Hiking the Trail. A Ballad of the Boys

Hiking the Trail A Ballad of the Boys BY ORSON F. WHITNEY (Air: Mountain Air) Didn't hear of the hike of the M. I. A. Scouts? Why, where have you been, you lazy louts? Swinging in hammock on holidays, While patriotism its homage pays To the heroism of earlier days! Didn't hear how we tramped on the Pioneer Trail, O'er craggy crest and through verdant vale, Past sagebrush slope, on sun-flowered plain, How we marched up the hill and marched down again? Didn't hear of the hike? Well, you'll hear of it now, Whether jumping the counter or pushing the plow, Whether driving a bargain, a mule or a cow, You'll hear and you'll see, for I've taken my pen To make the dead past live over again. So come with me o'er the old beaten route, With ringing laughter and resonant shout. Hark! 'Tis the five o'clock bugle — turn out, And list to the tale of the hiking Scout! 'Twas Sunday, the 21st, sharp 7:10, When the Burley forms of the railroad men Got out of the way, and the boys got in, With blanket and haversack, greeting and grin, And rumbled away from the O. S. L., Beginning the trip and the tale I tell. In khaki suit and with straw-thatched pat*., Knife, fork, spoon, and a bright tin plate, They looked like yellow journalists, Fleeing from roused up hornets' nests. But no — true blue each husky feller, And yet in every sense a yeller. There were no drones, from A to Z, Each yellow jack was a working bee. What need of "nine tailors to make a man,'' With the kind of Taylor that led our van? A better man or Scout Director You've never met, and you needn't expect ter. And Midgley, he no midget either, Imperfect any hike with neither. Of Master Scouts the Woods were full; Beyond that push was the Bowers pull; Then Bountiful Briggs with jackets of tan, Bayard Taylor, the Coalville clan, And Irwin Clawson — gentleman.

HIKING THE TRAIL 1061 Who would not with such troopers train — Something's the matter with his brain, But not gray matter — that is plain. Our wheel had felloes from the Huh, Who spoke through The News and the Herald Repub. Ben Franklin Roberts and Doctor Brown, too — Gee! how the wireless, tireless flew, While their cameras made us "too good to be true". Our army, strong and well equipt, (One hundred eighteen I think we shipt) Boasted a General who'd ne'er been whipt, A regular Boanerges' son — General Order Number One. We followed him where'er he went — At least until his force was spent, And General Order Number Two, Succeeding him, hove into view. Of General Orders there were more, Of General Boarders nigh a score, Smashers of baggage, three or four, Committeemen and guests galore. Top-heavied by the titled horde, The M. I. A. looked rather Board. And other trials thronged the path, Foreshadowing the Day of Wrath; Ed. Anderson, Moroni Snow ("Era"-tic pair) along must go, And June Wells — yes, fate willed it so — To certain observations make, Uncertain observations take. They had a sort of instrument (And reverently above it bent) Which proved the sun as far from us As we from it; they made a fuss If incredulity sought out The cooling shadow of a doubt. They figured Earth was nearer Heaven, By "sixty feet" than in forty-seven. And J. H. Paul affirmed it, too, For he had looked the same lens through. But why, O Muse, anticipate? Tn ordered sequence now narrate The various happenings that befell; That Historv may hereafter tell How we trudeed the trail of the Pioneers, Woke slumbering echoes of sixty years — Sixty and five, to be accurate; Stormed the walls of the Bee-Hivo State, Unhonored, but likewise un stung, Thanks to the line throuph those passes flung, And those other "passes" of "Grandv" Young. Then, on fair Utah's natal date. Came down to the Park to celebrate.

