Death Valley in \'49 by William Lewis Manly

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I tell you, friends, it was a trying moment. It seemed to be weighed
down with all the trails and hardships of many months. It seemed to be
the time when helpless women and innocent children hung on the trembling
balance between life and death. Our own lives we could save by going
back, and sometimes it seemed as if we would perhaps save ourselves the
additional sorrow of finding them all dead to do so at once. I was so
nearly in despair that I could not help bursting in tears, and I was not
ashamed of the weakness. Finally Rogers said, "Come Lewis" and I gently
pulled the rope, calling the little animal, to make a trial. She smelled
all around and looked over every inch of the strong ledge, then took one
careful step after another over the dangerous place. Looking back I saw
Rogers with a very large stone in his hand, ready to "holler" and
perhaps kill the poor beast if she stopped. But she crept along trusting
to the rope to balance, till she was half way across, then another step
or two, when calculating the distance closely she made a spring and
landed on a smooth bit of sloping rock below, that led up to the highest
crest of the precipice, and safely climbed to the top, safe and sound
above the falls. The mule had no shoes and it was wonderful how her
little hoofs clung to the smooth rock. We felt relieved. We would push
on and carry food to the people; we would get them through some way;
there could be no more hopeless moment than the one just past, and we
would save them all.

It was the work of a little while to transfer the load up the precipice,
and pack the mule again, when we proceeded. Around behind some rocks
only a little distance beyond this place we found a small willow bush
and enough good water for a camp. This was a strange canon. The sun
never shown down to the bottom in the fearful place where the little
mule climbed up, and the rocks had a peculiar yellow color. In getting
our provisions up the precipice, Rogers went below and fastened the rope
while I pulled them up. Rogers wished many times we had the horses up
safely where the mule was, but a dog could hardly cross the narrow path
and there was no hope. Poor brutes, they had been faithful servants, and
we felt sorrowful enough at their terrible fate.

We had walked two days without water, and we were wonderfully refreshed
as we found it here. The way up this canon was very rough and the bed
full of sharp broken rocks in loose pieces which cut through the bottoms
of our moccasins and left us with bare feet upon the acute points and
edges. I took off one of my buckskin leggins, and gave it to Rogers, and
with the other one for myself we fixed the moccasins with them as well
as we could, which enabled us to go ahead, but I think if our feet had
been shod with steel those sharp rocks would have cut through.

Starting early we made the summit about noon, and from here we could see
the place where we found a water hole and camped the first night after
we left the wagons. Down the steep canon we turned, the same one in
which we had turned back with the wagons, and over the sharp broken
pieces of volcanic rock that formed our only footing we hobbled along
with sore and tender feet. We had to watch for the smoothest place for
every step, and then moved only with the greatest difficulty. The
Indians could have caught us easily if they had been around for we must
keep our eyes on the ground constantly and stop if we looked up and
around. But we at last got down and camped on some spot where we had set
out twenty-five days before to seek the settlements. Here was the same
little water hole in the sand plain, and the same strong sulphur water
which we had to drink the day we left. The mule was turned loose
dragging the same piece of rawhide she had attached to her when we
purchased her, and she ranged and searched faithfully for food finding
little except the very scattering bunches of sage brush. She was
industrious and walked around rapidly picking here and there, but at
dark came into camp and lay down close to us to sleep.

There was no sign that any one had been here during our absence, and if
the people had gone to hunt a way out, they must either have followed
the Jayhawker's trail or some other one. We were much afraid that they
might have fallen victims to the Indians. Remaining in camp so long it
was quite likely they had been discovered by them and it was quite
likely they had been murdered for the sake of the oxen and camp
equipage. It might be that we should find the hostiles waiting for us
when we reached the appointed camping place, and it was small show for
two against a party. Our mule and her load would be a great capture for
them. We talked a great deal and said a great many things at that camp
fire for we knew we were in great danger, and we had many doubts about
the safety of our people, that would soon be decided, and whether for
joy or sorrow we could not tell.

