Death Valley in \'49 by William Lewis Manly

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We had now been a whole year on the road between Wisconsin and
California, much of the time with the ground for a bed, and though our
meals had been sometimes scanty and long between, very few of us had
missed one on account of sickness. Some, less strong than we, had lain
down to perish, and had been left behind, without coffin or grave; but
we were here, and so far had found food to nourish us in some degree
with prospects now of game in the future if nothing better offered. We
still talked of going to the gold mines on foot, for with good food and
rest our courage had returned, and we wanted to succeed.

Our camp this night was in a nice watering place, where dry oak wood was
plenty and grass abundant. It was at the foot of the San Fernando
Mountain, not rocky, as we had found our road some time before, but
smooth and covered with grass. It was rather steep to climb, but an
infant compared with the great mountains so rough and barren, we had
climbed on our way from Death Valley. Our present condition and state of
mind was an anomalous one. We were happy, encouraged, grateful and quite
contented in the plenty which surrounded us, and still there was a sort
of puzzling uncertainty as to our future, the way to which seemed very
obscure. In the past we had pushed on our very best and a kind
Providence had kept us. This we did now, but still revolved the best
plans and the most fortunate possibilities in our minds. We talked of
the time when we should be able to show hospitality to our friends, and
to strangers who might need our open hand as we had needed the favors
which strangers had shown us in the last few days.

We ate our supper of good meat, with a dessert of good beans our kind
friends had given us, and enjoyed it greatly. As we sat in silence a
flock of the prettiest, most graceful birds came marching along, and
halted as if to get a better view of our party. We admired them so much
that we made not a move, but waited, and they fearlessly walked on
again. We could see that there were two which were larger than the rest,
and from twelve to twenty smaller ones. The little top-knot on the head
and their symmetrical forms made them specially attractive, and Mrs.
Bennett and the children were much pleased. The beauty of the California
quail is especially striking to one who sees them for the first time.

In the morning we began to climb the hill, getting along very well
indeed, for our raw-hide moccasins were now dry and hard and fitted the
foot perfectly. We did not try to make great speed, but kept steadily
on, and as we were used to climbing, we reached the summit easily. From
this elevation we could get a fine view of the big grassy plain that
seemed to extend as far as the eye could reach and, not far from us, the
buildings and gardens of the San Fernando Mission. If we could shut out
the mountains the landscape would remind us of a great Western prairie.
We never could get over comparing this country with the desolate Death
Valley, for it seemed as if such strange and striking opposites could
hardly exist.

We rested here a little while and then wound our way down the hill to
the level land. A few miles brought us to the mission houses and the
church of San Fernando. There was not much life about them, in fact they
seemed comparatively deserted, for we saw only one man and a few
Indians. The man brought some oranges and gave the children one each.
After a little rest we moved on over our road which was now quite smooth
and gently descending. Night overtook us in a place where there was no
water, but we camped and suffered no inconvenience. A stream was passed
next day, and a house near by unoccupied. The road now began to enter
gently rolling hills covered with big grass and clover, which indicated
rich soil, and we never get tired of talking about it.

At the top of these hills we had another beautiful view as far south and
west as the eye could reach. Small objects, probably horses and cattle,
were scattered about the plain, grazing in the midst of plenty. Our own
animals were given frequent opportunities to eat, and again and again we
rejoiced over the beauty. Of course it was not such a surprise and
wonder as it was when such a view first burst upon our sight, but it
pleased and delighted us ever. On the east was a snow-capped peak, and
here we were in the midst of green fields of grass and wild flowers, in
the softest climate of an early spring. These strong contrasts beat
anything we had ever seen. Perhaps the contrast between the great snow
mountain and the hot Death Valley was greater in point of temperature,
but there the heat brought only barrenness, and of the two the snow
seemed the more cheerful. Here the vegetation of all sorts was in full
balance with the balmy air, and in comparison the snow seemed a strange
neighbor. It was quite a contrast to our cold, windy March in Wisconsin,
and we wonder if it is always summer here. We were satisfied that even
if we could get no further we could live in such a land as this. The
broad prairie doubtless belonged to the United States, and we could have
our share and own a little piece of it on very easy terms, and raise our
own cattle and corn. If the people were all as kind as those we had met
we were sure at least of neighborly treatment. I have endeavored to
write this just as it seemed to us then and not clothe the impressions
with the cover of later experience. The impressions we then daily
received and the sights we saw were stranger than the wildest fiction,
and if it so strikes you, my friendly reader, do not wonder.

