Chapter III: Part 3

11th. Got an early start this morning. We had a very cold night, quite cold enough for December, but have had a very warm day.--Passed the Junction of the Salt Lake and Ft. Hall roads this morning;--saw some wagons coming that road, the men said they had been seven days coming from Salt Lake; that it was about 170 miles, and that they had some bad streams to cross, one of them (the Webber) 19 times.--Passed a new grave at noon. We saw the team to which the person belonged who died, go along while we were baiting; he was then alive;--when we came up two hours afterwards, he was buried. He was from Missouri, and had been left sick on the road by his comrades. The team that had him in charge had picked him up and brought him along over 1000 miles and attended him until he died. Humanity sickens at such selfishness as that manifested by his comrades. They were three in number--he owned one fourth of the craft in common with them, but becoming sick, the brutes left him to the mercy of Indians, wolves, or such strangers as chance might throw in his way. The scoundrels should serve 10 years in the penitentiary if they ever get back to Missouri. We find many sick on the road now, and some deaths, but three-fourths of all that are sick are from Missouri. I do not know why it is, but such appears to be the fact.

This afternoon we had a long bad hill to descend, when we reached Goose Creek, and traveled up a few miles and camped for the night.--We have had an abundance of grass and water to-day. A singular looking gigantic bluff of rocks lies directly opposite from us, which we call the castle, and it looks like an ancient castle, with its mossy battlements and sturdy towers. I saw some of the most beautiful specimens of white marble to-day that it hast been my fortune to examine. There was a quarry of it filling a mountain. It was as pure as alabaster, and probably has not a rival in the world. Horse shoe nails sold to-day for 25 cents a piece.

25 miles.

12th. Followed up the Goose creek 13 miles, then up a spring branch thro' a gorge in the mountains and across some barren ridges without water, about 12 miles, when we entered the Thousand Spring Valley. The ridge that we crossed is composed almost entirely of lava, or melted stone, and is very rough and sharp to travel over. We did not camp until after dark, there being no grass at the first springs, and then we camped in the wild sage without grass, but we could go no farther that night. Fourteen horses ran away whilst we were getting our supplies. Some of them were found during the night, and the rest in the morning; they had found good grass up in the hills. Most of our men were out all night, so that this night seems but a continuation for the morrow.

30 miles.

13th. Crossed the ridge from the Thousand Spring Valley to the Cold Creek Valley about 12 miles, no grass or water. Cold Creek is a dry creek where we struck it, but furnishes some water for stock. Our course lay up the creek, which we followed up to near its head, where we camped at some good springs impregnated with sulphur. We found plenty of grass at night, and have seen considerable quantities of alkali through the day. We passed the grave of a man drowned July 1st., [1850] but cannot imagine where it happened, as there is not water enough in the creek to drown a man, if he should lie down expressly for that purpose. The dust has been very oppressive to-day.

23 miles.

14th. Sunday. Laid over to-day. Weather very warm, but cold last night. Jonathan killed a sage hen to-day; we found it good, delicate flavored meat, much better than prairie hen. A packer had a horse shot last night with an arrow about 10 miles below us; another man lost two horses and four oxen which were stolen by the Indians.

15th. Got an early start this morning, traveled about four miles and came to the hot springs. They are curiosities worth visiting. They boil up like water in a kettle, and are hot enough to cook eggs. I attempted to put my hand into one of them to the wrist, but could not get it in to the knuckles without scalding. An amusing story is told of some Dutchmen who came to it, and stopped their teams by its side, when one of them went to the spring, and seeing it boiling up clear and limpid, threw himself down on the ground and thrust his face into the water, but instantly sprang to his feet with his eyes staring, and brushing the hot water from his face with both hands, he screamed out, "Trive on, Honce, trive on; hell ish no more dan five milsh from here!" The springs smell strong of sulphur, and discharge a large quantity of water. Near them are some good cold springs. Four miles from these springs we left the Mormon trace which leads over to Kanyon Creek, and passed through a valley to a branch of the Humboldt River. Road good but dusty, not much grass. At the point where we left the Mormon trace, we found an excellent spring of pure cold water, as cold as ice water. We passed a natural well near the place where we struck a branch of the Humboldt, and camped two miles below at some sulphur springs, strongly impregnated with alkali. This well has no soundings that have ever been reached, there are also some of the same in Thousand Spring Valley. The whole country hereabouts has been at some day past a great volcanic crater, and its distinctive features at this day will remind one of that place spoken of above by the honest Dutchman, rather than pertaining to earth. We have passed springs gushing out of the rocks to-day so poisonous that a wine glass full would kill a man as soon as so much arsenic. They can be told by the smell for 40 rods before reaching them. We found good grass to-night, although there was considerable alkali mixed with it.