From this place, as we walked along, we had a wagon road to follow, in
soft sand, but not a sign of a human footstep could we see, as we
marched toward this, the camp of the last hope. We had the greatest
fears the people had given up our return and started out for themselves
and that we should follow on, only to find them dead or dying. My pen
fails me as I try to tell the feelings and thoughts of this trying hour.
I can never hope to do so, but if the reader can place himself in my
place, his imagination cannot form a picture that shall go beyond
reality.

We were some seven or eight miles along the road when I stopped to fix
my moccasin while Rogers went slowly along. The little mule went on
ahead of both of us, searching all around for little bunches of dry
grass, but always came back to the trail again and gave us no trouble.
When I had started up again I saw Rogers ahead leaning on his gun and
waiting for me, apparently looking at something on the ground. As I came
near enough to speak I asked what he had found and he said--"Here is
Capt. Culverwell, dead." He did not look much like a dead man. He lay
upon his back with arms extended wide, and his little canteen, made of
two powder flasks, lying by his side. This looked indeed as if some of
our saddest forebodings were coming true. How many more bodies should we
find? Or should we find the camp deserted, and never find a trace of the
former occupants.

We marched toward camp like two Indians, silent and alert, looking out
for dead bodies and live Indians, for really we more expected to find
the camp devastated by those rascals than to find that it still
contained our friends. To the east we could plainly see what seemed to
be a large salt lake with a bed that looked as if of the finest, whitest
sand, but really a wonder of salt crystal. We put the dreary steps
steadily one forward of another, the little mule the only unconcerned
one of the party, ever looking for an odd blade of grass, dried in the
hot dry wind, but yet retaining nourishment, which she preferred.

About noon we came in sight of the wagons, still a long way off, but in
the clear air we could make them out, and tell what they were, without
being able to see anything more. Half a mile was the distance between us
and the camp before we could see very plainly, as they were in a little
depression. We could see the covers had been taken off, and this was an
ominous sort of circumstance to us, for we feared the depredations of
the Indians in retaliation for the capture of their squashes. They had
shot our oxen before we left and they have slain them this time and the
people too.

We surely left seven wagons. Now we could see only four and nowhere the
sign of an ox. They must have gone ahead with a small train, and left
these four standing, after dismantling them.

No signs of life were anywhere about, and the thought of our hard
struggles between life and death to go out and return, with the
fruitless results that now seemed apparent was almost more than human
heart could bear. When should we know their fate? When should we find
their remains, and how learn of their sad history if we ourselves should
live to get back again to settlements and life? If ever two men were
troubled, Rogers and I surely passed through the furnace.

We kept as low and as much out of sight as possible, trusting very much
to the little mule that was ahead, for we felt sure she would detect
danger in the air sooner than we, and we watched her closely to see how
she acted. She slowly walked along looking out for food, and we followed
a little way behind, but still no decisive sign to settle the awful
suspense in which we lived and suffered. We became more and more
convinced that they had taken the trail of the Jayhawkers, and we had
missed them on the road, or they had perished before reaching the place
where we turned from their trail.

One hundred yards now to the wagons and still no sign of life, no
positive sign of death, though we looked carefully for both. We fear
that perhaps there are Indians in ambush, and with nervous irregular
breathing we counsel what to do. Finally Rogers suggested that he had
two charges in his shot gun and I seven in the Coll's rifle, and that I
fire one of mine and await results before we ventured any nearer, and if
there are any of the red devils there we can kill some of them before
they get to us. And now both closely watching the wagons I fired the
shot. Still as death and not a move for a moment, and then as if by
magic a man came out from under a wagon and stood up looking all around,
for he did not see us. Then he threw up his arms high over his head and
shouted--"The boys have come. The boys have come!" Then other bare heads
appeared, and Mr. Bennett and wife and Mr. Arcane came toward us as fast
as ever they could. The great suspense was over and our hearts were
first in our mouths, and then the blood all went away and left us almost
fainting as we stood and tried to step. Some were safe perhaps all of
those nearest us, and the dark shadow of death that had hovered over us,
and cast what seemed a pall upon every thought and action, was lifted
and fell away a heavy oppression gone. Bennett and Arcane caught us in
their arms and embraced us with all their strength, and Mrs. Bennett
when she came fell down on her knees and clung to me like a maniac in
the great emotion that came to her, and not a word was spoken. If they
had been strong enough they would have carried us to camp upon their
shoulders. As it was they stopped two or three times, and turned as if
to speak, but there was too much feeling for words, convulsive weeping
would choke the voice.

