Both Sacramento and San Francisco were full of enthusiasm. It was planned to give the first messenger a rousing reception when he should arrive from the East. He was received by crowds as he galloped into Sacramento, and hurried to a swift river steamboat which immediately started for the Bay. News of his coming was telegraphed ahead, and was announced from the stages of the San Francisco theaters so that when he arrived at midnight a large number of people were awaiting him, bands were playing, and bells were ringing; and a long procession escorted him to the company’s office. In all, there were sixty riders of this express company, all young men, light in weight, accomplished riders, coolheaded, and absolutely brave. They were held in high regard by all, and with good reason. Each when he entered the service signed this pledge:-- “I agree not to use profane language, not to get drunk, not to gamble, not to treat animals cruelly, and not to do anything incompatible with the conduct of a gentleman.” They also had to swear to be loyal to the Union. The average journey of one man was seventy-five miles, this to be accomplished in one day, but the men frequently had to double the distance, and once, when the messenger who was waiting was killed by Indians, “Buffalo Bill” (Mr. Cody) made the long trip of three hundred and eighty-four miles, stopping only for meals and to change horses. By day and by night, through rain and storm, heat and cold, they rode, these brave men, one facing east, the other west, alone, always alone, often chased by Indians, though, owing to their watchfulness and the superiority of their horses, they were seldom caught. A number were, however, killed by immigrants, who mistook them for Indians or robbers. The great feat of the Pony Express was the delivering of Lincoln’s inaugural address in 1861. With the Southern states claiming to be out of the Union, people were wild to know what the President would say. To St. Joseph, Missouri, the address was hurried. Here it was carefully wrapped in oil skin, consigned to the saddle bags, and amid wild cheers the express was off. Horses were waiting every ten miles. What a ride was that! “Speed, speed! faster, faster!” was the cry. Each man tried to do a trifle better than the last, while the thousands on the Pacific coast seemed to be straining their ears for the sound of the galloping hoof beats which brought nearer to them the brave message of the grand new President. And when the last rider came in, making the final ten miles in thirty-one minutes, what a cheer went up! One thousand nine hundred and fifty miles in one hundred and eighty-five hours, the message had traveled--at an average of a little more than ten miles an hour--straight across the continent. When we read of the speed-breaking special trains of to-day, let us not forget what these brave men of the first overland express accomplished in the days of ‘61. Chapter X The Signal Gun and the Steel Trail