Death Valley in '49 by William Lewis Manly
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William Lewis Manly >> Death Valley in '49
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35 DEATH VALLEY IN '49.
* * * * *
IMPORTANT CHAPTER OF California Pioneer History.
* * * * *
--THE--
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A PIONEER, DETAILING HIS LIFE FROM A HUMBLE HOME IN THE
GREEN MOUNTAINS TO THE GOLD MINES OF CALIFORNIA; AND PARTICULARLY
RECITING THE SUFFERINGS OF THE BAND OF MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN WHO GAVE
"DEATH VALLEY" ITS NAME.
BY WILLIAM LEWIS MANLY.
1894.
* * * * *
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1894, by WM. L.
MANLEY, In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D.C.
* * * * *
TO THE PIONEERS OF CALIFORNIA, THEIR CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN, THIS
BOOK IS DEDICATED, WITH THAT HIGH RESPECT AND REGARD SO OFTEN EXPRESSED
IN ITS PAGES, BY THE AUTHOR.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. Birth, Parentage.--Early Life in Vermont.--Sucking Cider
through a Straw.
CHAPTER II. The Western Fever.--On the Road to Ohio.--The Outfit.--The
Erie Canal.--In the Maumee Swamp.
CHAPTER III. At Detroit and Westward.--Government Land.--Killing
Deer.--"Fever 'N Agur."
CHAPTER IV. The Lost Filley Boy.--Never Was Found.
CHAPTER V. Sickness.--Rather Catch Chipmonks in the Rocky Mountains than
Live in Michigan.--Building the Michigan Central R.R.--Building a
Boat.--Floating down Grand River.--Black Bear.--Indians Catching
Mullet.--Across the Lake to Southport.--Lead Mining at Mineral
Point.--Decides to go Farther West.--Return to Michigan.
CHAPTER VI. Wisconsin.--Indian Physic.--Dressed for a Winter Hunting
Campaign.--Hunting and Trapping in the Woods.--Catching Otter and
Marten.
CHAPTER VII. Lead Mining.--Hears about Gold in California.--Gets the
Gold Fever.--Nothing will cure it but California.--Mr. Bennett and the
Author Prepare to Start.--The Winnebago Pony.--Agrees to Meet Bennett at
Missouri River.--Delayed and Fails to Find Him.--Left with only a Gun
and Pony.--Goes as a Driver for Charles Dallas.--Stopped by a Herd of
Buffaloes.--Buffalo Meat.--Indians.--U.S. Troops.--The Captain and the
Lieutenant.--Arrive at South Pass.--The Waters Run toward the
Pacific.--They Find a Boat and Seven of them Decide to Float down the
Green River.
CHAPTER VIII. Floating down the River.--It begins to roar.--Thirty Miles
a Day.--Brown's Hole.--Lose the Boat and make two Canoes.--Elk.--The
Canons get Deeper.--Floundering in the Water.--The Indian Camp.--Chief
Walker proves a Friend.--Describes the Terrible Canon below
Them.--Advises Them to go no farther down.--Decide to go
Overland.--Dangerous Route to Salt Lake.--Meets Bennett near
there.--Organize the Sand Walking Company.
CHAPTER IX. The Southern Route.--Off in Fine Style.--A Cut-off
Proposed.--Most of Them Try it and Fail.--The Jayhawkers.--A New
Organization.--Men with Families not Admitted.--Capture an Indian Who
Gives Them the Slip.--An Indian Woman and Her Children.--Grass Begins to
Fail.--A High Peak to the West.--No Water.--An Indian Hut.--Reach the
Warm Spring.--Desert Everywhere.--Some One Steals Food.--The Water Acts
Like a Dose of Salts.--Christmas Day.--Rev. J.W. Brier Delivers a
Lecture to His Sons.--Nearly Starving and Choking.--An Indian in a
Mound.--Indians Shoot the Oxen.--Camp at Furnace Creek.