All were a little calmer soon, and Bennett soon found voice to say:--"I
know you have found some place, for you have a mule," and Mrs. Bennett
through her tears, looked staringly at us as she could hardly believe
our coming back was a reality, and then exclaimed:--"Good boys! O, you
have saved us all! God bless you forever! Such boys should never die!"
It was some time before they could talk without weeping. Hope almost
died within them, and now when the first bright ray came it almost
turned reason from its throne. A brighter happier look came to them than
we had seen, and then they plied us with questions the first of which
was:--"Where were you?"

We told them it must be 250 miles yet to any part of California where we
could live. Then came the question;--"Can we take our wagons?" "You will
have to walk," was our answer, for no wagons could go over that unbroken
road that we had traveled. As rapidly and carefully as we could we told
them of our journey, and the long distance between the water holes; that
we had lost no time and yet had been twenty six days on the road; that
for a long distance the country was about as dry and desolate as the
region we had crossed east of this camp. We told them of the scarcity of
grass, and all the reasons that had kept us so long away from them.

We inquired after the others whom we had left in camp when we went away,
and we were told all they knew about them. Hardly were we gone before
they began to talk about the state of affairs which existed. They said
that as they had nothing to live on but their oxen it would be certain
death to wait here and eat them up, and that it would be much better to
move on a little every day and get nearer and nearer the goal before the
food failed. Bennett told them they would know surely about the way when
the boys returned, and knowing the road would know how to manage and
what to expect and work for, and could get out successfully. But the
general opinion of all but Mr. Bennett and Mr. Arcane and their families
was, as expressed by one of them:--"If those boys ever get out of this
cussed hole, they are d----d fools if they ever come back to help
anybody."

Some did not stay more than a week after we were gone, but took their
oxen and blankets and started on. They could not be content to stay idly
in camp with nothing to occupy their minds or bodies. They could see
that an ox when killed would feed them only a few days, and that they
could not live long on them, and it stood them in hand to get nearer the
western shore as the less distance the more hope while the meat lasted.
Bennett implored them to stay as he was sure we would come back, and if
the most of them deserted him he would be exposed to the danger of the
Indians, with no hope of a successful resistance against them.

But the most seemed to think that to stay was to die, and it would be
better to die trying to escape than to set idly down to perish. These
men seemed to think their first duty was to save themselves, and if
fortunate, help others afterward, so they packed their oxen and left in
separate parties, the last some two weeks before. They said that Capt.
Culverwell went with the last party. I afterward learned that he could
not keep up with them and turned to go back to the wagons again, and
perished, stretched out upon the sand as we saw him, dying all alone,
with no one to transmit his last words to family or friends. Not a
morsel to eat, and the little canteen by his side empty. A sad and
lonely death indeed!

There was no end to the questions about the road we had to answer, for
this was uppermost on their minds, and we tried to tell them and show
them how we must get along on our return. We told them of the great snow
mountains we had seen all to the north of our road, and how deep the
snow appeared to be, and how far west it extended. We told them of the
black and desolate ranges and buttes to the south, and of the great dry
plains in the same direction. We told them of the Jayhawkers trail; of
Fish's dead body; of the salt lake and slippery alkali water to which we
walked, only to turn away in disappointment; of the little sheets of ice
which saved our lives; of Doty's camp and what we knew of those gone
before; of the discouraged ones who gave us their names to send back to
friends; of the hawk and crow diet; of my lameness; of the final coming
out into a beautiful valley, in the midst of fat cattle and green
meadows, and the trouble to get the help arranged on account of not
knowing the language to tell the people what we needed. They were deeply
impressed that my lameness had been a blessing in disguise, or we would
have gone on to the coast and consumed more time than we did in walking
slowly to favor the cripple knee. Our sad adventures and loss of the
horses in returning was sorrowfully told and we spoke of the provisions
we had been able to bring on the little mule which had clambered over
the rocks like a cat; that we had a little flour and beans, and some
good dried meat with fat on it which we hoped would help to eke out the
poorer fare and get them through at last. They were so full of
compliments that we really began to think we had been brought into the
world on purpose to assist some one, and the one who could forecast all
things had directed us, and all our ways, so that we should save those
people and bring them to a better part of God's footstool, where plenty
might be enjoyed, and the sorrows of the desert forgotten. It was
midnight before we could get them all satisfied with their knowledge of
our experience.

