Death Valley in \'49 by William Lewis Manly

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Mr. Stockton related that when he left his family here to go to the
mines he rented one half a house of Michael Blanco who had a Spanish
wife and children, and these and his own were of course constant
playmates. When he returned in the fall he found his children had
learned to speak Spanish and nearly forgotten English, so that he had to
coax them a great deal to get them to talk to him at all, and he could
not understand a word they said.

I now tried to learn the language myself. I had money to loan, and the
borrowers were Spanish who gave good security and paid from 5 to 25 per
cent interest per month, on short time. Mrs. Stockton assisted me very
much as an interpreter.

I bought young steers for $8. each and gradually added to my herd. I got
along well until next spring when the beef eating population began to
steal my fat cattle, and seemed determined I should get no richer. The
country was over-stocked with desperate and lawless renegades in Los
Angeles and from one to four dead men was about the number picked up in
the streets each morning. They were of low class, and there was no
investigation, simply a burial at public expense.

The permanent Spanish population seemed honest and benevolent, but there
were many bad ones from Chili, Sonora, Mexico, Texas, Utah and Europe,
who seemed always on an errand of mischief a murder, thieving or
robbery.

Three or four suspicious looking men came on horseback and made their
camp near the Mission under an oak tree, where they staid sometime. They
always left someone in camp while the others went away every day on
their horses, and acted so strangely that the report soon became current
that they were stealing horses and running them off to some safe place
in the mountains till a quantity could be accumulated to take to the
mines to sell. On this information the Vigilance Committee arrested the
man in camp and brought him to a private room, where he was tried by
twelve men, who found him guilty of horse stealing, and sentenced to be
hung at once, for horse stealing was a capital offence in those days.

To carry out the sentence they procured a cart, put a box on it for a
seat, and with a rope around his neck and seated on the box, the
condemned man was dragged off by hand to an oak tree not far away,
whither he was followed by all the men, women and children of the place,
who where nearly all natives. While preparations were being made under
the tree some one called out that men were riding rapidly from the
direction of Los Angeles, and from the dust they raised seemed to be
more than usually in haste. So it was proposed to wait till they came
up. It was soon known that an Indian had been sent to Los Angeles to
give news to the man's friends there, and they had come with all the
speed of their horses to try to save his life. They talked and inquired
around a little and then proposed the question whether to hang him or to
turn him over to the lawful authorities for regular trial. This was put
to a vote and it was decided to spare him now. So the rope was taken off
his neck, and he was turned over to Mr. Mallard the Mission Justice of
the Peace, much to the relief of the fellow who saw death staring him in
the face.

The Santa Anita ranch, now owned by E.J. Baldwin, was owned by Henry
Dalton, an Englishman, who came with a stock of goods worth $75,000,
years before, but now had only the ranch left. The Azuza, a short
distance south was occupied by his brother.

I became well acquainted with many of these old California natives, and
found them honest in their dealings, good to the needy and in all my
travels never found more willing hands to bestow upon relatives, friends
or strangers ready relief than I saw among these simple natives. Their
kindness to our party when we came starving on the desert in 1850, can
never be praised enough, and as long as I shall live my best wishes
shall go with them.

I was one day riding with Vincent Duarte down toward Anaheim when he
suddenly dismounted to kill a large tarantula by pelting him with
stones. It was the first one I had seen, and seemed an over-grown
spider. I asked him if the thing was harmful, and he replied with
considerable warmth, "Mucho malo por Christianos" and I wondered if the
insect knew saints from sinners.

This spring we concluded to go to the Mormon settlement at San
Bernardino and secure some American bulls to improve our stock, and
starting late one day I rode as far as the Azuza Rancho where I staid
all night with Mr. Dalton, reaching the holy city, a branch of Brigham
Young's harem next day. Here I found a town of log houses in a circle,
enclosing a plaza. There was a passage between the houses. I stopped at
the principal hotel kept by a vigorous and enthusiastic Mormon woman,
who delighted to preach the doctrine.

Walking around on the outside of the fortifications I came across Capt.
Hunt, the man who was hired in the fall of 1849 to bring the big train
from Salt Lake to San Bernardino.