33 miles.

16. About 10 miles drive brought us to the Humboldt, which is about 20 yards wide and three feet deep. We crossed it and followed down it on its west bank. The valley here is wide and filled with abundance of excellent grass, clover, wild oats, wheat and red top. The day has been very hot and dusty, yet on both sides of us, but a few miles distant, the tops of the mountains are covered with snow. We passed two new graves to-day; one of them was of a man who was shot by an Indian whilst on guard on the night of the 2d of July, and died on the fifth. His name was Oliver; he was from Waukesha, Wis. The Indians are rather troublesome of late, as the Diggers always are when they dare to be. We find a great many dead horses now, and some that are left alive, the effects of hard driving and alkali. The most of the dead stock heretofore has been oxen, but it seems now that oxen stand this part of the trip the best.

25 miles.

17th. Course still down the river--crossed a considerable branch of the Humboldt, probably the Kanyon creek. The Humboldt here is very swampy. Had some of our horses mired--general complaint of like nature. The road last year followed down the bottoms, but this year the water is so high, that the bottoms are one complete swamp, and as a consequence we have to keep on the sage plains and cross ridges, making the road longer and worse to travel, and also to wade in the mud and cut grass for our stock. Passed another grave this evening of a man killed by an Indian; also some men digging a grave for one of their comrades who had died. There is an abundance of red clover along this drive in the low grounds.

32 miles.

18th. Continued down the river--stopped and set the tire for our wagon. This afternoon we entered a canon leading across a spur of the mountain, distance about 12 miles, and without water. Camped on a small creek, with but little grass. A horse was shot a short distance from us by the Indians.

23 miles.

19th. About five miles from our last night's camp we crossed a mountain brook of excellent water, then entered a canon which we followed for 26 miles, the first 14 without water. After turning the summit, and descending about two miles we came to a spring of pure cold water by the road side. We camped this night on the Humboldt and swam our stock across the river. Our camp presents the appearance of a populous village. There are probably not far from five hundred men in it, besides many women and children. Found good grass on the opposite side of the river.

33 miles.

20th. Our road to-day led mostly away from the river, crossing some ridges in the forenoon; in the afternoon left the river and crossed a level sage plain to the base of the mountains, where we found some poor water and some grass. We followed along at the base of the hills until we reached within a few miles of the river again and camped on a bottom covered with heavy grass, and slough water. This is the best point to stop at to recruit on the Humboldt, as there are miles of good grass equal to the less cultivated meadows, and but little alkali, and by taking some pains, water may be had. It will be known by the emigrant by this description: The road leaves the river and runs directly to the hills, the river bearing to the left. The hills which you approach also bear to the left, until they approach the river, which takes a short turn around its base. The road when it reaches the hills turns to the left and follows the base of them until it strikes the river, then passes around the rocky rugged point of the mountain next to the river. After you pass this point you come into extensive salt and alkali plains. You will find good looking grass in some places, but it is so much impregnated with salt and alkali that your stock will run down on it all the time. The best place to stop here is a few miles before you reach the point of the mountain. Turn off to the left towards the river.

The day has been hot and the dust oppressive. No person in the States can have an idea of the dust in this country until he has been here. A man will settle to the ankles at every step, and his eyes and nostrils are filled with it throughout the day; and when the wind blows it is suffocating. The country is volcanic, the mountains being composed entirely of lava and cinders. We found a new variety of currants here, yellow variety, which are very good. Fuller picked a large quantity of them to-day.

