5th. Reached the Sink last night about sunset. This is a basin about 80
rods wide and half a mile long. It is usually the last water found on
the Humboldt, or where it loses itself in the sand, hence its name, but
this year the water is so high that it runs down several miles further
before it entirely sinks. There is no grass here whatever, nothing but
desert. We broke up our wagon to-day and made pack saddles, being
convinced of the impossibility of getting our wagon across the desert,
since the loss of the horse yesterday and the injury to the others.
Last night while we were making our supper on coffee and boiled corn,
soon after dark, a man came to us and asked for a drink of water. I
gave it to him; after drinking he stood looking wistfully at our corn,
then asked me if I would take half a dollar for a pint cup full of it.
I told him I would not take half a dollar for it, for money was no
consideration for food here. He said no more, but turned sorrowfully
away, when I stopped him and asked him if he was in distress. He said
that he had eaten nothing for two days but a small piece of dried meat
which a man gave him. I then told him that I would not take a half
dollar for the corn, but that he was welcome to sit down and eat his
fill; for although we were nearly out of provisions, we would divide
with a man in distress to the last morsel. He stopped the night with
us, and took breakfast, and although urged to stop and cross the desert
with us to-day, or take some corn with him, he would not do it, but
said that he had taxed our hospitality too much already, and left us
this morning. His name was Bayell, he belonged in one of the central
counties of Illinois, and was a man of standing and influence at home,
and a brother of the I.O.O.F. He said he hailed when he came up to our
camp, but it was so dark that I did not see his hail, or I should not
have put him to the test, to see whether he was really needy or not.
Sublet and company, and Williams & Co. left us this morning to cross
the desert; we got our pack saddles completed, and took the desert at 2
o'clock, P.M., and traveled all night. Two of our horses gave out, the
same that were alkalied, and we left them. About midnight we reached
the first wagon road where we found about four acres of wagons left to
decay on the desert; this is the first sand ridge; we passed two other
wagon yards before morning at similar ridges, besides great numbers
along the road, many of them burning. Who will accurately describe this
desert at this time? Imagine to yourself a vast plain of sand and clay;
the moon riding over you in silent grandeur, just renders visible by
her light the distant mountains; the stinted sage, the salt lakes,
cheating the thirsty traveler into the belief that water is near; yes,
water it is, but poison to the living thing that stops to drink. Train
after train drag their tiresome course along, man and beast suffering
all the pangs of thirst toil on, feeling, knowing that the burning sun
finds them on the desert in the coming day, their sufferings will be
enhanced ten-fold, if worn out with fatigue and thirst they do not
faint by the wayside and give up altogether. Burning wagons render
still more hideous the solemn march; dead horses line the road, and
living ones may be constantly seen, lapping and rolling the empty water
casks (which have been cast away) for a drop of water to quench their
burning thirst, or standing with drooping heads, waiting for death to
relieve them of their tortures, or lying on the sand half buried,
unable to rise, yet still trying. The sand hills are reached; then
comes a scene of confusion and dismay. Animal after animal drops down.
Wagon after wagon is stopped, the strongest animals are taken out of
the harness, the most important effects are taken out of the wagon and
placed on their backs and all hurry away, leaving behind wagons,
property and animals that, too weak to travel lie and broil in the sun
in an agony of thirst until death relieves them of their tortures. The
owners hurry on with but one object in view, that of reaching the
Carson River before the broiling sun shall reduce them to the same
condition. Morning comes, and the light of day presents a scene more
horrid than the rout of a defeated army; dead stock line the roads,
wagons, rifles, tents, clothes, everything but food may be found
scattered along the road; here an ox, who standing famished against a
wagon bed until nature could do no more, settles back into it and dies;
and there a horse kicking out his last gasp in the burning sand, men
scattered along the plain and stretched out among the dead stock like
corpses, fill out the picture. The desert! you must see it and feel it
in an August day, when legions have crossed it before you, to realize
it in all its horrors. But heaven save you from the experience.
An incident occurred this evening which shows well of the selfishness
of some people on this route. It was soon after dark; we had taken off
the packs to rest our horses, and were sitting and lying in the sage
bushes beside the road; one of our companions had a few miles back been
compelled to leave a horse, which from mistaken feelings of sympathy
for the poor animal, he had neglected to kill. While sitting there, a
company of packers came along the road, when, although it was so dark
that I could not distinguish one animal from another, our friend caught
up his rifle, cocked and presented it towards one of them, exclaiming
in an angry tone, "Get off that horse, you g----d d--n--d scoundrel, or
I'll shoot him down under you." The fellow slid off the horse
instantly, when our friend gave him one of the "dog-onit-est" blowings
up, as the Missourians say, that one fellow ever got for riding the
poor animal after he had given out. It was our friend's horse, who,
dark as it was, recognized his faithful animal. The fellow sloped
without saying a word in his defence.
6th. Morning still finds us dragging our weary steps along on the
desert, with nothing near but endless sand hills and beds of clay.
Passed Sublett's and Trimbles and Williams's wagons, which they were
compelled from loss of stock to leave. Reached the last sand 13 miles
from Carson's River, about 10 o'clock, A.M., where we found a water
station, and bought some water for our horses at 75 cts. a gallon. We
left the pack of one horse here for the station keeper to bring in at
night, and the boys went on with the horses, leaving Fuller, who was
pretty much done over, and myself, behind. They reached the river about
four o'clock, P.M. We were fortunate enough to find some old friends,
I. Welch, and T. Ranahan, who had got up a shelter for themselves and
oxen, of tents, cloths, and wagon covers, to protect them from the sun.
We stayed with them through the heat of the day, and about night
started again, but turned off about a mile from the road to visit a
small salt lake, where we found a very good spring of fresh water and a
sulphur spring. This lake is about three miles from Carson River; its
waters are more salt than the most salt brine, and its shores are
encrusted with pure salt. Its bed was evidently once the crater of a
volcano. We reached the river about 10 o'clock, P.M., but could not
find our camp it was so dark, although we found the next day that we
had passed directly through it, but the loss of tents, wagons, &c.,
rendered it impossible to distinguish our comrades who were snoring
away, wrapped in their blankets. However, after straggling around until
towards midnight, we found the tent of some old esteemed friends, Esq.
Hoffman & son, who gave us a hearty welcome and a spare blanket, which,
(having already filled ourselves with God's beverage from the Carson
River,) was to us a perfect elysian.