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 cañon lies between each of them,
but a good mountain road was built around the head of each cañon,
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.
Four of us secured ground enough by purchase so we could afford to
undertake this expensive job and we worked on it day and night. Jerry
Clark and Len Redfield worked the day shifts, and Sam King and Wm. Quirk
the night shift. When the tunnel was completed about 100 feet, the night
shift had driven forward the top of the tunnel as a heading, leaving the
bottom, which was about a foot thick, or more, to be taken out by the
day shift. They drilled a hole about two feet horizontally to blast out
this bench. King would sit and hold the drill between his feet, while
Quirk would strike with a heavy sledge. When the hole was loaded they
tramped down the charge very hard so as to be sure it would not blow
out, but lift the whole bench. One day when they were loading a hole,
King told Quirk to come down pretty heavy on the tamping, so as to make
all sure, and after a few blows given as directed, there was an
explosion, and Quirk was forced some distance out of the tunnel, his
eyes nearly put out with dirt blown into them, and his face and body cut
with flying pieces of rock. He was at first completely stunned, but
after awhile recovered so as to crawl out, and was slowly making his way
up the hill on hands and knees when he was discovered and helped to his
cabin where his wounds were washed and dressed.
Then a party with lighted candles entered the tunnel to learn the fate
of King, and they found him lying on the mass of rock the blast had
lifted, dead. On a piece of board they bore the body to his cabin. There
was hardly a whole bone remaining. A cut diagonally across his face,
made by a sharp stone, had nearly cut his head in two. He had been
thrown so violently against the roof of the tunnel, about 6 feet high,
that he was completely mashed.
He had a wife in Mass. and as I had often heard him talk of her, and of
sending her money, I bought a $100 check and sent it in the same letter
which bore the melancholy news. King had a claim at Chip's Flat which he
believed would be very rich in time, so I kept his interest up in it
till it amounted to $500 and then abandoned the claim and pocketed the
loss.
We made a pine box, and putting his body in it, laid it away with
respect. I had often heard him say that if he suffered an accident, he
wished to be killed outright and not be left a cripple, and his wish
came true.
After this accident the blacksmith working for the Paradise Co., was
making some repairs about the surface of the air shaft, and among his
tools was a bar of steel an inch square, and 8 or 10 feet long, which
was thrown across the shaft, and while working at the whim wheel he
slipped and struck this bar which fell to the bottom of the shaft, 100
feet deep and the blacksmith followed. When the other workmen went down
to his assistance they found that the bar of steel had stuck upright in
the bottom of the shaft, and when the man came down it pierced his body
from hip to neck, killing him instantly. He was a young man, and I have
forgotten his name.
Those who came to California these later years will not many of them see
the old apparatus and appliances which were used in saving the gold in
those primitive days. Among them was the old "Rocker." This had a bottom
about 5 feet long and 16 inches wide, with the sides about 8 inches high
for half the length, and then sloped off to two inches at the end. There
was a bar about an inch high across the end to serve as a riffle, and on
the higher end of this box is a stationary box 14 inches square, with
sides 4 inches high and having a sheet iron bottom perforated with half
inch holes. On the bottom of the box are fastened two rockers like those
on the baby cradle, and the whole had a piece of board or other solid
foundation to stand on, the whole being set at an angle to allow the
gravel to work off at the lower end with the water. A cleat was fastened
across the bottom to catch the gold, and this was frequently examined to
see how the work was paying, and taking out such coarse pieces as could
be readily seen. To work the rocker a pan of dirt would be placed in the
square screen box, and then with one hand the miner would rock the
cradle while he poured water with the other from a dipper to wash the
earth. After he had poured on enough water and shaken the box
sufficiently to pass all the small stuff through he would stir over what
remained in the screen box, examining carefully for a nugget too large
to pass through the half inch holes. If the miner found that the dirt
did not pay he took his rocker on his back and went on in search of a
better claim.
Another way to work the dirt was to get a small head of water running in
a ditch, and then run the water and gravel through a series of boxes a
foot square and twelve feet long, using from one to ten boxes as
circumstances seemed to indicate. At the lower end of these boxes was
placed the "Long Tom" which was about two feet wide at the lower end,
and having sides six inches high at the same point. The side pieces
extend out about 3 feet longer than the wooden bottom, and are turned up
to a point, some like a sled runner, and this turned up part has a
bottom of sheet iron punched full of holes, the size of the sheet iron
being about 3 feet by 16 inches.