30 miles.

21st. Sunday. We drove about eight miles to-day, passing the point of the mountain and camped near the river in a clover patch. There are a number of warm springs near the road by the point of the mountain.

8 miles.

22d. Left the river this morning and traveled down the second bank of the river, a nearly level plain covered with alkali and wild sage, but no grass. We went to the river once, although out of the way. The right hand road is 18 miles without grass or water, very dusty and disagreeable. Water very bad, even that in the river; camped on the river bank, no grass on our side. The boys swam the river about fifteen rods wide here, and rigged a sort of ferry with our piquet ropes, and ferried grass across on them for the night, no small job for 17 horses.

23 miles.

23d. Started this morning at four o'clock, A.M. From camp it is 14 miles to water or grass. Two miles from camp the roads branched in every direction, and the course of the river is hidden entirely by the mountain which seems to circle the whole country like the rim of a great basin, with the exception of a gap far to the right. The plain spreads out to the mountains level and desolate, a desert. This labyrinth of roads gave rise to one of the most ludicrous scenes that I ever saw. For myself, I had been lost from my wagons since daylight, without being aware of the fact, and like the rest had taken a wrong road. About noon I found some good clover and stopped to bait my horse. When I started again, on rising a gentle aclivity I found the plain alive with teams and men, who looked as though they had been struck with the confusion of Babylon. Some were driving in one direction, some in another, oxen, horses, mules, wagons, horse packers and foot packers, were hurrying across the plains, without seeming object, in every direction as far as the eye could reach, and in the most delightful confusion imaginable. Two hundred wagons and numbers of packers had lost their way, and knew not which way to turn, and as usual in such cases were going every wrong way. I rode up to a man and asked him what the deuce was to pay; if all the people were mad? He was as much in the fog as I was. Presently some packers came along who said they had been to the end of the road, and that they were lost. This explained the confusion, although not very satisfactory of itself, for we began to fear that we had inadvertantly been following some old cut-off which would take time to retrace. By good fortune I succeeded in finding one wagon belonging to our train, where I got some dinner. Our train had become broken up as well as the rest in the confusion, each one going on his own hook. After dinner I struck out in the direction where I thought to find the river, and found I was right, and about night was so fortunate as to find the ballance of the train, who had succeeded in reaching the river ahead of me. Emigrants, that is the Fools Meadow. When you get down below the point of the mountain which I spoke of before this, and come to a great basin, surrounded on all sides, but a gap far to the right, don't you pay any attention to that gap, nor come to the conclusion that the river takes a turn and runs through it, for it don't do it, but you keep the extreme left hand road, and you will find that the river runs right through the mountains as high as they look. The right hand roads are all camping roads, and extend some of them 12 miles to some clover patches, and the old Lawson cut-off leads through that gap on the right, where an Oregon party went two or three years ago and nearly all perished. Many stopped and made hay at these clover patches, thinking they were at the desert, but don't trouble yourself here, for you have got a long dreary march of a week's duration before you get to the Great Desert. We traveled hard all day to get 14 miles on our journey, but I think the emigrant who reads this will remember the Fools Meadow, and avoid the same mistake. The emigrants now begin to experience a want of provisions. Flour, pork and sugar are one dollar per lb.; coffee 50 cts., fresh beef 25, and not much to be got at those prices.

14 miles.

24th. About four miles from last night's camp ground we came to a watering place near where the river passes through the mountains. The road leaves the river here and crosses the mountains eight miles, rough road and dusty, no water. Swam the river for grass to bait our horses at noon. Passed the grave of a man who was drowned whilst getting grass across the river. Camped at night on the river; had to wade three sloughs to find grass.

20 miles.