As we came over the hills we could see a village near the southern base
and it seemed quite near us. It was a new and strange sight to us as we
approached. The houses were only one story high and seemed built of mud
of a gray color, the roofs flat, and the streets almost deserted.
Occasionally a man could be seen, sometimes a dog, and now and then an
Indian, sitting with his back to the house. The whole view indicated a
thinly populated place, and the entire absence of wagons or animals was
a rather strange circumstance to us. It occurred to us at first that if
all the emigrants were gone our reception might be a cool one in this
city of mud. One thing was in its favor and that was its buildings were
about fire proof for they had earthen floors and flat roofs.

We rested half an hour or so just outside, and then ventured down the
hill into the street. We met an American almost the first man, and when
we asked about a suitable camping place, he pointed out the way and we
marched on. Our strange appearance attracted the attention of the
children and they kept coming out of the houses to see the curious
little train with Old Crump carrying the children and our poor selves
following along, dirty and ragged. Mrs. Bennett's dress hardly reached
below her knees, and although her skirts were fringed about the bottom
it was of a kind that had not been adopted as yet in general circle of
either Spanish-American or good United States society. The shortness of
the dress made the curious raw-hide moccasins only the more prominent,
and the whole make-up of the party was a curious sight.

We went down the hill a little further to the lower bottom to camp,
while the barefooted, bareheaded urchins followed after to get a further
look at the strangers. Before we selected a suitable place, we saw two
tents and some wagons which looked like those of overland travelers, and
we went toward them. When within fifty yards two men suddenly came to
their feet and looked at our little party approaching as if in wonder,
but at twenty steps they recognized Bennett and came rushing forward.
"My God! It's Bennett" said they, and they clasped hands in silence
while one greeted Mrs. Bennett warmly. The meeting was so unexpected
they shed tears and quietly led the way back to camp. This was the camp
of R.G. Moody and H.C. Skinner, with their families. They had traveled
together on the Platte and became well acquainted, the warmest of
friends, and knowing that Bennett had taken the cut off, they more than
suspected he and his party had been lost, as no sight of them had come
to their eyes. They had been waiting here six weeks in order to get some
reliable news, and now Mr. Bennet answered for himself. Rogers and I,
belonging to another party, were of course strangers.

Leaving them to compare notes, Rogers and I took charge of Old Crump,
the oxen, and the mule, unpacked them, and arranged camp under a
monstrous willow tree. Bennett and his wife were taken into Mr. Moody's
tent, and an hour or so later when Mrs. Bennett appeared again, she had
her face washed clean, her hair combed, and a new clean dress. It was
the first time we had found soap, and the improvement in her looks and
feelings was surprising. Bennett looked considerably cleaned up too, and
appeared bright and fresh. The children had also been taken in hand and
appeared in new clothes selected from the wardrobe of the other
children, and the old dirty clothes were put in process of washing as
soon as possible.

Supper came, and it was so inviting. There was real bread and it looked
so nice we smiled when it was offered to us. Mrs. Bennett broke pieces
for the children and cautioned them not to eat too much. It did seem so
good to be among friends we could talk with and be understood. After
supper was over and the things cleared away we all sat down in a circle
and Bennett told the story of where he had been these many days on the
cut off that was to shorten the trail. Mr. Moody said he had about given
the party up and intended to start up the coast to-morrow. The story was
so long that they talked till they were sleepy and then began again
after breakfast, keeping it up till they had a good outline of all our
travels and tribulations. This Mr. R.G. Moody, his wife and daughter,
Mrs. Quinby, and son Charles, all lived in San Jose and are now dead.
H.C. Skinner was a brother-in-law of Moody and also lived a long time in
San Jose, but himself, son and one daughter, are now dead.