The miners shovel dirt into the upper end of the boxes slowly, and
regulate the water so that it dissolves the lumps and chunks very
thoroughly before it reaches the long tom where a man stands and stirs
the gravel over, and if nothing yellow is seen throws the washed gravel
away, and lets the rest go through the screen. Immediately below this
screen was placed what was called a "riffle box," 2 by 4 feet in size
with bars 4 inches high across the bottom and sides, and this box is set
at the proper angle. Now when the water comes through the screen it
falls perpendicularly in this box with force enough to keep the contents
continually in motion, and as the gold is much heavier than any other
mineral likely to be found in the dirt, it settles to the bottom, and
all the lighter stuff is carried away by the water. The gold would be
found behind the bars in the riffle box.
These methods of working were very crude, and we gradually became aware
that the finest dust was not saved, and many improvements were brought
into use. In my own mine the tailings that we let go down the mountain
side would lodge in large piles in different places, and after lying a
year, more gold could be washed out of it than was first obtained, and
some of it coarser, so that it was plainly seen that a better way of
working would be more profitable. There was plenty of ground called poor
ground that had much gold in it but could not be profitably worked with
the rocker and long tom. The bed rock was nearly level and as the land
had a gradual rise, the banks kept getting higher and higher as they dug
farther in. Now it was really good ground only down close to the bed
rock, but all the dirt had some gold in it, and if a way could be
invented to work it fast enough, such ground would pay. So the plan of
hydraulic mining was experimented upon.
The water was brought in a ditch or flume to the top of a high bank, and
then terminated in a tight box. To this box was attached a large hose
made by hand out of canvas, and a pipe and nozzle attached to the lower
end of the hose. Now as the bank was often 100 feet or more high the
water at this head, when directed through the nozzle against the bank,
fairly melted it away into liquid mud. Imagine us located a mile above
the river on the side of a mountain. We dug at first sluices in the rock
to carry off the mud and water, and after it had flowed in these a
little way a sluice box was put in to pass it through. These were made
on a slope of one in twelve, and the bottom paved with blocks, 3 inches
thick, so laid as to make a cavity or pocket at the corner of the
blocks. After passing the first sluice box the water and gravel would be
run in a bed rock sluice again, and then into another sluice box and so
on for a mile, passing through several sluice boxes on the way.
Quicksilver was placed in the upper sluice boxes, and when the particles
of gold were polished up by tumbling about in the gravel, they combined
with the quicksilver making an amalgam.
The most gold would be left in the first sluice boxes but some would go
on down to the very last, where the water and dirt was run off into the
river. They cleaned up the first sluices every week, a little farther
down every month, while the lower ones would only be cleaned up at the
end of the season.
In cleaning up, the blocks would be taken out of the boxes, and every
little crevice or pocket in the whole length of the sluice cleaned out,
from the bottom to the top, using little hooks and iron spoons made for
the purpose.
The amalgam thus collected was heated in a retort which expelled the
quicksilver in vapor, which was condensed and used again.
When they first tried hydraulic work a tinsmith made a nozzle out of
sheet iron, but when put in practice, instead of throwing a solid
stream, it scattered like an shotgun, and up at Moore's Flat they called
the claims where they used it the "shotgun" claims.
From that time great improvements were made in hydraulic apparatus until
the work done by them was really wonderful.
In 1850 there lived at Orleans Flat and Moore's Flat, in Nevada County a
few young, energetic and very stirring pioneers in the persons of lads
from 10 to 15 years of age, always on the search for a few dimes to
spend, or add to an already hoarded store, and the mountain air, with
the wild surroundings, seemed to inspire them always with lively vigor,
and especially when there was a prospect of a two-bit piece not far
ahead.
In winter when the deep snow cut off all communication with the valley,
our busy tinner ran short of solder, and seeing a limited supply in the
tin cans that lay thick about, he engaged the boys to gather in a supply
and showed them how they could be melted down to secure the solder with
which they had been fastened, and thus provide for his immediate wants.
So the boys ransacked every spot where they had been thrown, under the
saloon and houses, and in old dump holes everywhere, till they had
gathered a pretty large pile which they fired as he had told them, and
then panned out the ashes to secure the drops of metal which had melted
down and cooled in small drops and bits below. This was re-melted and
cast into a mould made in a pine block, and the solder made into regular
form. About one-third was made up thus in good and honest shape.
