Death Valley in \'49 by William Lewis Manly

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The Missourians had come up and heard the talk, and some of them went
back and helped drive the cattle to the river, and deal out some double
shotted thunder against the biggest scamps they had come across. It was
quite a job to get the cattle across the river. They would go in a
little way and then circle round and round like a circus, making no
progress. They finally put a rope on one of them and a man led him as
far as he could, which was more than half way, and although they landed
a good ways down stream, they got them all across safely, left their
borrowed overalls in the hands of their friends, with a thousand thanks
for valuable assistance, and plunged into the swift running Platte, and
swam back again to the northern side. They drove the straggling oxen
back to camp with a sense of great satisfaction, and in turn received
the praise of their friends who said that Ed Doty was the best Jayhawker
of the border.

This was the first unpleasantness and they were afterwards more cautious
and stood guard all night, watching closely all the time, both night and
day, for for any signs of danger. Thus in time they reached Salt Lake,
rather late in the season, but safe and sound, having escaped cholera or
other disease, and in good spirits to surmount any further difficulties
which might be met.

When the Jayhawkers reached Salt Lake it was found that it was not safe
to try to go the regular northern route to California, as they were
advised by those who seemed to know, as they might be snowed in on the
Sierra Nevada Mountains and perish. The Mormons told them that the snow
often fell there twenty feet deep, and some other stories likely to
deter them from making the attempt. They also told them of a route
farther south by which they could come into California at Los Angeles,
or they could remain in Salt Lake until May when it would be safe to try
the mountain route again. After listening to the talk of the
mountaineers who claimed to have been over the route and to know all
about it, and camping some time to rest and learn all they could, they
finally decided on taking the southern route. One Mormon told them of a
place where they could make a cut-off and save five hundred miles, and,
if they would follow his instructions, they would find the route fully
as good as the one usually traveled which was not much better than a
trail. The cut-off was so instilled into their minds that they had great
confidence in the report and talked very favorably of taking it.

The man Williams made for them a map of the proposed route and explained
it to them and others who had gathered at Salt Lake, and from the map
they could see how much was to be gained in time and distance by taking
that route. A month or two of travel was indeed something to gain, and
as the roads seemed similar in quality the reasoning was very plausible
The map explained all the watering places and favorable things but said
nothing about a desert, and as there was no one to tell them any
unfavorable side to this plan there were many who quite concluded to go
this way, and among those who did so were the Jayhawkers, and the
"Williams Short Route" was freely talked about as a settled thing by
them.

They now set about preparing to move. They sold, traded, and bought oxen
till they had the best and fattest teams in Salt Lake Valley; selected
good provisions, and plenty of them so as to be safe in case of delay,
and contended that nothing could stop them in a country where but little
snow could be, and water was as plentiful as shown on the map. They
wanted to reach the gold mines and this was the shortest route and even
if it was still considerably longer than the northern way they said they
would rather be moving along and thus gain time than to so long in camp
with nothing to do by which they could earn a cent. There were here in
Salt Lake ten times as many men as could find employment, and Brigham's
saints would be pretty sure to get all of the odd jobs to the exclusion
of the heretics.

To bring the matter to a determination a paper was drawn up for those to
sign who wanted to go the southern route and it was pretty generally
signed. The Mormon elder, John Hunt, was consulted, and as he seemed to
know the general southern route better than any one else, he was
prevailed upon to guide the train through on the old Spanish Trail. This
had never been used as a wagon road, but he thought it could be without
much difficulty, and he said if they could secure him a fair sized train
he would go and conduct them through for ten dollars a wagon. This
proposition was accepted after some consideration, and all who wished to
do so were given permission to join the train. In a few days there were
one hundred and seven wagons enlisted for this route, including seven
Mormons bound for San Bernardino.