Rogers and I now took the pack-saddle we had borrowed of Mr. French to
use on our trip to Death Valley and return, and carried it to the saloon
on the east side of the plaza, where we were to place it if we got back
safely, and delivered it to the man in charge, with many thanks to Mr.
French for his favors to us, and sent him word that we would always
remember him and be ready to do him a similar or equal favor if ever we
were able. We considered him a good benevolent man, and such he proved
to be when he offered us fat oxen, good beans, and any other thing we
needed. He told the people in the house who we were, which no doubt
influenced them kindly in our favor when we arrived.

At the saloon there was a large room with tables in it and gambling
going on actively. Money changed hands very rapidly, drinks at the bar
were frequent, and the whole affair moved forward with the same
regularity as any mercantile business. The door stood wide open and any
one could come and go at his pleasure. Quite a number of black-eyed,
fair looking women circulated among the crowd, and this, to us, seemed
quite out of place, for we had never seen women in saloons before. We
watched the game awhile to see some losing and some gaining, the result
being quite exciting; but as neither of us had any money, we could not
have joined in the game had we been so disposed; so we looked on awhile
and then took a seat on the ground outside of the house.

Here we talked over our chances of getting to the mines. All the clothes
we had were on our backs and feet and those were the poorest of the
poor. We had no money. I had the little black-eyed mule, and Rogers had
the watch Arcane had given him. Mr. Moody had said it was 500 miles to
San Francisco, and 150 miles further to the mines, so that after the
hard travel of a year we were still a long way off from the place we
started for.

We could not see any way to make a living here. There was no land
cultivated, not a fence, nothing to require labor of any kind. The
valley was rich enough and produced great crops of grass, and the cattle
and horses we had seen grazing seemed to be about all the use they put
it to. It looked as if the people must live principally on meat. I
thought if we could manage to get a little provision together, such as
flour and beans, that I could pack there on the mule, and I was pretty
sure I could find game that would be better meat than we had lived on
during the last two months on the desert.

We looked around to see if we could find something to do to earn a
little for a start, but were not successful. In our walk about this city
of mud we saw many things that seemed strange to us. There were more
women than men, and more children than grown-up people, while the dogs
were plenty. At the edge of the town, near the river were some grape
vines fenced in with living willows, interlaced in some places with dry
vines. The Indians moved very moderately around and no doubt had plenty
of beef to eat, with very few wants to provide for. We noticed some few
people paying for small things at the stores with small money. The women
all dressed much alike. The dress was of some cheap material, sandals on
feet, and a kind of long shawl worn over the head and thrown over the
shoulder. There seemed to be neither hoops nor corsets in their
fashions. The men wore trousers of white cotton or linen, with a calico
shirt, sandals, and a broad rimmed snuff colored hat. The Indians and
their wives went bareheaded.

Near the end of the street we came to a boarding house and went in and
sat down in the empty room. Soon a man came in, better dressed than
ourselves, and much to our surprise it was one of the old Death Valley
travelers, the Rev. J.W. Brier whom I last saw in his lone camp in the
desert, discoursing to his young sons on the benefits of an early
education. I know the situation struck me very strangely, with death
staring them in the face and he preaching!

We had a long talk about the hard journey we had each experienced. As
his party had not waited they had come through ahead of us. He said
himself and Mr. Granger had started a boarding house when they arrived,
and had been doing a good business. He said that as long as the
emigrants continued to come he could get along very well. We asked him
if there was any chance for us to work and get money to get some
provisions to help us on the way to the mines. He said he could give
work to one of us hauling water for the house with oxen and cart, and
the one who could manage oxen was the man. I was an ox driver and so
told him I would take his team and cart and set out with the work. He
said he could pay fifty dollars a month, and I accepted the offer
quickly as I saw it was a good chance to build up my exhausted strength
and flesh.