But the boys soon developed a shrewdness that if more fully expanded
might make them millionaires, but in the present small way they hoped to
put to account in getting a few extra dimes. They put a big chunk of
iron in the mould and poured in the melted solder which enclosed it
completely, so that when they presented the bright silvery bar to the
old tinker he paid the price agreed upon and they divided the money
between them, and then, in a secure place, they laughed till their sides
ached at the good joke on the tinman.
In due time the man found out the iron core in his bar of solder, and
thought the joke such a good one that he told of it in the saloon, and
had to spend at least $5 in drinks to ease off the laugh they had on him
as the victim of the young California pioneers. And these young
fellows--some have paddled their own canoe successfully into quiet
waters and are now in the fullness of life, happy in their possessions,
while some have been swamped on the great rushing stream of business,
and dwell in memory on the happy times gone by.
The older pioneers in these mining towns were, in many respects a
peculiar class of men. Most of them were sober and industrious, fearless
and venturesome, jolly and happy when good luck came to them, and in
misfortune stood up with brave, strong, manly hearts, without a tear or
murmur. They let the world roll merrily by, were ever ready with joke,
mirth and fun to make their surroundings cheerful.
Fortunes came and went; they made money easily, and spent it just as
freely, and in their generosity and kindly charity the old
expression--"He has a heart like an ox" fitted well the character of
most of them.
When luck turned against them they worked the harder, for the next turn
might fill their big pockets with a fortune, and then the dream of
capturing a wife and building up a home could be realized, and they
would move out into the world on a wave of happiness and plenty. This
kind of talk was freely carried on around the camp fire in the long
evenings, and who knows how many of these royal good fellows realized
those bright hopes and glorious anticipations? Who knows?
The names come back in memory of some of them, and others have been
forgotten. I recall Washington Work, H. J. Kingman, A. J. Henderson, L.
J. Hanchett, Jack Hays, Seth Bishop, Burr Blakeslee, Jim Tyler, who was
the loudest laugher in the town, and as he lived at the Clifton House he
was called "The Clifton House Calf." These and many others might be
mentioned as typical good fellows of the mining days. The biggest kind
of practical joke would be settled amicably at the saloon after the
usual style.
One day Jack Hays bought a pair of new boots, set them down in the store
and went to turn off the miners supply of water. When he returned he
found his boots well filled with refuse crackers and water. This he
discovered when he took them up to go to dinner, and as he poured out
the contents at the door, a half dozen boys across the street raised a
big laugh at him, and hooted at his discomfiture. Jack scowled an awful
scowl, and if he called them "pukes" with a few swear words added, it
was a mild way of pouring out his anger. But after dinner the boys
surrounded him and fairly laughed him into a good humor, so that he set
up drinks for the crowd.
Foot races were a great Sunday sport, and dog fights were not uncommon.
One dog in our camp was champion of the ridge, and though other camps
brought in their pet canines to eat him up, he was always the top dog at
the end of the scrimmage, and he had a winning grip on the fore foot of
his antagonist.
A big "husky" who answered to the name of Cherokee Bob came our way and
stopped awhile. He announced himself a foot racer, and a contest was
soon arranged with Soda Bill of Nevada City, and each went into a course
of training at his own camp. Bob found some way to get the best time
that Bill could make, and comparing it with his own, said he could beat
in that race. So when it came off our boys gathered up their money, and
loaded down the stage, inside and out, departing with swinging hats and
flying colors, and screaming in wild delight at the sure prospect of
doubling their dust. In a few days they all came back after the style of
half drowned roosters.
Bob had 'thrown' the race and skipped with his money before they could
catch him. Had he been found he would have been urgently hoisted to the
first projecting limb, but he was never seen again. The boys were sad
and silent for a day or two, but a look of cheerful resignation soon
came upon their faces as they handled pick and shovel, and the world
rolled on as before.
One fall we had a county election, and among the candidates for office
was our townsman, H.M. Moore, from whom Moore's Flat secured its name.
He was the Democratic nominee for County Judge, and on the other side
was David Belden, he whom Santa Clara County felt proud to honor as its
Superior Judge, and when death claimed him, never was man more sincerely
mourned by every citizen.
