Death Valley in \'49 by William Lewis Manly

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This sporting trip was quite different from deer hunting in Wisconsin,
and nothing like looking for game in Death Valley where nothing lived.
It was the hardest night's work that ever came to me in many a day, and
not the wild sport I generally looked for when on the chase. I felt
pretty well when I got up, and a chunk of my last night's prize which
had been toasted for me was eaten with a relish, for it was the best of
meat and I, of course, had a first class appetite. I had to tell them my
last hunting story, and was much praised as a lucky boy.

We would not be compelled to kill any more of our poor oxen in order to
live. So far we had killed six of them, and there were five left. Our
present situation was much appreciated, compared with that of a few days
ago when we were crawling slowly over the desert, hungry, sore-footed
and dry, when to lie was far easier than to take steps forward. We felt
like rejoicing at our deliverance and there was no mourning now for us.
The surrounding hills and higher mountains seemed more beautiful to us.
They were covered with green trees and brush, not a desert place in
sight. The clear little singing brook ran merrily on its way, the
happiest, brightest stream in all my memory. Wild birds came near us
without fear, and seemed very friendly. All was calm, and the bright
sunshine exactly warm enough so that no one could complain of heat or
cold.

When ready to move it was announced that I had lost my saddle blanket in
my adventure, so they substituted another one and I took the back track
to the place where the mule slipped down the bank, and there I found it.
I soon overtook them again just as they were going to camp on Mrs.
Bennett's account, as she had been suddenly taken sick with severe pain
and vomiting, something as Rogers and I had been after eating our first
California corn meal. The rich, fat meat was too strong for her weak
stomach.

Arcane all along had an idea that Rogers and I meant to surprise them by
leading them to believe the house we had visited was quite a distance
off, and then to so manage it that it should appear upon their sight
suddenly. We assured them it would take two or more camps before we
could get there, and if Mrs. Bennett did not soon recover, even more
than that. Our camp here was under a great live oak, the ground deep
covered with dry leaves, and near by a beautiful meadow where our cattle
and mule ate, drank and rested, the oxen chewing their cud with such an
air of comfort as had not come to them since leaving their far-off
eastern pastures. They seemed as much pleased as any one. They would lie
down and rest and eat at the same time in perfectly enjoyable laziness.

Here we all rested and washed such clothes as we could do without long
enough to dry, and washed our faces and hands over and over again to
remove the dirt which had been burned and sweated in so completely as
not to come off readily. We sat on the bank of the brook with our feet
dangling in the water, a most refreshing bath, and they too began to
look clean again. We often saw tracks of the grizzly bear about, but in
our ignorance had no fear of them, for we did not know they were a
dangerous animal. An owl came and hooted in the night, but that was the
only challenge any wild beast or bird gave to our peaceful and restful
camp. We were out of the dreadful sands and shadows of Death Valley, its
exhausting phantoms, its salty columns, bitter lakes and wild, dreary
sunken desolation. If the waves of the sea could flow in and cover its
barren nakedness, as we now know they might if a few sandy barriers were
swept away, it would be indeed, a blessing, for in it there is naught of
good, comfort or satisfaction, but ever in the minds of those who braved
its heat and sands, a thought of a horrid Charnel house, a corner of the
earth so dreary that it requires an exercise of strongest faith to
believe that the great Creator ever smiled upon it as a portion of his
work and pronounced it "Very good." We had crossed the great North
American Continent, from a land of plenty, over great barren hills and
plains, to another mild and beautiful region, where, though still in
winter months, we were basking in the warmth and luxuriance of early
summer. We thought not of the gold we had come to win. We were dead
almost, and now we lived. We were parched with thirst, and now the
brightest of crystal streams invited us to stoop and drink. We were
starved so that we had looked at each other with maniac thoughts, and
now we placed in our mouth the very fat of the land. We had seen our
cattle almost perishing; seen them grow gaunt and tottering; seen them
slowly plod along with hanging heads and only the supremacy of human
will over animal instinct had kept them from lying down never to rise
again. Now they were in pastures of sweet grass, chewing the cud of
content and satisfaction. Life which had been a burden grew sweet to us,
and though it may be that our words of praise to Him, whose will was to
deliver us out of the jaws of death, were not set nor formal, yet His
all-seeing eye saw the truth in our hearts, and saw there the fullest
expression of our gratitude and thankfulness. Who shall say the thanks
that arose were less acceptable, because not given on bended knees
before gilded altars?