I turned the little mule out in the hills near by, and began my work. It
was not hard, for the boarders were thinning out. The natives did not
patronize this hotel very much, but grub disappeared pretty fast at my
corner of the table, for my appetite began to be ravenous. There was not
much variety to the food and very few luxuries or delicacies, which were
hard to obtain on such a bare market, but all seemed satisfied with the
food, and to me it tasted extra good.

Rogers went back to the old camp and helped them there, and I often went
over after dark, when my work was done. Moody and Skinner had been
active in trying to get Mr. Bennett ready to go up the coast with them.
Bennett had sold his repeating rifle and with the proceeds and the help
of his friends had got another ox, making two yoke for him. They fixed
up a wagon for him, and yokes enough could be found where people had
traded off their oxen for horses. Provisions enough had been gathered by
Moody and Skinner for them all, and Rogers would go along with the party
to help them with the teams.

I was left alone after they started, and it was my idea to quit when I
had worked a month, and if my mule staid with me, to start for the mines
even if I went alone. The majority of the male inhabitants of this town
had gone to the mines, and this accounted for the unusual proportion of
women. We learned that they would return in November, and then the
gambling houses would start up in full blast, for these native
Californians seemed to have a great natural desire to indulge in games
of chance, and while playing their favorite game of monte would lay down
their last reale (12-1/2 cents) in the hope of winning the money in
sight before them on the table.

As the boarding house business got dull I was taken over to a vineyard
and set to work, in place of hauling water. The entire patch was as
green as a meadow with weeds, and I was expected to clean them out. I
inquired of Brier how he came to get hold of this nice property, and he
said that during the war the soldiers had taken possession of this piece
of ground, and had their camp here, so he considered it was government
land, and therefore had squatted on it and was going to hold it, and pay
for it as regular government land, and that he already considered it his
own, for said he, "I am an American, and this is a part of the public
domain." "All right," said I, "I will kill weeds for you, if you wish,
when I have time to spare, and you don't want the oxen worked at any
other work ".

I could see every day that I was improving in health and weight and
would soon become myself again, able to take the road to the mines. When
about two weeks of my time had expired two oldish men came to the house
to stop for a few days and reported themselves as from Sacramento,
buying up some horses for that market. Thus far they had purchased only
six or eight, as they had found the price too high to buy and then drive
so far to a market to sell again. They had about decided to go back with
what they had and undertake some other kind of business. I thought this
would be a pretty good chance for me to go, as I would have company, and
so went to Brier and Granger and told them what I would like to do, and
that with their permission I would quit and go on with them. They
readily consented, for their money was coming in rather slow, and they
paid me twenty five dollars for half a month's work. This made me feel
pretty rich and I thought this would give me food enough to reach the
mines.

Having two or three days to get ready in, I began doing the best I
could. I found an old saddle tree which had been thrown away, and
managed to fix it up so I could use it. I also found an old gun some
traveler had left, and with a little work I fitted the breech of that to
my own gun which was broken, and had been roughly tied together with
strips of raw-hide. I now had a good sound gun if it was not very
handsome. I bought a Spanish blanket, not so wide as ours, but coarse
and strong, and having a hole in the center through which to put the
head and wear it as a garment in case of storm, or at night. I went to a
native store and bought a supply of carne seca (dried beef) and some
crackers, put some salt in my pocket and was now provisioned for another
trip. I found my mule in the hills back of town, not far from where I
left her, and the rest and good feed had made her look better and feel
better, as well as myself.

The drovers had found two other men who wanted to go with them and help
drive the horses for their board. I put my blanket on under the saddle,
packed my little sack of meat and crackers on behind, and when I was in
the saddle with my gun before me I considered I was pretty well fixed
and able to make my way against almost anything. I said to myself that
the only way now to keep me from getting to the gold mines was to kill
me. I felt that there was not a mountain so high I could not climb, and
no desert so wide and dry that I could not cross it. I had walked and
starved and choked and lived through it, and now I felt so strong and
brave I could do it again--any way to reach the gold mines and get some
of the "dust."

I had not much idea how the gold from the mines looked. Everybody called
it gold dust, and that conveyed an idea to me that it was fine as flour,
but how to catch it I did not know. I knew other people found a way to
get it, and I knew I could learn if any body could. It was a great
longing that came to me to see some of the yellow dust in its native
state, before it had been through the mint.