CHAPTER X. A Long, Narrow Valley.--Beds and Blocks of Salt.--An Ox
Killed.--Blood, Hide and Intestines Eaten.--Crossing Death Valley.--The
Wagons can go no farther.--Manley and Rogers Volunteer to go for
Assistance.--They Set out on Foot.--Find the Dead Body of Mr. Fish.--Mr.
Isham Dies.--Bones along the Road.--Cabbage Trees.--Eating Crow and
Hawk.--After Sore Trials They Reach a Fertile Land.--Kindly
Treated.--Returning with Food and Animals.--The Little Mule Climbs a
Precipice, the Horses are Left Behind.--Finding the Body of Captain
Culverwell.--They Reach Their Friends just as all Hope has Left
Them.--Leaving the Wagons.--Packs on the Oxen.--Sacks for the
Children.--Old Crump.--Old Brigham and Mrs. Arcane.--A Stampede
[Illustrated.]--Once more Moving Westward.--"Good-bye, Death Valley."
CHAPTER XI. Struggling Along.--Pulling the Oxen Down the Precipice
[Illustrated.]--Making Raw-hide Moccasins.--Old Brigham Lost and
Found.--Dry Camps.--Nearly Starving.--Melancholy and Blue.--The Feet of
the Women Bare and Blistered.--"One Cannot form an Idea How Poor an Ox
Will Get."--Young Charlie Arcane very Sick.--Skulls of Cattle.--Crossing
the Snow Belt.--Old Dog Cuff.--Water Dancing over the Rocks.--Drink, Ye
Thirsty Ones.--Killing a Yearling.--- See the Fat.--Eating Makes Them
Sick.--Going down Soledad Canon--A Beautiful Meadow.--Hospitable Spanish
People.--They Furnish Shelter and Food.--The San Fernando
Mission.--Reaching Los Angeles.--They Meet Moody and Skinner.--Soap and
Water for the First Time in Months.--Clean Dresses for the Women.--Real
Bread to Eat.--A Picture of Los Angeles.--Black-eyed Women.--The Author
Works in a Boarding-house.--Bennett and Others go up the Coast.--Life in
Los Angeles.--The Author Prepares to go North.
CHAPTER XII. Dr. McMahon's Story.--McMahon and Field, Left behind with
Chief Walker, Determine to go down the River.--Change Their Minds and go
with the Indians.--Change again and go by themselves.--Eating Wolf
Meat.--After much Suffering they reach Salt Lake.--John Taylor's Pretty
Wife.--Field falls in Love with her.--They Separate.--Incidents of
Wonderful Escapes from Death.
CHAPTER XIII. Story of the Jayhawkers.--Ceremonies of Initiation--Rev.
J.W. Brier.--His Wife the best Man of the Two.--Story of the Road across
Death Valley.--Burning the Wagons.--Narrow Escape of Tom Shannon.--Capt.
Ed Doty was Brave and True.--They reach the Sea by way of Santa Clara
River.--Capt. Haynes before the Alcalde.--List of Jayhawkers.
CHAPTER XIV. Alexander Erkson's Statement.--Works for Brigham Young at
Salt Lake.--Mormon Gold Coin.--Mt. Misery.--The Virgin River and Yucca
Trees.--A Child Born to Mr, and Mrs. Rynierson.--Arrive at
Cucamonga.--Find some good Wine which is good for Scurvy.--San Francisco
and the Mines.--Settles in San Jose.--Experience of Edward Coker.--Death
of Culverwell, Fish and Isham.--Goes through Walker's Pass and down Kern
River.--Living in Fresno in 1892.