Though across the desert and evidently in the long promised land our
troubles and trials were not through by any means, but evidently we were
out of danger. Our lives seemed to be secure, and we were soon to meet
with settlers who would no doubt extend to us the hand of human
sympathy. Many long miles yet remained between us and the rivers in
whose sands were hidden the tiny grains of gold we came to seek.

The rest in the lovely camp had answered to cause Mrs. Bennett to feel
quite well again by the next morning, and we made ready to proceed. We
had the trail of the Jayhawkers to follow, so the vines, brambles and
tangles which had perplexed Rogers and myself in our first passage were
now somewhat broken down, and we could get along very well without
further clearing of the road until the hills came down so close on both
sides that there was no room except in the very bed of the stream. There
was no other way, so we waded among after the oxen as best we could.
Sometimes the women fell down, for a rawhide moccasin soaked soft in
water was not a very comfortable or convenient shoe, however it might be
adapted to hot, dry sands. The creek was shaded and the water quite
cool. The trail, such as it was, crossed the creek often and generally
was nothing else than the stream itself. The constant wading, and wet,
cold clothing caused the women to give out soon and we selected the
first dry suitable place which offered food for the oxen, as a place to
camp.

Wood was plenty and dry, so a good fire was soon burning, and the poor
women, wet to the waist and even higher, were standing before it,
turning round and round to get warm and dry. Someone remarked that they
resembled geese hanging before the fire to roast, as they slowly
revolved, and it was all owing to their fatigue that the suggester did
not receive merited punishment then and there at their hands. As they
got a little dry and comfortable they remarked that even an excess of
water like this was better than the desert where there was none at all,
and as to their looks, there were no society people about to point their
fingers at them, and when they reached a settled country they hoped to
have a chance to change their clothes, and get two dresses apiece, and
that these would be long enough to hide their knees which these poor
tatters quite failed to do. One remarked that she was sure she had been
down in the brook a dozen times and that she did not consider cold water
baths so frequently repeated were good for the health.

Young Charley Arcane had been getting better for some days. No medicine
had been given him, and it was no doubt the change of air and water that
had begun to effect a cure. Arcane had a hard time of it to keep the
brush from pulling George and Melissa off of Old Crump into the water.
It was indeed one of the hardest day's work of the whole journey, but no
one was low spirited, and all felt very well. The camping place was in a
deep canon, surrounded by thick brush, so that no wind came in to chill
us. Everybody was cook and nobody was boss. Not a cent of money among
us, nor any chance to use any if we had possessed it. We had nice,
sweet, fat meat, cooked rare or well done as each one preferred, and no
complaints about the waiters. The conditions were so favorable, compared
with the terrible Death Valley and its surroundings that every one
remarked about it, and no one felt in the least like finding fault with
the little inconveniences we were forced to put up with. It might cure
an inveterate fault-finder to take a course of training in the desert.

The next day we did not wade half as much, and after a few hours of
travel we suddenly emerged from the brush into a creek bottom which was
much wider, with not a tree to obstruct our way. The soil was sandy and
covered more or less with sage brush, and the stream which had been
strong and deep enough to make us very wet now sank entirely out of
sight in the sandy bottom. The hills were thinly timbered on the left
side but quite brushy on the right, and we could see the track of cattle
in the sand. No signs of other animals, but some small birds came near,
and meadow larks whistled their tune, quite familiar to us, but still
sounding slightly different from the song of the same bird in the East.
High in the air could be seen a large sailing hawk or buzzard.

We stopped to rest at noon and noticed that the water ran a little in
the creek bed; but, by the time we were ready to start we found none
with which to fill our canteens. No doubt this water was poured into the
canon somewhere near the place where we killed the three cattle, and we
had got out of it before the flood came down. It was astonishing to see
how the thirsty sand drank up the quite abundant flow.