I told him who I was, and what I wanted, and he seemed to know me,
inviting me in the most friendly and social manner to take supper with
him, which I did. He sat at the head of the table and introduced me to
his three wives. The furnishing of the house was cheap and common, but
the table was fairly provided for. He said he would help me to find the
animals I wanted, and in the morning showed me two which he had, that
were young and suitable, and a larger one which he said I could have if
I could drive him.

I soon found out that I had better move or sell my cattle, for with all
my watching I could do they gradually disappeared, and hungry thieves
who could live on beef alone, visited my little band of cattle too often
and took what they wanted, and I could not detect them. I soon sold to
four buyers from the north, L.D. Stevens, David Grant, Sam Craig and Mr.
Wilson, and hired out with my two horses to help them drive the band
north, at a salary of $100 per month.

Disposing most of my money with Palmer, Cook & Co., I went to see my
mine at Moore's Flat. There were two boats leaving at about the same
time, one for Stockton, and one for Sacramento, the latter of which I
took, and Rogers the other. Both landed at Benecia, and when we swung
away from that wharf Rogers and I saluted each other with raised and
swinging hats, shouted a good bye, and I have never seen him since.

At Moore's Flat I found my mine well and profitably worked by Mr. Tyler
and as his lease was not out I returned to San Jose, as I had learned
from Rogers that Mr. A. Bennett was at Watsonville, and Mr. Arcane at
Santa Cruz, and I desired to visit them. I rode back across the country
and found Mr. Bennett and family at the point where the Salinas river
enters Monterey Bay. They were all well, and were glad to see me for
they did not know I was in California. Mrs. Bennett was greatly affected
at our meeting and shed tears of joy as she shook hands.

Bennett had a nice Whitehall boat and we had a genuine happy time
hunting, fishing and gathering clams, and also in social visits among
the neighbors and old acquaintances, among them one Jacob Rhodehouse of
Wisconsin.

While here I rode my horse around to Monterey and to Carmel Mission,
where I staid two or three days, with Mr. Gourley, a brother of Mrs.
William M. Stockton, who was here engaged in raising potatoes. I walked
along the beach near some rocky islands near the shore, and on these
rocks were more sea lions and seals than I supposed the whole ocean
contained--the most wonderful show of sea life on the California coast.
Returning I staid all night at the crossing of the Salinas with a
colored family who gave me good accommodations for self and horse. I
heard afterward that this family was attacked by robbers and all but one
murdered.

Mrs. Bennett's father D.J. Dilley lived near here also, and I had not
seen him since the time in Wisconsin, when he hauled my canoe over to
the river in 1849. One day while fishing on the beach we found the body
of a man, which we carried above the tide and buried in the sand.

I gave one of my horses to Geo. Bennett, and went over to Santa Cruz,
where I found Mr. and Mrs. J.B. Arcane and son Charles in a comfortable
home, well situated, and overjoyed to see me.

He knew everyone in town, and as we went about he never missed to
introduce me to every one we met, as the man who helped himself and
family out of Death Valley, and saved their lives. Arcane was a very
polite Frenchman and knew how to manage such things very gracefully, but
with all his grace and heartiness it made me feel quite a little
embarrassed to be made so much of publicly and among strangers. He took
me in his buggy and we drove along the beach, and to the lime-kiln of
Cowel & Jordan, also to the court house when court was in session.

Upon the hill I met Judge Watson, the father of Watsonville, and a Mr.
Graham, an old settler and land owner, and on this occasion he pulled a
sheet of ancient, smoky looking paper from beneath his arm, pointed to a
dozen or so of written lines in Spanish and then with a flourish of the
precious document in Watson's face dared him to beat that, or get him
off his land. I must say that never in my life was I better entertained
than here.

From Santa Cruz I crossed the mountain on a lonely and romantic trail to
San Jose again, finding very few houses on the road. Here I went to work
for R. G. Moody building a gristmill on the banks of the Coyote Creek,
to be run by water from artesian wells. When the mill was done I went
for my horse, and on my return I ran very unexpectedly upon Davenport
Helms, to whom I had sold my little black mule in 1850. Our talk was
short but he told me he had killed a man in Georgetown, and the sheriff
was looking for him. He was now venturing to town for tobacco, and would
hurry back to the hills again where he was herding cattle.