CHAPTER XV. The Author again takes up the History.--Working in a
Boarding House, but makes Arrangements to go North.--Mission San Bueno
Ventura.--First Sight of the Pacific Ocean.--Santa Barbara in
1850.--Paradise and Desolation.--San Miguel, Santa Ynez and San Luis
Obispo.--California Carriages and how they were used.--Arrives in San
Jose and Camps in the edge of Town.--Description of the place.--Meets
John Rogers, Bennett, Moody and Skinner.--On the road to the
Mines.--They find some of the Yellow Stuff and go Prospecting for
more--Experience with _Piojos_--Life and Times in the Mines--Sights and
Scenes along the Road, at Sea, on the Isthmus, Cuba, New Orleans, and up
the Mississippi--A few Months Amid Old Scenes, then away to the Golden
State again.
CHAPTER XVI St. Louis to New Orleans, New Orleans to San Francisco--Off
to the Mines Again--Life in the Mines and Incidents of Mining Times and
Men--Vigilance Committee--Death of Mrs. Bennett.
CHAPTER XVII Mines and Mining--Adventures and Incidents of the Early
Days--The Pioneers, their Character and Influence--- Conclusion.
* * * * *
DEATH VALLEY IN '49
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A PIONEER
CHAPTER I.
St. Albans, Vermont is near the eastern shore of Lake Champlain, and
only a short distance south of "Five-and-forty north degrees" which
separates the United States from Canada, and some sixty or seventy miles
from the great St. Lawrence River and the city of Montreal. Near here it
was, on April 6th, 1820, I was born, so the record says, and from this
point with wondering eyes of childhood I looked across the waters of the
narrow lake to the slopes of the Adirondack mountains in New York, green
as the hills of my own Green Mountain State.
The parents of my father were English people and lived near Hartford,
Connecticut, where he was born. While still a little boy he came with
his parents to Vermont. My mother's maiden name was Phoebe Calkins, born
near St. Albans of Welch parents, and, being left an orphan while yet in
very tender years, she was given away to be reared by people who
provided food and clothes, but permitted her to grow up to womanhood
without knowing how to read or write. After her marriage she learned to
do both, and acquired the rudiments of an education.
Grandfather and his boys, four in all, fairly carved a farm out of the
big forest that covered the cold rocky hills. Giant work it was for them
in such heavy timber--pine, hemlock, maple, beech and birch--the
clearing of a single acre being a man's work for a year. The place where
the maples were thickest was reserved for a sugar grove, and from it was
made all of the sweet material they needed, and some besides. Economy of
the very strictest kind had to be used in every direction. Main strength
and muscle were the only things dispensed in plenty. The crops raised
consisted of a small flint corn, rye oats, potatoes and turnips. Three
cows, ten or twelve sheep, a few pigs and a yoke of strong oxen
comprised the live stock--horses, they had none for many years. A great
ox-cart was the only wheeled vehicle on the place, and this, in winter,
gave place to a heavy sled, the runners cut from a tree having a natural
crook and roughly, but strongly, made.
In summer there were plenty of strawberries, raspberries, whortleberries
and blackberries growing wild, but all the cultivated fruit was apples.
As these ripened many were peeled by hand, cut in quarters, strung on
long strings of twine and dried before the kitchen fire for winter use.
They had a way of burying up some of the best keepers in the ground, and
opening the apple hole was quite an event of early spring.
The children were taught to work as soon as large enough. I remember
they furnished me with a little wooden fork to spread the heavy swath of
grass my father cut with easy swings of the scythe, and when it was dry
and being loaded on the great ox-cart I followed closely with a rake
gathering every scattering spear. The barn was built so that every
animal was housed comfortably in winter, and the house was such as all
settlers built, not considered handsome, but capable of being made very
warm in winter and the great piles of hard wood in the yard enough to
last as fuel for a year, not only helped to clear the land, but kept us
comfortable. Mother and the girls washed, carded, spun, and wove the
wool from our own sheep into good strong cloth. Flax was also raised,
and I remember how they pulled it, rotted it by spreading on the green
meadow, then broke and dressed it, and then the women made linen cloth
of various degrees of fineness, quality, and beauty. Thus, by the labor
of both men and women, we were clothed. If an extra fine Sunday dress
was desired, part of the yarn was colored and from this they managed to
get up a very nice plaid goods for the purpose.