The votes were counted, and Belden was one ahead. Moore claimed another
count, and this time a mistake was discovered in the former count, but
unfortunately it gave Belden a larger majority than before, and his
adversary was forced to abandon the political fight.
In the fifties I traveled from the North Yuba River to San Bernardino on
different roads, and made many acquaintances and friends. I can truly
say that I found many of these early comers who were the most noble men
and women of the earth. They were brave else they had never taken the
journey through unknown deserts, and through lands where wild Indians
had their homes. They were just and true to friends, and to real
enemies, terribly bitter and uncompromising. Money was borrowed and
loaned without a note or written obligation, and there was no mention
made of statute laws as a rule of action. When a real murderer or
horsethief was caught no lawyers were needed nor employed, but if the
community was satisfied as to the guilt and identity of the prisoner,
the punishment was speedily meted out, and the nearest tree was soon
ornamented with his swinging carcass.
Many of these worthy men broke the trail on the rough way that led to
the Pacific Coast, drove away all dangers, and made it safer for those
who dared not at first risk life and fortune in the journey, but,
encouraged by the success of the earliest pioneers, ventured later on
the eventful trip to the new gold fields. I cannot praise these noble
men too much; they deserve all I can say, and much more, too; and if a
word I can say shall teach our new citizens to regard with reverent
respect the early pioneers who laid the foundations of the glory,
prosperity and beauty of the California of to-day, I shall have done all
I hope to, and the historian of another half century may do them
justice, and give to them their full need of praise.
As long as I have lived in California I have never carried a weapon of
defense, and never could see much danger. I tried to follow the right
trail so as to shun bad men, and never found much difficulty in doing
so. We hear much of the Vigilance Committee of early days. It was an
actual necessity of former times. The gold fields not only attracted the
good and brave, but also the worst and most lawless desperadoes of the
world at large. England's banished convicts came here from the penal
colonies of Australia and Van Diemen's Land. They had wonderful ideas of
freedom. In their own land the stern laws and numerous constabulary had
not been able to keep them from crime. A colony of criminals did not
improve in moral tone, and when the most reckless and daring of all
these were turned loose in a country like California, where the
machinery of laws and officers to execute them was not yet in order,
these lawless "Sidney Ducks," as they were called, felt free to rob and
murder, and human life or blood was not allowed to stand between them
and their desires. Others of the same general stripe came from Mexico
and Chili, and Texas and Western Missouri furnished another class almost
as bad.
The Vigilance Committee of San Francisco was composed of the best men in
the world. They endured all that was heaped upon them by these lawless
men, and the law of self protection forced them to organize for the
swift apprehension and punishment of crime, and the preservation of
their property and lives. No one was punished unjustly, but there was no
delay, and the evil-doer met his fate swiftly and surely. Justice was
strict, and the circumstances were generally unfavorable to thoughts of
mercy. I was in San Francisco the day after Casey and Cory were hung by
the Vigilance Committee. Things looked quite military. Fort Gunny-bags
seemed well protected, and no innocent man in any danger. I was then a
customer of G.W. Badger and Lindenberger, clothiers, and was present one
day in their store when some of the clerks came in from general duty,
and their comrades shouldered the same guns and took their places on
guard. The Committee was so truly vigilant that these fire-bugs, robbers
and cut-throats had to hide for safety.
Those who came early to this coast were, mostly, brave, venturesome,
enduring fellows, who felt they could outlive any hardship and overcome
all difficulties; they were of no ordinary type of character or habits.
They thought they saw success before them, and were determined to win it
at almost any cost. They had pictured in their minds the size of the
"pile" that would satisfy them, and brought their buckskin bags with
them, in various sizes, to hold the snug sum they hoped to win in the
wonderful gold fields of the then unknown California.
These California pioneers were restless fellows, but those who came by
the overland trail were not without education and refinement; they were,
indeed, many of them, the very cream of Americans. The new scenes and
associations, the escape from the influence of home and friends, of wife
and children, led some off the dim track, and their restlessness could
not well be put down. Reasonable men could not expect all persons under
these circumstances to be models of virtue. Then the Missouri River
seemed to be the western boundary of all civilization, and as these gold
hunters launched out on the almost trackless prairies that lay westward
of that mighty stream, many considered themselves as entering a country
of peculiar freedom, and it was often said that "Law and morality never
crossed the Missouri River." Passing this great stream was like the
crossing of the Rubicon in earlier history, a step that could not be
retraced, a launching to victory or death. Under this state of feeling
many showed the cloven foot, and tried to make trouble, but in any
emergency good and honest men seemed always in the majority, and those
who had thoughts or desires of evil were compelled to submit to
honorable and just conclusions.