The next day we came down to the point of hill that nearly crossed the
valley, and we crossed the low ridge rather than make a longer trip to
get around by way of the valley. As we reached the summit there appeared
before us as beautiful a rural picture as one ever looked upon. A large
green meadow, of a thousand acres, more or less; its southwest side
bounded by low mountains, at the base of which oak trees were plenty,
but no brush or undergrowth. It was like a grand old park, such as we
read of in English tales. All over the meadow cattle of all sorts and
sizes grazed, the "Ring-streaked and speckled" of old Jacob's breed
being very prominent. Some lazily cropped the grass; some still more
lazily reclined and chewed their cud; while frisky calves exercised
their muscles in swift races and then secured their dinner from anxious
mothers. We camped at once and took the loads from all the animals that
they might feed in comfort on the sweet grass that lay before them.

We tarried here perhaps two hours, till the cattle stopped eating, and
amply enjoyed the scene. Never again would any one of the party go back
over that dreary desert, they said, and everyone wondered why all places
could not be as green and beautiful as this one. I cannot half tell how
we felt and acted, nor what we said in our delight over this picture of
plenty. The strong contrasts created strong impressions, and the tongues
so long silent in our dry and dreary trouble were loosened to say
everything the heart inspired. Think as much as you can; you cannot
think it all.

We felt much better after our rest, and the oxen seemed stronger and
better able, as well as more willing to carry their loads, so we soon
prepared to move on down the valley, toward the house we had spoken of
as the goal we were to reach. It was now the 7th day of March 1850, and
this date, as well as the 4th day of November 1849 will always remain an
important one in memory. On the last named day we left the trail to take
the unfortunate cut-off, and for four long months we had wandered and
struggled in terrible hardship. Every point of that terrible journey is
indelibly fixed upon my memory and though seventy-three years of age on
April 6th 1893 I can locate every camp, and if strong enough could
follow that weary trail from Death Valley to Los Angeles with unerring
accuracy. The brushy canon we have just described is now occupied by the
Southern Pacific Railroad, and the steep and narrow ridge pierced by a
tunnel, through which the trains pass. The beautiful meadow we so much
admired has now upon its border a railroad station, Newhall, and at the
proper season some portion of it is covered with thousands of trays of
golden apricots, grown in the luxuriant orchards just beyond the hills
toward the coast, and here drying in the bright summer sun. The cattle
in the parti-colored coats are gone, but one who knows the ground can
see our picture.

Loaded up again we start down the beautiful grassy valley, the women
each with a staff in hand, and everything is new and strange to us.
Rogers and I know that we will soon meet people who are strangers to us;
who speak a strange language of which we know nothing, and how we,
without a dollar, are to proceed to get our food and things we need, are
questions we cannot answer nor devise any easy way to overcome. The
mines are yet five hundred miles away, and we know not of any work for
us to do nearer. Our lives have been given back to us, and now comes the
problem of how to sustain them manfully and independently as soon as
possible. If worse comes to worst we can walk to San Francisco, probably
kill enough game on the way and possibly reach the gold mines at last,
but the way was not clear. We must trust much to luck and fortune and
the ever faithful Providence which rarely fails those who truly try to
help themselves.

We began to think some very independent thoughts. We had a mule to carry
our camp kettle and meat. Our cattle were now beginning to improve and
would soon get fat; these could carry our blankets and odd loads, while
Old Crump the christian could still carry the children; Bennett and I
knew how to hunt, and had good rifles; so we could still proceed, and we
determined that, come what may, _we will be victorious_.

These were some of the plans we talked over at our camps and resting
places, and as we walked along. If we could get the two families fixed
in some way so they could do without Rogers and I, we could strike for
the mines quite rapidly and no doubt soon get ourselves on good footing.
We were younger than the rest and could endure more hardship. We decide
to remain together till we get to Los Angeles, and then see what is
best.

We reached our camping place at the foot of the hill, about a hundred
yards from the house we have so long striven to reach. Here we unloaded
in the shade of a large willow tree, and scarcely had we removed the
harness from the oxen when the good lady of the house and her little
child came down to see us. She stood for a moment and looked around her
and at the two small children on the blankets, and we could hear her
murmur _mucha pobre_ (very poor.) She could see our ragged clothes and
dirty faces and everything told her of our extreme destitution. After
seeing our oxen and mule which were so poor she said to herself "_flaco,
flaco_" (so thin.) She then turned to us, Rogers and I, whom she had
seen before, and as her lively little youngster clung to her dress, as
if in fear of such queer looking people as we were, she took an orange
from her pocket and pointing to the children of our party, wanted to
know if we had given them the four oranges she sent to them by us. We
made signs that we had done as she requested, when she smiled and said
"_Buenos Muchachos_" (good boys.) In all this talk neither could say a
word the other could understand, and the conversation was carried on by
signs.