In clearing the land the hemlock bark was peeled and traded off at the
tannery for leather, or used to pay for tanning and dressing the hide of
an ox or cow which they managed to fat and kill about every year. Stores
for the family were either made by a neighboring shoe-maker, or by a
traveling one who went from house to house, making up a supply for the
family--whipping the cat, they called it then. They paid him in
something or other produced upon the farm, and no money was asked or
expected.
Wood was one thing plenty, and the fireplace was made large enough to
take in sticks four feet long or more, for the more they could burn the
better, to get it out of the way. In an outhouse, also provided with a
fireplace and chimney, they made shingles during the long winter
evenings, the shavings making plenty of fire and light by which to work.
The shingles sold for about a dollar a thousand. Just beside the
fireplace in the house was a large brick oven where mother baked great
loaves of bread, big pots of pork and beans, mince pies and loaf cake, a
big turkey or a young pig on grand occasions. Many of the dishes used
were of tin or pewter; the milk pans were of earthenware, but most
things about the house in the line of furniture were of domestic
manufacture.
The store bills were very light. A little tea for father and mother, a
few spices and odd luxuries were about all, and they were paid for with
surplus eggs. My father and my uncle had a sawmill, and in winter they
hauled logs to it, and could sell timber for $8 per thousand feet.
The school was taught in winter by a man named Bowen, who managed forty
scholars and considered sixteen dollars a month, boarding himself, was
pretty fair pay. In summer some smart girl would teach the small
scholars and board round among the families.
When the proper time came the property holder would send off to the
collector an itemized list of all his property, and at another the taxes
fell due. A farmer who would value his property at two thousand or three
thousand dollars would find he had to pay about six or seven dollars.
All the money in use then seemed to be silver, and not very much of
that. The whole plan seemed to be to have every family and farm
self-supporting as far as possible. I have heard of a note being given
payable in a good cow to be delivered at a certain time, say October 1,
and on that day it would pass from house to house in payment of a debt,
and at night only the last man in the list would have a cow more than
his neighbor. Yet those were the days of real independence, after all.
Every man worked hard from early youth to a good old age. There were no
millionaires, no tramps, and the poorhouse had only a few inmates.
I have very pleasant recollections of the neighborhood cider mill. There
were two rollers formed of logs carefully rounded and four or five feet
long, set closely together in an upright position in a rough frame, a
long crooked sweep coming from one of them to which a horse was hitched
and pulled it round and round, One roller had mortices in it, and
projecting wooden teeth on the other fitted into these, so that, as they
both slowly turned together, the apples were crushed, A huge box of
coarse slats, notched and locked together at the corners, held a vast
pile of the crushed apples while clean rye straw was added to strain the
flowing juice and keep the cheese from spreading too much; then the
ponderous screw and streams of delicious cider. Sucking cider through a
long rye straw inserted in the bung-hole of a barrel was just the best
of fun, and cider taken that way "awful" good while it was new and
sweet.
The winter ashes, made from burning so much fuel and gathered from the
brush-heaps and log-heaps, were carefully saved and traded with the
potash men for potash or sold for a small price. Nearly every one went
barefoot in summer, and in winter wore heavy leather moccasins made by
the Canadian French who lived near by.
CHAPTER II.
About 1828 people began to talk about the far West. Ohio was the place
we heard most about, and the most we knew was, that it was a long way
off and no way to get there except over a long and tedious road, with
oxen or horses and a cart or wagon. More than one got the Western fever,
as they called it, my uncle James Webster and my father among the rest,
when they heard some traveler tell about the fine country he had seen;
so they sold their farms and decided to go to Ohio, Uncle James was to
go ahead, in the fall of 1829 and get a farm to rent, if he could, and
father and his family were to come on the next spring.