1062 IMPROVEMENT ERA Back now to the front of the M. I. Scouts — The Mutual Improvers on one of their "outs!" You've heard how they left the O. S. L. And now on other deeds I'll dwell. At Peter-Skeen-Ogden — famed old town, Dehyphenated and cut down (They gotta quit kickin' that name araoun) — Our special car, on rails U. P., Sped on to Echo. We could see The Pulpit Rock, the Devil Slide, A big Red Fork the waters divide; And still the wonders multiplied. Nor least, young Ncbeker's bugle call, Re-echoing from the rocky wall. Near to "The Narrows," loved and hated, Where Johnston's army hesitated, Wells in front and Winter behind, And then to halt made up its mind. "March!" said the military powers, "This day fair Henefer is ours!" So spake the second in command. Lord Roberts, General Grant's right hand, Assisted bv the Morgan band. And reinforced by General Lund And General Lyman — each a fund Of loyal valor — in good form Charged on and took the town by storm. They charged us nothing. My! 'twas warm — ■ Hot gospeling they got that day, Hamsandwiching our staff and stay, Ere to the hills we hiked away, To hear Paul preach and Roberts orate. And Whitnev stale jokes perpetrate. We made a Rule — to 'predate (Whether ap or de was somewhat mixt — Rule took his choice when the pre was fixt) A ^ood Rule (Wells) whose proxy smirk Saved the whole camp a lot of work. Main Canyon was our halt that night (No other halt or maimed in sight); But ere we slept, by bonfire bright, Saluted we with might and main And sang, "The Flag Without a Stain," Then heard of noble Orson Pratt, Who led the "vanguard" and a' that. The time, the place, the theme, were pat, And the orator his best was at. At half past nine the bugle said: "Quantum sufficit — get to bed!" "Taps" sounded, and the camp seemed dead, Save that anon the billows of snore Began to break on the Lethean shore; They kept on breaking more and more, Every rumble becoming- a roar, Till other horns mingled their musical pour,

HIKING THE TRAIL 1063 And "reveille" sounded for half past four. So Hyrum Smith said, and so the rest swore. l!y the way, he who cussed on the Pioneer Line Got a cup of cold water put next to hifl spine. Up for the hike at break of day, The hungry Scouts, with some dismay, Heard — and at the hearing groaned — That breakfast hour had been postponed. A march of two miles intervened, Ere one might have his soup tureened, Or munch a morsel of difficult tack From individual haversack. "What did I hear?" asked Junius F. "Nothing — march on!" The stern-eyed Chef A fig from out his wallet took, Gave him one Barbara Freitchie look, Then flung a Stonewall glance at us, And mounted his Bucephalus. For some must ride while some must walk, And listen while the others talk. A mutiny seemed "breaking out," And smallpox threatened every Scout. "Who touches a hair of yon soup," said he — 'Twas enough; that quelled the mutiny. All hungry cravings now were stayed, All appetite was lowly laid. The boys marched out in gallant style. Hills rose before them, pile on pile — But no grub-pile, yet hearts were gay, With breakfast just two miles(?) away. There's little truth in much of this, But it makes good reading, hit or miss; And what would comic poets do, If limited to what is true? Along the road four miles or so, As measured by Moroni Snow — Who almost melted then and there, So summary the simmery glare — We halted upon Dixie Creek. That hungry we could hardly speak. Endurance would no farther go. And every joy there turned to "whoa!" "Nature abhors a vacuum" — The Scouts knew how she hated 'tim; And each the void now sought to fill. Thus winning back the Dame's sweet will. And soon, with every want sunnlicd, On, onward o'er the hills we hied. Pray do not deem us gourmands nuite; Eating was thought of last — at night. Brown got off a good thing that dayGot off his horse on a high dug-way.

1064 IMPROVEMENT ERA Surrendering into Whitney's hand The liveliest centaur in the land: \ Revolutionary horse, From old Colonial days, of course, Stumbling, revolving o'er and o'er. From mountain road to reservoir, Rolling till he could roll no more, Then sticking fast in the muddy shore. Though with the Scouts he took no swim, None needed it much more than him. I lis pedigree no doubt was cure — A genuine 'Colt revolver," sure, But went off rather premature. Where Woods met Bowers beneath the trees, And from these woods made bowers of ease, We formed Camp Clayton, named for him Who wrote the sweet consoling hymn, "Come, come, nor toil nor labor fear" — A brave true-hearted Pioneer. There ting-a-linged the light guitar To ballads of the Civil War, Marching with Sherman to the Sea, Reviving days of minstrelsy. O. F. had heard B. H. orate, And now tried hard to imitate, Giving the orator tit for tat, A "Brigham Young" for an "Orson Pratt." Paul, the apostle of birds and bees, At home among the rocks and trees, Warned us of ivy — not Ivy Paul, Sweetest, most dangerous plant of all — But ivy of the three-leaved kind You're more than glad to leave behind. Poison segoes, they might be seen, But swallowed — Presto! change of scene. He taught with fluency and force, "Fought a good fight" and finished the course. We bundled into bed at ten, And slept till after midnight, when Two horses owned by Hyrum Grant Began to snort and puff and pant, Tug at their ropes and rip and rant, Pulling the wagon here and there, Rattlety bang and rattlety blare, Till on each head stood every hair. Most everything comes Heber's way, And when it comes it comes to stay; He feared 'twould be so in this case, And with those horses ran a race — They for his bunk, he from the same, In costume that I dare not name. No handicap nor steeple chase — In plain night-cap he set the pace. "Whoa! whoa!" — and jumping out of bed, Incontinently broke and fled.