Preparations for the trip now began in good earnest, and the Saints were
liberally patronized in purchase of flour and meat which were the
principal things they had to sell. As their several wagons were loaded
they moved out in small lots to the south to keep in good fresh feed for
their animals, and to move on slowly till all were ready, when they
would join in one large body and proceed. The guide was in no special
haste as he said he wanted to wait a little later so the weather in the
south would be cooler than they would be likely to find it if they
pressed on at once. He said that in summer it was so hot that no white
man could endure the heat. He said they could work slowly along the
trail, and when the right time came he would move out himself, and that
they might be assured that it would then be the coolest and best time in
which to travel down there. So the company dallied along, and it was
October before the whole train was made up at a point about a hundred
miles south of Salt Lake.

The complete organization was divided into seven divisions, each with
its captain, and division No. 1 was to lead the march the first day and
then fall to the rear while No. 2 took the advance, and so continued
till all had taken their turn. The leading party was to guard and care
for the cattle and deliver them in the morning. The regulations were
read aloud to the captains, and this rather large army of men, women and
children, with about five hundred head of stock, moved out very
systematically. It would sometimes be fully ten o'clock before the rear
division could make a start, and correspondingly late before they could
get up with the main camp at night. They got along very well, but
cleaned the country of grass for some distance each side of the trail,
as they swept along.

About the first of November Capt. Smith overtook us with the pack train,
and camped with us at night. He formed many acquaintances and told them
he was going to take a shorter route and save five hundred miles, rather
than take the long route by way of Los Angeles. He had a map of his
proposed route, and it was very much like the one we had. He also stated
that it could probably be as easily traveled as the one by way of Los
Angeles, and as a consequence of his talk, cut-off fever began to rage
in camp again. Some got very enthusiastic in the matter and spoke
publicly in favor of following Capt. Smith when he should come to the
place when his short route turned away from the other trail. His plan
grew so much in favor that when the place was reached a hundred wagons
turned out into the Smith trail, leaving Capt. Hunt only the seven
Mormon wagon bound for San Bernardino, Hunt stood at the forks of the
road as the wagons went by and said to them;--"Good-bye, friends. I
cannot, according to my agreement go with you, for I was hired for this
road, and no other was mentioned. I am in duty bound to go even if only
one wagon decides to go." When the last wagon had passed him he still
stood talking with several who had chosen the new way and told them they
were taking a big risk, for they did not know very much about the route,
and he had been thinking that they might find it pretty rough and hard
to get over the first time. He said that if all decided to go that way
he would go and help them, even if they went to h-ll, but as it was he
could not. He wished them luck and the two trains parted company.

At the end of three days of travel on the Smith trail they came to the
top of a long steep hill. The trail went down and down, and they see no
way of crossing the terribly deep canon that was before them. So they
went into camp and sent explorers out to investigate and find a crossing
if possible.

On the second day the explorers began to return with very unfavorable
reports, and many who found their progress thus blocked turned about and
started to follow Hunt. Most of the wagons which remained had each one
or more of their men out exploring and could not turn back until their
return. Several of the Jayhawkers having once started on this route were
very anxious to get through on it if a way could be found for them to do
it, and therefore searched farther and with greater determination than
the others. When they returned they reported they had found a way around
the head of the canon and they believed it to be the right way. The map
Williams had given them did not show this canon and they believed it to
be correct, and that the real road led around at the place which they
had found, and no further trouble would be met.

Acting on this report about twenty wagons, including the Jayhawkers,
concluded to go ahead. "We can beat the other fellows a month," said
they, and so they hitched up and pulled out in a northerly direction,
feeling in good spirits and hopeful of success.

They named this place Mt. Misery. While camped here a lone and seemingly
friendless man died and was buried. None seem now to remember his name,
but think he was from Kentucky. He was low with consumption and not
strong enough to endure the hardships of the journey.

About the third night the Jayhawkers were overtaken by seven more wagons
owned by A. Bennett and friends, J.B. Arcane and family, two men named
Earhart and a son of one of them, and one or two other wagons.