Uncle fitted out with two good horses and a wagon; goods were packed in
a large box made to fit, and under the wagon seat was the commissary
chest for food and bedding for daily use, all snugly arranged. Father
had, shortly before, bought a fine Morgan mare and a light wagon which
served as a family carriage, having wooden axles and a seat arranged on
wooden springs, and they finally decided they would let me take the
horse and wagon and go on with uncle, and father and mother would come
by water, either by way of the St. Lawrence river and the lakes or by
way of the new canal recently built, which would take them as far as
Buffalo.
So they loaded up the little wagon with some of the mentioned things and
articles in the house, among which I remember a fine brass kettle,
considered almost indispensable in housekeeping. There was a good lot of
bedding and blankets, and a quilt nicely folded was placed on the spring
seat as a cushion.
As may be imagined I was the object of a great deal of attention about
this time, for a boy not yet ten years old just setting out into a
region almost unknown was a little unusual. When I was ready they all
gathered round to say good bye and my good mother seemed most concerned.
She said--"Now you must be a good boy till we come in the spring. Mind
uncle and aunt and take good care of the horse, and remember us. May God
protect you." She embraced me and kissed me and held me till she was
exhausted. Then they lifted me up into the spring seat, put the lines in
my hand and handed me my little whip with a leather strip for a lash.
Just at the last moment father handed me a purse containing about a
dollar, all in copper cents--pennies we called them then. Uncle had
started on they had kept me so long, but I started up and they all
followed me along the road for a mile or so before we finally separated
and they turned back. They waved hats and handkerchiefs till out of
sight as they returned, and I wondered if we should ever meet again.
I was up with uncle very soon and we rolled down through St. Albans and
took our road southerly along in sight of Lake Champlain. Uncle and aunt
often looked back to talk to me, "See what a nice cornfield!" or, "What
nice apples on those trees," seeming to think they must do all they
could to cheer me up, that I might not think too much of the playmates
and home I was leaving behind.
I had never driven very far before, but I found the horse knew more than
I did how to get around the big stones and stumps that were found in the
road, so that as long as I held the lines and the whip in hand I was an
excellent driver.
We had made plans and preparations to board ourselves on the journey. We
always stopped at the farm houses over night, and they were so
hospitable that they gave us all we wanted free. Our supper was
generally of bread and milk, the latter always furnished gratuitously,
and I do not recollect that we were ever turned away from any house
where we asked shelter. There were no hotels, or taverns as they called
them, outside of the towns.
In due time we reached Whitehall, at the head of Lake Champlain, and the
big box in Uncle's wagon proved so heavy over the muddy roads that he
put it in a canal boat to be sent on to Cleveland, and we found it much
easier after this for there were too many mud-holes, stumps and stones
and log bridges for so heavy a load as he had. Our road many times after
this led along near the canal, the Champlain or the Erie, and I had a
chance to see something of the canal boys' life. The boy who drove the
horses that drew the packet boat was a well dressed fellow and always
rode at a full trot or a gallop, but the freight driver was generally
ragged and barefoot, and walked when it was too cold to ride, threw
stones or clubs at his team, and cursed and abused the packet-boy who
passed as long as he was in hearing. Reared as I had been I thought it
was a pretty wicked part of the world we were coming to.
We passed one village of low cheap houses near the canal. The men about
were very vulgar and talked rough and loud, nearly every one with a
pipe, and poorly dressed, loafing around the saloon, apparently the
worse for whisky. The children were barefoot, bare headed and scantly
dressed, and it seemed awfully dirty about the doors of the shanties.