There were some strange developments of character among these travelers.
Some who had in long attendance at school and church, listened all their
lives to teachings of morality and justice, and at home seemed to be
fairly wedded to ideas of even rights between man and man, seemed to
experience a change of character as they neared the Pacific Coast.
Amiable dispositions became soured, moral ideas sadly blunted, and their
whole make-up seemed changed, while others who at home seemed to be of
rougher mould, developed principles of justice and humanity, affection
almost unbounded, and were true men in every trial and in all places. A
majority of all were thus fair-minded and true.
Men from every state from New Hampshire to Texas gathered on the banks
of the Missouri to set out together across the plains. These men reared
in different climates, amid different ways and customs, taught by
different teachers in schools of religion and politics, made up a
strange mass when thus thrown together; but the good and true came to
the surface, and the turbulent and bad were always in a hopeless
minority. Laws seemed to grow out of the very circumstances, and though
not in print, flagrant violations would be surely punished.
Some left civilization with all the luxuries money could buy--fine,
well-equipped trains of their own, and riding a fat and prancing steed,
which they guided with gloved hands, and seemed to think that water and
grass and pleasant camping places would always be found wherever they
wished to stop for rest, and that the great El Dorado would be a grand
pleasure excursion, ending in a pile of gold large enough to fill their
big leather purse. But the sleek, fat horse grew poor; the gloves with
embroidered gauntlet wrists were cast aside; the trains grew small, and
the luxuries vanished, and perhaps the plucky owner made the last few
hundred miles on foot, with blistered soles and scanty pack, almost
alone. Many of these gay trains never reached California, and many a
pioneer who started with high hopes died upon the way, some rudely
buried, some left where they fell upon the sands or rocks.
Those who got through found a splendid climate and promising prospects
before them of filling empty stomachs and empty pockets, and were soon
searching eagerly for yellow treasure. When fortunate they recovered
rapidly their exhausted bodies to health and strength, and gained new
energy as they saw prosperity.
Prospectors wandered through the mountains in search of new and suitable
gold diggings, and when they came to a miner's cabin the door was always
open, and whether the owner was present or absent they could go in, and
if hungry, help themselves to anything they found in shape of food, and
go away again without fear of offense, for under such circumstances the
unwritten law said that grub was free.
By the same unwritten law, stealing and robbery, as well as murder, were
capital offences, and lawless characters were put down. Favors were
freely granted, and written obligations were never asked or given, and
business was governed by the rules of strictest honor. The great
majority of these pioneers were the bone and sinew of the nation, and
possessed a fair share of the brains. In a personal experience with them
extending from early days to the present time I have found them always
just and honorable, and I regret that it is not within my ability to
give the praise they deserve. When a stranger and hungry I was never
turned away without food, and my entertainment was free, and given
without thought of compensation or reward.
In the chambers of my mind are stored up the most pleasant recollections
of these noble men whose good deeds in days gone by have earned for them
the right to a crown of glory of greatest splendor.
These noble souls who came here 40 years ago are fast passing away
across the Mystic River, and those who trod on foot the hot and dusty
trail are giving way to those who come in swiftly rolling palace cars,
and who hardly seem to give a thought to the difference between then and
now. Those who came early cleared the way and started the great stream
of gold that has made America one of the richest nations of the world.
I have a suggestion to make to the descendants of these noble pioneers,
that to perpetuate the memory of their fathers, and do reverence to
their good and noble deeds in the early history of this grand State,
there should be erected upon the highest mountain top a memorial
building wherein may be inscribed the names and histories of the brave
pioneers, so they may never be blotted out.
THE JAYHAWKERS.
The most perfect organization of the pioneers who participated more or
less in the scenes depicted in this volume, is that of the Jayhawkers,
and, strange to say, this organization is in the East, and has its
annual meetings there, although the living members are about equally
divided between the East and the Pacific Coast. As related elsewhere,
February 4th is the day of the annual meeting, for on that day they
reached the Santa Clara Valley.