Arcane said to her--"Me Catholic" which she seemed partly to comprehend
and seemed more friendly. About this time two men rode up and took a
look at us. Arcane, who was a mason, gave the masonic sign, as he told
me afterward, but neither of them recognized it. We used such words of
Spanish as I had taken down in my pass book and committed to memory and
by motions in addition to these made them understand something of the
state of affairs and that Mr. French who had assisted us before had told
us we could get some meat (_carne_) from them. These men were finely
mounted, wore long leggins made of hide, dressed with the hair on, which
reached to their hips, stiff hats with a broad rim, and great spurs at
their heels. Each had a coil of braided rawhide rope on the pommel of
the saddle, and all these arrangements together made a very dashing
outfit.

They seemed to understand what we had said to them, for they rode off
with a rush and came back in a short time, leading a fine, fat
two-year-old heifer. When near our camp the rider who was behind threw
his _riata_ and caught both hind feet of the animal when by a sudden
movement of the horses the heifer was thrown. One of them dismounted,
and at the command the horse backed up and kept the rope tight while the
man went up to the prostrate beast and cut its throat. As soon as it had
ceased struggling, they loosened their ropes and coiled them up: they
came to us and pointed to the dead heifer in a way which said--"Help
yourselves."

We were much gratified at the generosity of the people, and at once
dressed the animal as it lay, cutting off some good fat pieces which we
roasted over the fire and ate with a relish. It seemed as if meat never
tasted so good as that did sweet, fragrant, and juicy. If some French
cook could only cook a steak that would smell and taste to his customers
as that meal tasted to us, his art would be perfect. We separated a hind
quarter and hung it to a tree, and when the lady came back we told her
that the piece we had selected was enough for our present use, so she
caused the remainder with the hide to be taken to the house. Toward
night they drove up a lot of cows and calves and other cattle into their
cattle yard or corral, as it is called all over California, a stockade
of strong oak posts set deep in the ground and close together, enclosing
a space of about half an acre. The horsemen now rode in and began to
catch the calves with their ropes. It seemed as if they were able to
throw a rope over a calf's head or around either leg they desired, with
better aim, and at as great a distance as one could shoot a Colt's
revolver, and we saw at once that a good raw-hide rope, in the hands of
an experienced man and well-trained horse, was a weapon in many respects
superior to firearms of any kind. A man near the gate loosened the ropes
and pushed the calves into a separate corral till they had as many as
they desired.

Rogers watched the circus till it was over and then returned to camp,
meeting on the way Bennett and Arcane, with their wives and children,
carrying some blankets, for the good lady had invited them to come up to
the house and sleep. They said we could go down and keep camp if old dog
Cuff was willing, for they had left him guarding the property. He was
pleased enough to have us come and keep him company, and we slept
nicely, disturbed only a little by the barking of the house dogs and the
hooting of an owl that came to visit our tree.

The people came back to camp in the morning and had their experience to
relate. Their hosts first baked some kind of flapjacks and divided them
among their guests; then gave them beans seasoned hot with pepper: also
great pieces of squash cooked before the fire, which they said was
delicious and sweet--more than good. Then came a dish of dried meat
pounded fine, mixed with green peppers and well fried in beef tallow.
This seemed to be the favorite dish of the proprietors, but was a little
too hot for our people. They called it _chili cum carne_--meat with
pepper--and we soon found this to be one of the best dishes cooked by
the Californians. The children were carefully waited on and given
special attention to by these good people, and it was nearly ten o'clock
before the feast was over: then the household had evening worship by
meeting in silence, except a few set words repeated by some in turn, the
ceremony lasting half an hour or more. Then they came and wished them
_buenos noches_ in the most polite manner and left them to arrange their
blankets on the floor and go to sleep.

The unaccustomed shelter of a roof and the restless worrying of the
children, who required much attention, for the change of diet had about
the same effect on them as on Rogers and myself when we first partook of
the California food, gave them little sleep, but still they rested and
were truly grateful for the most perfect hospitality of these kind
hearted people.