The Jayhawker's train was made up of men from many states, but seemed
well united and was as complete as when they first started. The Author
was with the party that came up in the rear, which had started later but
traveled faster on account of having a road broken for them. He visited
the leaders in camp when they were discussing the necessity of forming a
new travelling compact to help and protect each other on the road. Those
who had no families were objecting to being bound to those who had women
and children with them. They argued that the road would be hard and
difficult and those wagons with women and children would require more
assistance than they would be able to render in return. They said they
could go back and follow Hunt who was on a better road and they could
proceed with more safely.

Among those with this train was Rev. J.W. Brier, his wife and three
children. He objected to being turned back and said he did not want to
be assisted, but would go with them and do his part and take care of
himself. The Author listened to the various speeches without speaking
and became satisfied that it would end in every one looking out for
himself in case of hard times. He went over to their camp again the next
night and wished to ask them why they were steering so nearly due north.
He said to them that they were going toward Salt Lake rather than
California, and that the Bennet party did not feel inclined to follow
them any farther in that direction. They replied that their map told
them to go north a day or more and then they would find the route as
represented. They would then turn west and reach Owen's Lake and from
there there would be no more trouble. The Jayhawker crowd seemed to
think they could go anywhere and no difficulty could happen which they
couldn't overcome. Bennett's little train turned west from this point
and the Jayhawkers went on north, but before night they changed their
minds and came following on after Bennett whom they overtook and passed,
again taking the lead.

Thus far the country had been well watered and furnished plenty of
grass, and most of them talked and believed that this kind of rolling
country would last all the way through. The men at leisure scattered
around over the hills on each side of the route taken by the train, and
in advance of it, hunting camping places and making a regular picnic of
it. There were no hardships, and one man had a fiddle which he tuned up
evenings and gave plenty of fine music. Joy and happiness seemed the
rule, and all of the train were certainly having a good time of it.

But gradually there came a change as the wagon wheels rolled westward.
The valleys seemed to have no streams in them, and the mountain ranges
grew more and more broken, and in the lower ground a dry lake could be
found, and water and grass grew scarce--so much so that both men and
oxen suffered. These dry lake beds deceived them many times. They seemed
as if containing plenty of water, and off the men would go to explore.
They usually found the distance to them about three times as far as they
at first supposed, and when at last they reached them they found no
water, but a dry, shining bed, smooth as glass, but just clay, hard as a
rock. Most of these dry lakes showed no outlet, nor any inlet for that
matter, though at some period in the past they must have been full of
water. Nothing grew in the shape of vegetables or plants except a small,
stunted, bitter brush.

Away to the west and north there was much broken country, the mountain
ranges higher and rougher and more barren, and from almost every sightly
elevation there appeared one or more of these dry lake beds. One night
after about three days of travel the whole of the train of twenty seven
wagons was camped along the bank of one of these lakes, this one with a
very little water in it not more than one fourth or one half an inch in
depth, and yet spread out to the width of a mile or more. It was truly
providential, for by digging holes along the border the water would run
into them and prove abundant for all, both oxen and men. If it had
proved dry, as so many before had proved, or if we had been a few days
earlier or later we might not have found a drop. This proved to be the
last time the whole twenty seven wagons were gathered in one camp
together.

The Author came into camp about nine o'clock in the evening after
climbing many peaks and taking a survey of the surrounding country with
a field glass. Men from nearly every mess came to him to inquire what he
had seen. They asked all sorts of questions and wanted an opinion as to
the advisability of trailing across the prairie directly west, which
then seemed easy. They were told that from what could be seen from the
summit of buttes both north and south of the camp, ranging a hundred or
so miles in almost every direction, it was believed no water could be
found, between the present camp and a range of mountains which could be
seen crossing the route far to the west. "Well," said Capt. Doty of the
Jayhawkers, "I don't like to hear such discouraging talk from Manley,
but I think we will have to steer straight ahead. The prospect for water
seems to be about the same, west or south, and I cannot see that we
would better ourselves, by going north." When morning came Capt. Doty
and his party yoked up and set out straight across the desert, leaving
seven wagons of the Bennett party still in camp.