He said he kept them off at one time by getting in a piece of chaparral
and presenting his gun to them when they came near, they dare not
advance on him. Then he laughed and said--"And all the time my gun was
empty, for I did not have a d----d thing to put into it." "I tell you
they don't catch old Davenport. Now don't you tell on me. Good-bye." I
saw him no more after that.

The town of San Jose was now more of a town than it was a few years
before. The "Forty Thieves," and others, commenced building a city hall
of brick on the top of old adobe walls, and this was the principal
improvement, except the Moody mill near the Sutter house, one street
north of Julian.

After finishing work on the mill I drew my money from the bank in San
Francisco and started for the mines on horseback. Near French Camp, on
the east side of the San Joaquin Valley, many cattle were feeding on the
plains, and among them, much to my surprise I found "Old Crump," the ox
that brought Bennett's and Arcane's children safe through from Death
Valley in February, 1850. He was now fat and sleek and as kind and
gentle as when so poor upon the terrible journey. I got off my horse and
went up to him, and patted my old friend. I was glad to find him so
contented and happy, and I doubt not that he too was glad. I met a man
near by and asked him about the ox, and he said that the owner would not
sell him nor allow him to be worked, for he knew of the faithful part he
performed in the world, and respected him for it.

At Sacramento I deposited my money with Page, Bacon & Co., a branch of
the St. Louis firm of the same name, considered the safest bank in the
United States. Their bills were taken in payment of Government land.
Some rascals had some counterfeit bills on their bank, and traded them
off for gold with the Missourians who were going home, and the poor
fellows found themselves poor on arrival.

Going to my mine, where I left only a cabin or two, I found quite a
village with two hotels and a post office.

News soon came that the banks had closed their door, and Page and Bacon
also, so I concluded that I was broke. The "Pikers" said Page and Bacon
could not, nor would not fail, but news was against them. The boys now
tried to persuade me to go to Sacramento, and try to get my money and if
I succeeded, to bring up a good stock of goods and they would buy of me
in preference to any one else. On this showing I went down, and finding
my old friend Lyman Ross (well known in San Jose) who was keeping a
fruit store. I told him my business and he took me to L.A. Booth, Carrol
& Co., and I stated to him the facts about my money in the bank and the
doors closed. I told him if he would assist me I would buy $2000 worth
of his goods, and send them to Moore's Flat. I endorsed the certificate
over to him, and in half an hour he came back with the coin. How he got
it I never knew, but he did me a great favor, and we have been good
friends ever since. I was no merchant, nor had I any mercantile
education, so I took lessons from Mr. Booth, and allowed him to make out
for me a bill of goods such as he well knew I needed. With these we
loaded up two 6 mule teams, and started for the mountain.

I had about $700 left besides paying for the goods, but I felt a very
little troubled as to my prospect for success, for it was a new business
to me. Mr. Booth in a business way was a true father to me, and the much
needed points in trade which he gave me were stored away for the use I
knew I would make of them. Of all those whom I bear in grateful
remembrance none stand higher than this worthy man.

I went first direct to Nevada City to take out a license that I might
best protect myself against oppositions and from there I had a walk of
18 miles over a rough mountain trail to my selected place of business.
Climbing the great hill of the S. Yuba river I often tired and sat down
to rest, and I used this time to study my bill of goods, and add the
freight and profit to the cost, so as to be well posted, and able to
answer all questions readily when I unloaded the stock. The new trade
seemed quite a task to learn, but I felt that I was compelled to
succeed, and I worked manfully at it.

When I reached Moore's Flat I found that the boys had rented a store for
me, and their welcome was very hearty when they found how lucky I had
been in securing my money and starting out as their "grub supplier."

Four of us now located some mining claims, and began a tunnel both to
drain the ground, and to work through the bed-rock. This we named The
Paradise, and we expected that three or four months would elapse before
we made it pay, but there was in truth two years of solid rock-work
before we got under the ground, but it paid well in the end.

The largest nugget of gold ever found before this time was a quartz
boulder from the Buckeye sluice, about 8 by 10 inches in size, and when
cleaned up at the San Francisco mint the value was about $10,000.

Two of my partners in the work, L.J. Hanchett, and Jas. Clark ran out of
funds at the end of the first year, and I took as much of the expense as
I could upon my own shoulders.