HIKING THE TRAIL 1065 The nightmares roamed no more that night. And next time Hyrum tied more tight. "Build me a bridge, Horatius," Quoth Consul Grant next day. "Ye with three more to help ye — Build with what speed ye may." B. H. (bridge hiker) streamward strode, Hyrumius likewise went, And Junius and Moroni S.( With that blamed instrument. The bridge, when built, hung tottering Above the boiling tide; The Scouts — d'ye think they'd head that way? — They chose the steep hillside. 'Twas well — with splash like thunder Fell every misfit beam, And many a dam about that time Went sputtering down the stream. "Come back, come back, Horatius! Yeast Canyon Creek hath riz! Back, Hyrum M., back, Junius F., Back through the foaming fizz!" Back waded brave Horatius, Hyrumius waded back, The look their faces wore, the kind That looking glasses crack. Hilarius laughed till he was sore, June waded in his track, And July "waded into" "June" — All but "the cat came back." None welcomed them on Palatine, Nor any other ridge, For though they kept explaining things, They had not kept the bridge. The hikers, with a right good will. Climbed the ravined and wooded hill Where Salt Lake Valley first appears. There halted had the Pioneers While the great leader of the band Beheld his people's Promised Land. "Ye Mountains High!" — with vocal vim We rendered the immortal hymn! Where Pen-rose up to lyric heights. Now lung and tongue took airy flights, But nerched while History told the tale How sire and grandsire trod the trail. Then slid adown Big Mountain steep, In Mountain Dell to sup and sleep. Camp Grant, the last and best of all, We christened for our captain tall — Tall in an elevated land, Towering in most things good and grand. The pleasantest of all our camps, A precious memory, it stamps Its image on the plastic brain,

1066 IMPROVEMENT ERA Ne'er to be blotted out again. The shady grove, the long rich grass, The limpid stream, the lofty pass, The feast beneath the willows spread, The multitude on manna fed — Or was it hard-boiled eggs instead, With Richards raspberries o'er them spread? There Paul re-rendered Tennyson, And small-pox minimized to one. I will not say his reading did it — If so he thought full well he hid it. Happy the man whose terse translation Can take the place of vaccination. Why need he quake with foolish fears, Or e'en indulge in "idle tears?" Adieu! fair camp amid the wild, Where Nature on good nature smiled, As happy-hearted as a child. And not a word and not a deed To sow of bitter thoughts tne seed, Or make the heart or conscience bleed! Ere Wednesday's sun was out of bed, Ere Twenty-Fourth had breakfasted, Along the road our column sped. The way o'er Little Mountain led. And there the Scouts with all their scars, Like veterans coming from the wars, Boarded the Emigration cars; But left them at Mt. Olivet, And marched to where the sections met Of that unparalleled parade Wherein our banners were displayed; Halting betimes when trumpet played, While Charlie Johnson snapshots made. O ye that sulked in tents that day, Or soft in silken hammocks lay, While we climbed crags with the M. I. A., Led on by Moroni, B. H., and H. J., O'er sunflower gold and sagebrush gray, Ne'er scorning, though scouting, the Pioneer way! Do you hear the echoing bugle call? Have you clambered with me o'er the mountain wall, Heard the ringing laugh, the lusty shout, The mirthful fling and the merry flout, That cheered and enlivened the lonely route? Some day, perchance, you'll pass over it too. That hike had a purpose — 'twill dawn upon you When the National Highway Act pulls through. But you'll have no such time on your sputtering wheel, In your tire-punctured, tooting old automobile, . As the laddies who tramped it with toe and with heel.