For some time all of us had seen in the range ahead an appearance of a
pass, or lower place in the mountain, and we had got to calling it
Martin's Pass, naming it after Jim Martin. There was a snow-capped peak
just to the south of it and the pass, now apparently exactly west of the
lake camp, seemed to the Jayhawkers easy to reach. Their wills were
strong enough and they were running over with determination and energy
enough to carry them over any plain, no matter how dry or barren, or
over any mountain no matter how rugged and steep.

Five days they traveled, without finding water, and small supply they
took along had been consumed. For lack of water they could not eat or
sleep. The oxen gathered round the little fire and seemed to beg for
water, they had no cud to chew unless it was the cud of disappointment.
The range of mountains they had been aiming for still seemed far away
and the possible show for reaching it seemed very poor indeed, and the
prospect of any water hole between them and the mountains poorer yet.
Hope was pretty near gone. Martins mess unyoked their oxen from the
wagons, put some small packs on their own backs, and loaded some upon
the backs of the oxen, and turned south toward the nearest snowy
mountain they could see, the same one towards which the Bennett party
steered from the lake camp.

The Doty party kept their courage longer and kept on straight ahead for
another day, and then camped, almost without hope. No rest came to them,
nor sleep. Towards morning as they stood around the fire a stray cloud
appeared and hid the stars, and shortly after began to unload a cargo of
snow it carried. They spread out every blanket, and brushed up every bit
they could from the smooth places, kindled a little fire of brush under
the camp kettles and melted all the snow all of them could gather,
besides filling their mouths as fast as ever they could, hoping that it
would full in sufficient quantities to satisfy themselves and the oxen,
and quench their dreadful thirst. Slowly the cloud moved scattering the
snowflakes till they felt relieved. The last time the Author conversed
with a member of this party was in 1892, and it was conceded that this
storm saved the lives of both man and beast in that little band of
Jayhawkers. It was like manna falling from Heaven, and as surely saved
their lives as did the manna of the Bible save the lives of the tribes
of Israel. They had no reason to expect a storm of rain or snow, but
came to them just as they were perishing. A little further on they came
to a small stream of water, and as the bed showed only a recent flow it
must also have come from the little local storm further up the mountain.
They used this water freely, even though it was not very good, and it
acted on them very much like a solution of Glanber Salts.

They decided at first that they had better follow the stream southward,
but after a little time, feeling the sickness caused by the water, they
saw it was no advantage and turned west again, bearing to the north
toward a sort of pass they could now see in the mountains in that
direction. This stream is now known as the Amargosa, or bitter, river.

The new direction in which they marched gave them an up-hill route for
thirty or forty miles, rough and barren, with no water or grass. There
was no road or trail to follow, the oxen were as weak as their owners
from drinking the bitter water, and the road needed some clearing and
breaking in places before the wagons could pass. They moved quite slowly
and reached the summit on the second night with the loss of a single ox.
The Author would say here that this was the last ox which was allowed to
die without using the flesh for food, and it was from this same one he
cut a steak to eat on Christmas eve, 1849.

From the summit they took a way down a dark, deep canon having a steep
slope, and very rocky and bad, but down which the oxen drew their loads
much easier than when they came up, reaching water on the third day,
where there were many springs, and a sort of coarse grass for the oxen.
The place is now known as Furnace Creek. The Jayhawkers passed on, and
here at these very springs was where the Author overtook the Rev. J.W.
Brier delivering a lecture to his children on the benefits of an early
education, as referred to in his narrative.