It is greatly regretted that a more direct and complete account of the
Death Valley experience of the Jayhawkers could not have been obtained
for this work. To be sure it was from the lips of a living witness told
in many conversations, but no doubt many striking incidents were left
out. It is, however, a settled thing that these, and other individuals
with whom he was immediately connected, were more intimately connected
with the horrors of the sunken valley which was given its name by them,
than were any other persons who ever crossed that desert region.
It will be considered that this was the most favorable time of year
possible, and that during the spring or summer not one would have lived
to tell the tale.
The Author, to his best, has done his duty to all, and concludes with
the hope that this mite may authenticate one of the saddest chapters in
the history of the Golden State.
CONCLUSION.
This story is not meant to be sensational, but a plain, unvarnished tale
of truth--some parts hard and very sad. It is a narrative of my personal
experience, and being in no sense a literary man or making any pretense
as a writer, I hope the errors may be overlooked, for it has been to me
a difficult story to tell, arousing as it did sad recollections of the
past. I have told it in the plainest, briefest way, with nothing
exaggerated or overdone. Those who traveled over the same or similar
routes are capable of passing a just opinion of the story.
Looking back over more than 40 years, I was then a great lover of
liberty, as well as health and happiness, and I possessed a great desire
to see a new country never yet trod by civilized man, so that I easily
caught the gold fever of 1849, and naught but a trip to that land of
fabled wealth could cure me.
Geography has wonderfully changed since then. Where Omaha now stands
there was not a house in 1849. Six hundred miles of treeless prairie
without a house brought us to the adobe dwellings at Fort Laramie, and
400, more or less, were the long miles to Mormondom, still more than 700
miles from the Pacific Coast. Passing over this wilderness was like
going to sea without a compass.
Hence it will be seen that when we crossed a stream that was said to
flow to the Pacific Ocean, myself and comrades were ready to adopt
floating down its current as an easier road than the heated trail, and
for three weeks, over rocks and rapids, we floated and tumbled down the
deep cañon of Green River till we emerged into an open plain and were
compelled to come on shore by the Indians there encamped. We had
believed the Indians to be a war-like and cruel people, but when we made
them understand where we wanted to go, they warned us of the great
impassable Colorado Cañon only two days ahead of us, and pointed out the
road to "Mormonie" with their advice to take it. This was Chief Walker,
a good, well meaning red man, and to him we owed our lives.
Out of this trouble we were once again on the safe road from Salt Lake
to Los Angeles, and again made error in taking a cutoff route, and
striking across a trackless country because it seemed to promise a
shorter distance, and where thirteen of our party lie unburied on the
sands of the terribly dry valley. Those who lived were saved by the
little puddles of rain water that had fallen from the small rain clouds
that had been forced over the great Sierra Nevada Mountains in one of
the wettest winters ever known. In an ordinary year we should have all
died of thirst, so that we were lucky in our misfortune.
When we came out to the fertile coast near Los Angeles, we found good
friends in the native Californians who, like good Samaritans, gave us
food and took us in, poor, nearly starved creatures that we were,
without money or property from which they could expect to be rewarded.
Their deeds stand out whiter in our memories than all the rest,
notwithstanding their skins were dark. It seems to me such people do not
live in this age of the world which we are pleased to call advanced. I
was much with these old Californians, and found them honest and
truthful, willing to divide the last bit of food with a needy stranger
or a friend. Their good deeds have never been praised enough, and I feel
it in my heart to do them ample justice while I live.
The work that was laid out for me to do, to tell when and where I went,
is done. Perhaps in days to come it may be of even more interest than
now, and I shall be glad I have turned over the scenes in my memory and
recorded them, and on some rolling stone you may inscribe the name of
WILLIAM LEWIS MANLEY, born near St. Albans, Vermont, April 20th, 1820,
who went to Michigan while yet it was a territory, as an early pioneer;
then onward to Wisconsin before it became a state, and for twelve long,
weary months traveled across the wild western prairies, the lofty
mountains and sunken deserts of Death Valley, to this land which is now
so pleasant and so fair, wherein, after over 40 years of earnest toil, I
rest in the midst of family and friends, and can truly say I am content.
THE END.
[Transcriber's Note: Several variant spellings of, for example,
"medecine" and "Mormon", have been retained from the original.]
End of Project Gutenberg's Death Valley in '49, by William Lewis Manly