About this time learning by a letter from her father that Mrs. Bennett
was lying at the point of death at Mr. L.C. Bostic's in San Jose, I left
H. Hanchett in charge of my business, and in four days I stood beside
the bedside of my friend, endeared through the trials when death by
thirst, starvation and the desert sands, stared us in the face with all
its ghastliness.

She reached out her arms and drew me down to her, and embraced me and
said in a faint whisper--"God bless you:--you saved us all till now, and
I hope you will always be happy and live long." She would have said
more, but her voice was so weak she could not be heard. She was very low
with consumption, and easily exhausted. I sat with her much of the time
at her request and though for her sake I would have kept back the tears
I could not always do it. Two doctors came, one of them Dr. Spencer, and
as I sat with my face partly turned away I over heard Dr. S. say to his
assistant--"He is a manly man."

This presence and the circumstances brought back the trying Death Valley
struggles, when this woman and her companions, and the poor children, so
nearly starved they could not stand alone, were only prevented from
sitting down to die in sheer despair by the encouraging words of Rogers
and myself who had passed over the road, and used every way to sustain
their courage.

She died the following day; with Mr. Bennett, I followed her remains to
Oak Hill cemetery, where she was buried near the foot of the hill, and a
board marked in large letters, "S.B." (Sarah Bennett) placed to mark the
mound. The grave cannot now be found, and no records being then kept it
is probably lost.

I went home with Mr. Bennett to his home near Watsonville, and spent
several days, meeting several of our old Death Valley party, and Mr.
D.J. Dilley, Mrs. Bennett's father. Mrs. Bennett left surviving her a
young babe.

I returned to Moore's Flat, and soon sold out my store, taking up the
business of purchasing gold dust direct from the miners, which I
followed for about two years, and in the fall of 1859 sold out the
business to Marks & Powers. I looked about through Napa and Sonoma
Counties, and finally came to San Jose, where I purchased the farm I now
own, near Hillsdale, of Bodley & McCabe, for which I paid $4,000.

In the fall of the same year my old friend W.M. Stockton of Los Angeles
Co. persuaded me to come down and pay him a visit. His wife had died and
he felt very lonely. I had been there but a few days when my old friend
A. Bennett and his children also came to Stockton's. The children had
grown so much I hardly knew them, but I was glad indeed to meet them.

I found Mr. Bennett to be a poor man. He had been persuaded to go to
Utah, being told that a fortune awaited his coming there, or could be
accumulated in a short time. He gave away the little babe left by his
wife to Mrs. Scott, of Scott's Valley, in Santa Cruz Co. and sold his
farm near the mouth of the Salinas River. With what money he had
accumulated he loaded two 4 mule teams with dry goods, put his four
children into his wagon, and went to Cedar City, Utah.

He gave a thrilling account of passing through Mountain Meadows, where
he saw, here and there little groups of skeletons of the unhappy victims
of the great massacre at that place of men, women and children, by J.D.
Lee, and his Mormon followers and told me the terrible story, which I
here omit.

Smarting under the terrible taxation of one tenth of everything, Bennett
grew poorer and poorer and at last resolved that he must go away, but
his wife could not leave her own people, and so he set off with his
children, somewhat afraid he might be shot down, but he reached Los
Angeles Co. in safety. One daughter married a lawyer in San Bernardino,
and died a few years afterwards. The other married a Capt. Johnson of
Wilmington, and Bennett and two sons went to Idaho.

A few years ago in passing from San Jose to the Coast, my wife and I
spent Sunday at Scott's Valley. Mrs. Scott invited us to visit them in
the evening at the house when all would be at home. Mrs. Scott was the
lady to whom Bennett gave his girl baby when he started away for Utah,
and I felt very anxious to see her now she was grown up. Mrs. Scott
introduced us, and I sat and looked at the little woman quite a long
time, but could not see that she resembled either father or mother. My
mind ran back over the terrible road we came and I pictured to myself
the woman as she then appeared.

I studied over our early trials, crossing the plains over the deserts
and our trying scenes out of Death Valley and turned all over in my mind
for some time and finally all came to me like a flash and I could
clearly see that the little lady was a true picture of her mother; I now
began to ask questions about her folks, she said her father lived near
Belmont, Nevada, and her grand-father died at the Monte, Los Angeles
county Cal.. Our visit now became very interesting and we kept a late
hour.

