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.