocky-bocky again rubbed his tomahawk across my face, and said--"Wink-ho--loo-boo!"Says I--"Mr.Wocky-bocky"--says I--"Wocky--I have thought so for years--and so's all our family."He told me I must go to the tent of the Strong-Heart and eat raw dog.(While sojourning for a day in a camp of Sioux Indians we were informed that the warriors of the tribe were accustomed to eat raw dog to give them courage previous to going to battle.Artemus was greatly amused with the information.When, in after years, he became weak and languid, and was called upon to go to lecture, it was a favorite joke with him to inquire, "Hingston, have you got any raw dog?") It don't agree with me.I prefer simple food.I prefer pork-pie--because then I know what I'm eating.But as raw dog was all they proposed to give to me --I had to eat it or starve.So at the expiration of two days I seized a tin plate and went to the chief's daughter--and Isaid to her in a silvery voice--in a kind of German-silvery voice--I said--"Sweet child of the forest, the pale-face wants his dog."There was nothing but his paws! I had paused too long!

Which reminds me that time passes.A way which time has.

I was told in my youth to seize opportunity.I once tried to seize one.He was rich.He had diamonds on.As I seized him--he knocked me down.Since then I have learned that he who seizes opportunity sees the penitentiary.

(Picture of) The Rocky Mountains.

I take it for granted you have heard of these popular mountains.In America they are regarded as a great success, and we all love dearly to talk about them.It is a kind of weakness with us.I never knew but one American who hadn't something--some time--to say about the Rocky Mountains--and he was a deaf and dumb man, who couldn't say anything about nothing.