CHAPTER XVII.

Since writing the connected story which has thus far appeared, I turn
back to give some incidents of life in the mines, and some description
of those pioneer gold days.

I have spoken of Moore's Flat, Orleans Flat and Woolsey's Flat, all
similarly situated on different points of the mountain, on the north
side of the ridge between the South and Middle Yuba River, and all at
about the same altitude. A very deep canon lies between each of them,
but a good mountain road was built around the head of each canon,
connecting the towns. When the snow got to be three or four feet deep
the roads must be broken out and communication opened, and the boys used
to turn out _en masse_ and each one would take his turn in leading the
army of road breakers. When the leader got tired out some one would take
his place, for it was terrible hard work to wade through snow up to
one's hips, and the progress very slow. But the boys went at it as if
they were going to a picnic, and a sort of picnic it was when they
reached the next town, for whisky was free and grub plenty to such a
party, and jollity and fun the uppermost thoughts. On one such occasion
when the crowd came through Orleans Flat to Moore's Flat, Sid Hunt, the
butcher, was in the lead as they came in sight of the latter place, and
both he and his followers talked pretty loud and rough to the Moore's
Flat fellows calling them "lazy pups" for not getting their road clear.
Hunt's helper was a big stout, loud talking young man named Williams,
and he shouted to the leader--"Sid Hunt, toot your horn if you don't
sell a clam." This seemed to put both sides in good humor, and the
Orleans fellows joined in a plenty to eat and drink, rested and went
home. Next day, both camps joined forces and broke the road over to
Woolsey's Flat, and the third day crowded on toward Nevada City, and
when out and across Bloody Run, a stream called thus because some dead
men had been found at the head of the stream by the early settlers, and
it was suspected the guilty murderers lived not far off, they turned
down into Humbug, a town now called Bloomfield, and as they went down
the snow was not so deep. They soon met Sam Henry, the express man,
working through with letters and papers, and all turned home again.

A young doctor came to Moore's Flat and soon became quite popular, and
after a little while purchased a small drug store at Orleans Flat. In
this town there lived a man and his family and among them a little curly
headed girl perhaps one or two years old. She was sick and died and
buried while the ground was covered thick with snow. A little time
after, it was discovered that the grave had been disturbed, and on
examination no body was found in the grave.

Then it was a searching party was organized, and threats of vengeance
made against the grave robber if he should be caught. No tracks were
found leading out of town so they began to look about inside, and there
began to be some talk about this Dr. Kittridge as the culprit. He was
the very man, and he went to his drug store and told his clerk to get a
saddle horse and take the dead child's body in a sack to his cabin at
Moore's Flat, and conceal it in a back room. The clerk obeyed, and with
the little corpse before him on the horse started from the back door and
rode furiously to Moore's Flat, and concealed the body as he had been
directed.

Some noticed that he had ridden unusually fast, and having a suspicion
that all was not right, told their belief to the Orleans Flat people,
who visited the Doctor at his store and accused him of the crime, and
talked about hanging him on the spot without a trial. At this the Doctor
began to be greatly frightened and begged piteously for them to spare
his life, confessing to the deed, but pleading in extenuation that it
was for the purpose of confirming a question in his profession, and
wholly in the interest of science that he did it, and really to spare
the feelings of the parents that he did it secretly. He argued that no
real harm had been done, and some of his friends sided with him in this
view. But the controversy grew warmer, and the house filled up with
people. Some were bloodthirsty and needed no urging to proceed to buy a
rope and use it. Others argued, and finally the Doctor said that the
body had not been dissected, and if they would allow him, and appoint a
committee to go with him, he would produce the body, and they could
decently bury it again and there it might remain forever. This he
promised to do, and all agreed to it, and he kept his word, thus ending
the matter satisfactorily and the Doctor was released. But the feeling
never died out. The Doctor's friends deserted him, and no one seemed to
like to converse with him. At the saloon he would sit like a perfect
stranger, no one noticing him, and he soon left for new fields.

The first tunnel run at Moore's Flat was called the Paradise, and had to
be started low on the side of the mountain in order to drain the ground,
and had to be blasted through the bed rock for about 200 feet.

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