Pigs, ducks and geese were at the very door, and the women I saw wore
dresses that did not come down very near the mud and big brogan shoes,
and their talk was saucy and different from what I had ever heard women
use before. They told me they were Irish people--the first I had ever
seen. It was along here somewhere that I lost my little whip and to get
another one made sad inroads into the little purse of pennies my father
gave me. We traveled slowly on day after day. There was no use to hurry
for we could not do it. The roads were muddy, the log ways very rough
and the only way was to take a moderate gait and keep it. We never
traveled on Sunday. One Saturday evening my uncle secured the privilege
of staying at a well-to do farmer's house until Monday. We had our own
food and bedding, but were glad to get some privileges in the kitchen,
and some fresh milk or vegetables. After all had taken supper that night
they all sat down and made themselves quiet with their books, and the
children were as still as mice till an early bed time when all retired.
When Sunday evening came the women got out their work--their sewing and
their knitting, and the children romped and played and made as much
noise as they could, seeming as anxious to break the Sabbath as they had
been to have a pious Saturday night. I had never seen that way before
and asked my uncle who said he guessed they were Seventh Day Baptists.
After many days of travel which became to me quite monotonous we came to
Cleveland, on Lake Erie, and here my uncle found his box of goods,
loaded it into the wagon again, and traveled on through rain and mud,
making very slow headway, for two or three days after, when we stopped
at a four-corners in Medina county they told us we were only 21 miles
from Cleveland. Here was a small town consisting of a hotel, store,
church, schoolhouse and blacksmith shop, and as it was getting cold and
bad, uncle decided to go no farther now, and rented a room for himself
and aunt, and found a place for me to lodge with Daniel Stevens' boy
close by. We got good stables for our horses.
I went to the district school here, and studied reading, spelling and
Colburn's mental arithmetic, which I mastered. It began very easy--"How
many thumbs on your right hand?" "How many on your left?" "How many
altogether?" but it grew harder further on.
Uncle took employment at anything he could find to do. Chopping was his
principal occupation. When the snow began to go off he looked around for
a farm to rent for us and father to live on when he came, but he found
none such as he needed. He now got a letter from father telling him that
he had good news from a friend named Cornish who said that good land
nearly clear of timber could be bought of the Government in Michigan
Territory, some sixty or seventy miles beyond Detroit, and this being an
opportunity to get land they needed with their small capital, they would
start for that place as soon as the water-ways were thawed out, probably
in April.
We then gave up the idea of staying here and prepared to go to Michigan
as soon as the frost was out of the ground. Starting, we reached Huron
River to find it swollen and out of its bank, giving us much trouble to
get across, the road along the bottom lands being partly covered with
logs and rails, but once across we were in the town and when we enquired
about the road around to Detroit, they said the country was all a swamp
and 30 miles wide and in Spring impassible. They called it the Maumee or
Black Swamp, We were advised to go by water, when a steamboat came up
the river bound for Detroit we put our wagons and horses on board, and
camped on the lower deck ourselves. We had our own food and were very
comfortable, and glad to have escaped the great mudhole.
CHAPTER III.
We arrived in Detroit safely, and a few minutes answered to land our
wagons and goods, when we rolled outward in a westerly direction. We
found a very muddy roads, stumps and log bridges plenty, making our rate
of travel very slow. When out upon our road about 30 miles, near
Ypsilanti, the thick forest we had been passing through grew thinner,
and the trees soon dwindled down into what they called oak openings, and
the road became more sandy. When we reached McCracken's Tavern we began
to enquire for Ebenezer Manley and family, and were soon directed to a
large house near by where he was stopping for a time.
We drove up to the door and they all came out to see who the new comers
were. Mother saw me first and ran to the wagon and pulled me off and
hugged and kissed me over and over again, while the tears ran down her
cheeks, Then she would hold me off at arm's length, and look me in the
eye and say--"I am so glad to have you again"; and then she embraced me
again and again. "You are our little man," said she, "You have come over
this long road, and brought us our good horse and our little wagon." My
sister Polly two years older than I, stood patiently by, and when mother
turned to speak to uncle and aunt, she locked arms with me and took me
away with her. We had never been separated before in all our lives and
we had loved each other as good children should, who have been brought
up in good and moral principles. We loved each other and our home and
respected our good father and mother who had made it so happy for us.
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