[Illustation: Leaving Death Valley.--The Manly Party on Foot After
Leaving Their Wagons.]

It was quite a treat to us to sleep again between good blankets,
arranged by a woman's hand, and it was much better resting than the
curled up, cramped position we had slept in while away, with only the
poor protection of the half blanket for both of us, in nights that were
pretty chilly.

We had plenty of water here, and there being no fear of the mule going
astray we turned her loose. As the party had seen no Indians during our
absence we did not concern ourselves much about them. At breakfast we
cautioned them about eating too much bread, remembering, our own
experience in that way.

They said they had about given up our coming back a week before, and had
set about getting ready to try to move on themselves. Bennett said he
was satisfied that they never could have got through alone after what we
had told them of the route and its dangers. He said he knew it now that
not one of them would have lived if they had undertaken the journey
alone without knowledge of the way.

They had taken off the covers of the wagons to make them into houses for
the oxen, so they could be used as pack animals. The strong cloth had
been cut into narrow strips and well made into breast straps and
breeching, for the cattle were so poor and their hide so loose it was
almost impossible to keep anything on their backs. They had emptied the
feathers out of the beds to get the cloth to use, and had tried to do
everything that seemed best to do to get along without wagons. The oxen
came up for water, and the mule with them. They looked better than when
we left, but were still poor. They had rested for some time and might
feel able to go along willingly for a few days at least. I was handy
with the needle, and helped them to complete the harness for the oxen,
while Bennett and John went to the lake to get a supply of salt to take
along, a most necessary article with our fresh meat. I looked around a
little at our surroundings, and could see the snow still drifting over
the peak of the snowy mountain as we had seen it farther east, where we
were ourselves under the burning sun. This was now pretty near February
first, or midwinter. The eastern side of this great mountain was too
steep to be ascended, and no sign of a tree could be seen on the whole
eastern slope. The range of mountains on the east side of this narrow
valley were nearly all the volcanic, barren in the extreme, and the
roughest of all the mountains we had ever seen. I had now looked pretty
thoroughly, and found it to be pretty nearly a hundred miles long, and
this was the only camp I had seen where water could be had.

When Mrs. Bennet was ready to show me what to do on the cloth harness,
we took a seat under the wagon, the only shady place and began work. The
great mountain, I have spoken of as the snow mountain has since been
known as Telescope Peak, reported to be 11,000 feet high. It is in the
range running north and south and has no other peak so high. Mrs.
Bennett questioned me closely about the trip, and particularly if I had
left anything out which I did not want her to know. She said she saw her
chance to ride was very slim, and she spoke particularly of the
children, and that it was impossible for them to walk. She said little
Martha had been very sick since we had been gone, and that for many days
they had expected her to die. They had no medicine to relieve her and
the best they could do was to select the best of the ox meat, and make a
little soup of it and feed her, they had watched her carefully for many
days and nights, expecting they would have to part with her any time and
bury her little body in the sands. Sometimes it seemed as if her breath
would stop, but they had never failed in their attentions, and were at
last rewarded by seeing her improve slowly, and even to relish a little
food, so that if no relapse set in they had hopes to bring her through.
They brought the little one and showed her to me, and she seemed so
different from what she was when we went away. Then she could run about
camp climb out and in the wagons, and move about so spry that she
reminded one of a quail. Now she was strangely misshapen. Her limbs had
lost all the flesh and seemed nothing but skin and bones, while her body
had grown corpulent and distended, and her face had a starved pinched
and suffering look, with no healthy color in it.