At the last meal I took at the house there were only a few at the table.
Among them was a well dressed Californian who evidently did not greatly
fancy American cooking, but got along very well till Mrs. Brier brought
around the dessert, a sort of duff. This the Californian tasted a few
times and then laid down his spoon saying it was no bueno, and some
other words I did not then understand, but afterward learned that they
meant "too much grease." The fellow left the table not well pleased with
what we generally consider the best end of a Yankee dinner, the last
plate.

While here I had slept in a small store room, where I made my pallet out
of old rags and blankets. While I was looking round for material to make
my bed I came across a bag partly full of sugar, brought from Chili. It
was in very coarse crystals, some as large as corn. There were some
other treasures end luxuries there that perhaps I was expected guard. I
however had a sweet tooth and a handful or so of the sweet crystals
found their way into my pocket.

I bade Mr. Brier and the rest good bye and rode away to join my company.

CHAPTER XII.

Leaving the little party whose wanderings we have followed so closely,
safely arrived in Los Angeles, their further history in California will
be taken up later on, and this narrative will go back to points when the
original party was broken up and trace the little bands in their varied
experience. It will be remembered that the author and his friends, after
a perilous voyage down Green River, halted at the camp of the Indian
chief, Walker, and there separated, the Author and four companions
striking for Salt Lake, while McMahon and Field remained behind, fully
determined to go on down the river.

The story of these two men is told by McMahon in the following
interesting letter.

* * * * *

Dear Manley:--

Yours requesting me to give you a synopsis of the history of incidents,
experience, and observations of our mutual friend, Richard Field and
myself, from the time you, John Rogers, Alfred Walton, and the Hazelrig
brothers left us at the camp of the generous old chief Walker on the
west bank of the river near the mouth of the "great seven days canon" is
at hand.

You no doubt distinctly, and with pleasure, remember that unbroken
friendship which existed among us up to the time of our separation and
that we parted warm and tried friends.

Well, after you and your companions had left us we set to work to
prepare the canvas for the continuation of the voyage down the river. We
drilled holes through the sides of the "Pilot"--you, I have no doubt
remember which that was, yours and mine, in which we took so many
fearful risks, and "No. 2," so that we might in case of necessity lash
the two together. After a day or two Field lost courage and finally
determined to go no further down the river. Walker in the meantime had
repeated his friendly warnings appertaining to the great danger in going
further down the river. You will remember what he had told us about it
before you left us.

You know that I was the biggest coward of the whole seven; but I assumed
courage and told Field that I would go down the river alone; and, for a
time, I thought I would do so; but after some reflection I concluded
that, perhaps, discretion was the better part of valor, and reluctantly
gave it up. We now decided to follow you, or to take some other unknown
route and try to make our escape out of this most perilous condition.

We then set about, as you had done, to trade with Walker for a pony or
two, and after much dickering Field succeeded in getting the, afterwards
famous, big, old, sore-backed mule. You may not remember him, but I do;
and, notwithstanding his sore back, he made pretty good beef. I, with
pins, needles, thread, a pocket-knife, a handkerchief, etc., succeeded
in getting a very nice, round, three-year-old, iron-gray pony.

After making pack-saddles, and getting almost ready to start, we were,
through Walker's kindness and persuasiveness, overcome, and consented to
go with him, feeling confident that we would not starve to death while
with him. We did not now have Manley with his long experience, and his
old rusty, but always trusty, rifle as a sure defence against possible
hunger and starvation.

The old chief, and, in fact, the whole tribe, seemed pleased when we
consented to go with them. Preparations were now made, and all except
the horses and four head of cattle, was conveyed across the river in the
two canoes which were lashed together, while the horses and cattle were
forced to swim to the other side where we camped for the night. Next
morning the clever old chief had two good horses fitted up in good style
for Field and I, which we rode all of the nine days that we remained
with the band, while our own run with the herd. Our baggage was carried
on some of the chief's pack-horses. We were, in fact, his honored
guests, as will hereafter appear.

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