In the morning the two horsemen and two Indians went to the corral, when
the riders would catch a cow with their ropes and draw her head up to a
post, binding it fast, while an Indian took a short piece of rope and
closely tied the hind legs together above the gambrel joint, making the
tail fast also. They had a large bucket and several gourds. The Indians
then milked the cows they had made fast, getting from a pint to two
quarts from each one, milking into a gourd and pouring into the bucket
till they had all they desired. The calves were separated the night
before so they could secure some milk. Cows were not trained to stand
and be milked as they were at home. Setting down the bucket of milk
before us, with some small gourds for dippers, we were invited to drink
all we wished. This was a regular banquet to us, for our famished
condition and good appetites made food relish wonderfully.

When we made a sign of wishing to pay them for their great kindness they
shook their heads and utterly refused. It was genuine sympathy and
hospitality on their part, and none of us ever forgot it; the sight of a
native Californian has always brought out thoughts of these good people,
and respect and thankfulness to the race. This rancho, at which we were
so kindly entertained was called San Francisquito, or Little San
Francisco Rancho.

This morning Mr. Arcane, with our assistance, made an arrangement with
these people to give them his two oxen; and they were to take him and
his wife and child, to the sea-shore, at a place called San Pedro, from
which place he hoped, in some way, to get passage to San Francisco in a
sailing vessel. He had no money, and no property to sell, except perhaps
his spy-glass, worth about ten dollars. With this poor prospect before
him he started for the sea. He bade Bennett's folks good-bye, then came
to me and put a light gold ring on my finger, saying that it and his
interest in the little mule were mine. Then he gave his silver watch to
Rogers and said it was all he had to give him, but if he had a million
dollars, he would divide, and still think it a small compensation for
the faithful services we had rendered him. "I can never repay you," said
he, "for I owe you a debt that is beyond compensation. You have saved
our lives, and have done it when you knew you could get nothing for it.
I hope we will meet again, and when we do you will be welcome. If you
hear of me anywhere, come and see me, for I want to tell my friends who
Manly and Rogers are, and how you helped us. Good Bye!" There were tears
in his eyes, voice full of emotion, and the firm clasp of his hand told
how earnest he was, and that he felt more than he could speak.

He helped Mrs. Arcane on her horse, then gave Charlie to her, and, amid
waving hands and many _adios_ from our new-found friends, with repeated
"good byes" from the old ones, they rode away. Mrs. Arcane could hardly
speak when she bade us farewell, she was so much affected. They had
about sixty miles to ride to reach the sea, and as she rode on a man's
saddle, and was unused to riding, I knew she would be sadly wearied
before she reached the coast.

Our little train now seemed much smaller. Three oxen and a mule were all
our animals, and the adults must still walk, as they had done on our
desert route. But we were comparatively happy, for we had plenty of good
meat to eat, plenty of sweet water to drink, and our animals were
contented and improving every day; grass and water seemed plenty
everywhere. We put our luggage on the oxen and the mule, loaded the
children on Old Crump as we had done before, and were ready to move
again. Our good friends stood around and smiled good-naturedly at our
queer arrangements, and we, not knowing how to say what our hearts would
prompt us to, shook their hands and said good bye in answer to their
"_adios amigos_" as we moved away, waving hands to each other.

The men then detained me a little while to ask me more about the road we
had come over, how far it was, and how bad the Indians were, and other
particulars. I told him by signs that we had been twenty-two days on the
road, and that the _Indianos_, as they called them, had not troubled us,
but that there was very little grass or water in all that land. He made
a sort of map on the ground and made me understand he would like to go
back and try to bring out the wagons we had left behind, and he wanted
me to go back with him and help him. I explained to him by the map he
had made, and one which I made myself, that I considered it impossible
to bring them over. He seemed much disappointed, and with a shrug of his
shoulders said "_mucho malo_" (very bad) and seemed to abandon the idea
of getting a Yankee wagon. They very much admired an American wagon, for
their own vehicles were rude affairs, as I shall bye-and-bye describe.
We bade each other many _adios_, and I went on my way, soon catching up
with the little party. We had been informed that it was ten leagues, or
thirty miles to Los Angeles, whither we were now headed.

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