It is hard today to realize the terrors that the desert held for
settlers who toiled across the empty wastes by covered wagon in 1849.
The trip, which now takes only a few hours by auto, then required days
of courage and endurance, plus careful preparation. In the following
narrative Sarah Royce, mother of the philosopher Josiah Royce, tells of
her experiences in crossing the desert from Salt Lake City to the
California gold fields. She was traveling in a single wagon with her
two-year-old daughter, her husband, and several other men when the party
lost its way. They had started before daylight and missed a turn which
led to a grassy meadow and water. Hence they found themselves at noon
far out on the desert, lacking fodder for the oxen and water.
We began to look anxiously for the depression in the ground, and the
holes dug, which we were told would mark the Sink of the Humboldt. But
it was nearly noonday before we came to them. There was still some
passable water in the holes, but not fit to drink clear, so we
contrived to gather enough sticks of sage to boil some, made a little
coffee, ate our lunch and, thus refreshed, we hastened to find the
forking road. Our director had told us, that within about two or three
miles beyond the Sink we might look for the road, to the left, and we
did look, and kept looking, and going on, drearily, till the sun got
lower and lower, and night was fast approaching. Then the conviction,
which had long been gaining ground in my mind, took possession of the
whole party. We had passed the forks of the road before daylight, that
morning, and were now miles out on the desert without a mouthful of
food for the cattle and only two or three quarts of water in a little
cask.
What could be done? Halt we must, for the oxen were nearly worn out
and night was coming on. The animals must at least rest, if they could
not be fed: and, that they might rest, they were chained securely to
the wagon, for, hungry and thirsty as they were, they would, if loose,
start off frantically in search of water and food, and soon drop down
exhausted. Having fastened them in such a way that they could lie
down, we took a few mouthfuls of food, and then, we in our wagon and
the men not far off upon the sand, fell wearily to sleep; a forlorn
little company wrecked upon the desert.
The first question in the morning was, “How can the oxen be kept from
starving?” A happy thought occurred. We had, thus far on our journey,
managed to keep something in the shape of a bed to sleep on. It was a
mattress-tick, and, just before leaving Salt Lake, we had put into it
some fresh hay—not very much, for our load must be as light as
possible; but the old gentleman traveling with us also had a small
straw mattress; the two together might keep the poor things from
starving for a few hours. At once a small portion was dealt out to
them and for the present they were saved. For ourselves we had food
which we believed would about last us till we reached the Gold Mines
if we could go right on: if we were much delayed anywhere, it was
doubtful. The two or three quarts of water in our little cask would
last only a few hours, to give moderate drinks to each of the party.
They decided they must return, the distance to the next waterhole was
too far. Soon after they began retracing their steps, they met another
group of emigrants, who confirmed their suspicions that they had missed
the turn 15 miles back.
I had now become so impressed with the danger of the cattle giving
out, that I refused to ride except for occasional brief rests. So,
soon after losing sight of the dust of the envied little caravan, I
left the wagon and walked the remainder of the day. For a good while I
kept near the wagon but, by and by, being very weary I fell behind.
The sun had set, before we reached the Sink, and the light was fading
fast when the wagon disappeared from my sight behind a slight
elevation; and, as the others had gone on in advance some time before,
I was all alone on the barren waste. However, as I recognized the
features of the neighborhood, and knew we were quite near the Sink, I
felt no particular apprehension, only a feeling that it was a weird
and dreary scene and instinctively urged forward my lagging footsteps
in hope of regaining sight of the wagon....
The next morning we resumed our backward march after feeding out the
last mouthful of fodder. The water in the little cask was nearly used
up in making coffee for supper and breakfast; but, if only each one
would be moderate in taking a share when thirst impelled him, we might
yet reach the wells before any one suffered seriously. We had lately
had but few chances for cooking; and only a little boiled rice with
dried fruit, and a few bits of biscuit remained after we had done
breakfast. If we could only reach the meadows by noon. But that we
could hardly hope for, the animals were so weak and tired. There was
no alternative, however, the only thing to be done was to go steadily
on, determined to do and endure....
I found no difficulty this morning in keeping up with the team. They
went so slowly, and I was so preternaturally [_unnaturally_]
stimulated by anxiety to get forward, that, before I was aware of it I
would be some rods ahead of the cattle, straining my gaze as if
expecting to see a land of promise, long before I had any rational
hope of the kind. My imagination acted intensely. I seemed to see
Hagar, in the wilderness walking wearily away from her fainting child
among the dried-up bushes, and seating herself in the hot sand. I
seemed to become Hagar myself, and when my little one, from the wagon
behind me, called out, “Mamma I want a drink”—I stopped, gave her
some, noted that there were but a few swallows left, then mechanically
pressed onward again, alone, repeating, over and over, the words, “Let
me not see the death of the child.”
Just in the heat of noonday we came to where the sage bushes were
nearer together; and a fire, left by campers or Indians, had spread
for some distance, leaving beds of ashes, and occasionally charred
skeletons of bushes to make the scene more dreary. . . .
Wearily passed the hottest noonday hour, with many an anxious look at
the horned-heads, which seemed to me to bow lower and lower, while the
poor tired hoofs almost refused to move. The two young men had been
out of sight for some time; when, all at once, we heard a shout, and
saw, a few hundred yards in advance a couple of hats thrown into the
air and four hands waving triumphantly. As soon as we got near enough,
we heard them call out, “Grass and water! Grass and water!” and
shortly we were at the meadows.