As the Jayhawkers drove out of this Furnace Creek Canon the valley into
which they came was very narrow, the high, snow-capped mountain before
them seemed steeper and rougher than ever, so steep in fact that it
could not be ascended by a man on foot. A short distance below could be
seen a lake containing water, and the pass toward which they had been
directing their course seemed to the north of them. They therefore
turned their course in that direction. The road was sandy, and the brush
that grew on it was only a few inches high. On their way they came to an
abandoned Indian camp occupied by one poor old blind red man. He would
hold his mouth open like a young bird begging for something to eat. One
man dropped kernels of parched corn into his mouth, but instead of
eating them he quickly spit them out; it seemed that he had been left to
die and could not or would not. His hair was white as snow. His skin
looked about the color of a smoked ham, and so crippled was he that he
crawled about like a beast, on all fours. It was barely possible that he
had been left to watch, and that his great infirmities were only
pretended, but they seemed genuine enough, and were doubtless true. They
left him in peaceable possession of the spot and traveled on.

They approached the base of the mountain in front of what they had all
along supposed to be a pass, and found, as they had lately begun to
suspect, that there was no pass that their wagons could be taken
through, and they must be abandoned. The camp was poor. What little
water there was had a salty taste, and they could only find here and
there a bunch of the poorest grass. The oxen stood around as if utterly
dispirited, and would sometimes make a faint effort to pick up and eat
some of the dry brush that grew around the desolate camp. This camp is
now known to be in the northern part of Death Valley, but then they knew
no names for anything, but if dreariness and absence of life, and
threatened danger all around were any indication, they might well have
named it Death Valley as was afterwards done by the party with whom the
Author traveled.

The party had been brave till now, but when they realized that they must
make pack animals of themselves, and trudge on, they knew not where,
perhaps to only a lingering death, the keen edge of disappointment cut
close, and they realized how desolate they were. They felt much inclined
to attribute all their troubles to the advice of the Mormons. Some said
that the plan was thus to wipe so many more hated Gentiles out of the
way, and wishes were deep and loud that the Mormons might all be buried
out of sight in the Great Salt Lake. They thought Lot's wife must have
been turned to salt in the neighborhood, everything was so impregnated
with saline substances, and the same result might come to them. But the
inherent manhood of the little band came to their relief and they
determined not to die without a struggle for escape and life.

They killed some of their oxen, and took the wood of their wagons and
kindled fires to dry and smoke the flesh so it would be light and easy
to carry with them. They scattered all surplus baggage around the
ground, carefully storing and saving the bit of bread that yet remained
and dividing it equally among the party. They also divided the tea,
coffee, rice and some such things, and each one agreed that he could not
ask aught of his neighbor more. Knapsacks were improvised from parts of
the wagon canvas, and long strips of canvas were made into a sort of
pack harness for the oxen. It was a sad sight to see the strong and
vigorous young men of a few days ago reduced to such straits; almost
skeletons now, with no hope of nourishment to invigorate them. They made
canteens by sewing a couple of small powder cans in cloth, with a band
to go over the shoulders.

The Jayhawkers were still making their preparations when the Martin
party and Rev. J.W. Brier and family came up to their camp, having taken
a circuit around farther to the south. The Martin party was already in
marching order and this camp was so poor that they did not wait, but
gave all their oxen they had left to Mr. Brier and said they could get
on faster without them. They took a straight course over the hills and
up the mountain, saying they believed they had provisions enough upon
their backs to last them through, and that nothing should check their
progress till they reached the other side, where they said were fertile
valleys and plenty of chance to live.

The Doty party, or Jayhawkers, when they were ready started first a
northerly course to find a more favorable place to cross the range and
drove their oxen with them, each with a small pack. They soon came to
some good water, and after refreshing themselves turned westward to
cross the great mountain before them. Both men and oxen were shod with
moccasins made of raw-hide to protect the feet against sharp rocks. They
could see no trail but merely picked out the best way to go. While
climbing the steep mountain side they came across a dead ox left by some
party that had gone before them. They cut out the tongue and some of the
best meat and ate it to eke out their own small stock, and carried some
pieces with them, but soon threw it all away but enough for a roast for
supper.

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