She told me of their sufferings while we were gone, and said she often
dreamed she saw us suffering fearfully for water, and lack of food and
could only picture to herself as their own fate, that they must leave
the children by the trail side, dead, and one by one drop out themselves
in the same way. She said she dreamed often of her old home where bread
was plenty, and then to awake to find her husband and children starving
was a severe trial indeed, and the contrast terrible. She was anxious to
get me to express an opinion as to whether I thought we could get the
oxen down the falls where we had so much trouble.

I talked to her as encouragingly as I could, but she did not cheer up
much and sobbed and wept over her work most all the time. It was not
possible to encourage her much, the outlook seemed so dark. Mrs. Arcane
sat under another wagon and said nothing, but she probably heard all we
had to say, and did not look as if her hopes were any brighter. Bennett
and Rogers soon returned with a supply of salt and said the whole shore
of the lake was a winrow of it, that could be shoveled up in enormous
quantities.

We now in a counsel of the whole, talked over the matter, and the way
which seemed most promising. If we went by the Jayhawkers trail, there
was a week of solid travel to get over the range and back south again as
far as a point directly opposite our camp, and this had taken us only
three days to come over as we had come. The only obstacle in the way was
the falls, and when we explained that there was some sand at the bottom
of them, Bennett said he thought we could get them over without killing
them, and that, as we knew exactly where the water was, this was the
best trail to take. Arcane was quite of the same opinion, the saving of
a week of hard and tiresome travel being in each case the deciding
reason. They then explained to me what they had decided on doing if we
had not come back. They had selected two oxen for the women to ride one
to carry water and one to carry the four children. There were no saddles
but blankets enough to make a soft seat, and they proposed to put a band
or belt around the animals for them to hold on by, and the blankets
would be retained in place by breast and breeching straps which we had
made. They had found out that it was very difficult to keep a load of
any kind upon an ox, and had devised all this harness to meet the
trouble.

Bennett had one old bridle ox called Old Crump, which had been selected
to carry the children, because he was slow and steady. How in the world
do you expect it to keep the children on?--said I. "Well"--said Bennett,
with a sort of comical air, about the first relief from the sad line of
thought that had possessed us all--"We have taken two strong hickory
shirts, turned the sleeves inside, sewed up the necks, then sewed the
two shirts together by the tail, and when these are placed on the ox
they will make two pockets for the youngest children, and we think the
two others will be able to cling to his back with the help of a band
around the body of the ox to which they can cling to, with their hands."
Now if Old Crump went steady and did not kick up and scatter things, he
thought this plan would operate first rate. Now as to the mule they
proposed as we knew how to pack the animal, that we should use her to
pack our provisions so they would go safe.

From a piece of hide yet remaining John and I made ourselves some new
moccasins, and were all ready to try the trip over our old trail for now
the third time, and the last, we hoped.

Mrs. Bennett and Mrs. Arcane had taken our advice, and in cooking had
not put too much of the flour or beans into the soup for the children
and they had gotten along nicely, and even began to smile a little with
satisfaction after a full meal. They got along better than John and I
did when we got hold of the first nutritions after our arrival on the
other side.

We must leave everything here we can get along without. No clothing
except that on our backs. Only a camp kettle in which to make soup, a
tin cup for each one, and some knives and spoons which each happen to
have. Each one had some sort of a canteen for water, which we must fill
up at every opportunity, and we decided to carry a shovel along, so we
might bury the body of Capt. Culverwell, and shovel up a pile of sand at
the falls to enable us to get the oxen over. Every ox had a cloth halter
on his head, so he might be led, or tied up at night when we had a dry
camp, and they would most assuredly wander off if not secured. Old Crump
was chosen to lead the train, and Rogers was to lead him. We had made an
extra halter for this old fellow, and quite a long strip of bed ticking
sewed into a strap to lead him by.

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