25th. A few miles from where we camped had a bad deep creek to cross, where we found plenty of dead stock. Immediately after crossing passed over a rough stony ridge for about two miles, between two cone shaped hills or mammelles. This point is about 110 miles from the meadows at the sink of the Humboldt, and there is but little grass on the route. Litwiler cut his wagon in two and made a cart of it, we then drove about eight miles and camped. Roads sandy, weather hot. This river beginning to lose itself and grow smaller. I killed three sage hens this morning, which were very desirable as we are getting short of provisions.

18 miles.

26th. Traveled over 18 miles of very bad road to-day. It was over a table of the mountain. The sand was six inches deep, for most of the way, and the day hot; our stock suffered severely. Passed much dead stock and piles of wagon irons. Killed two sage hens--mosquitoes quite troublesome; camped on the river bottom which is narrow; but little grass.

18 miles.

27th. Started at four o'clock, A.M., traveled down the river two miles, then left the river, struck across a desert plain 12 miles to the river; many think this the Great Desert; it is desert enough, but not the Great Desert. This point will be known by a high mountain dividing two valleys. The river runs to the right of this mountain. At noon we had to feed our horses on willows, there being no grass. We got some rushes by swimming the river. We have now got far enough along to begin to have a sight of the Elephant. The river here runs through narrow clay banks like a canal. Passed the grave of a man found in the river; camped at night on a sand bank, put our horses across the river; grass poor.

17 miles.

28th. Sunday. Crossed a sand ridge about two miles, and travelled down the bottom about four miles, where we found some grass and camped. Our horses are failing fast. Kit Carson says truly that the Humboldt is the burying ground for horses and oxen. We pass daily great numbers of dead stock at the camping grounds, in the sloughs, and in the river. The river is nothing but horse broth, seasoned with alkali & salt. The appearance of emigrants has sadly changed since we started. Then they were full of life and animation, and the road was enlivened with the song of "I am going to California with my tin pan on my knee." "Oh, California, that's the land for me," but now they crawl along hungry, and spiritless, and if a song is raised at all, it is, "Oh carry me back to Old Virginia, to Old Virginia's shore." Well, they say misery loves company, so we can have some enjoyment after all, for there is plenty of that kind of company. No one seems to know where we are, even those who traveled the route last year, several of whom are along. Last year the road led immediately on the bottom, but this year it is on the sage plains or second level of the river, the bottoms being so swampy that they cannot be crossed. The Mormon guide for this end of the route, is good for nothing. Yesterday was the worst day for dust that we have had. Every body was literally covered with it so that the drivers could not be recognised.

6 miles.

29th. Litwiler and Ranahan killed three antelope yesterday. They packed in two of them about eight miles from the mountains. They arrived in camp about 11 o'clock at night. Passed the clay banks, some perpendicular banks on the opposite side of the river about 50 feet high. From this place is a desert, the river running through narrow clay banks, void of vegetation except the Artemesia or wild sage. The road generally follows the plains back from the river, only approaching occasionally for water. We camped about three P.M., and managed to get a little grass for our horses.

15 miles.

30th. Started at four A.M.; route similar that of yesterday. We are now in sight of the Pyramid, a lone peak nearly opposite the upper slough of the sink commonly called the meadow. Road touched the river once or twice to-day for water, but no grass, nothing for feed but willows.

16 miles.

31st. Started at one o'clock, A.M., struck the river again 10 miles from camp; no grass, only an arid sage desert. From this it is 25 miles to the slough or meadows, and 13 to water, which will be found at some springs in the gully directly opposite the pyramid. We reached the springs about 10 o'clock, A.M., although one of our horses gave out, which delayed us somewhat, and reached the upper end of the slough about noon, where we obtained some rushes and flags for our horses which they devoured greedily after their long fast on willows. The pyramid at a distance resembles an ancient Mexican pyramid, rising by steps. It may be seen for 40 miles up the river, and serves as a beacon, for the slough or meadows. After baiting we continued down the slough about six miles to some passable springs, and to where there is better grass. We found two cities of tents at the slough quite populous. They would do honor to more civilized countries. The road for a few days past has been strewed with dead stock. I counted to-day 120 head of horses, mules and oxen, and got tired of it before night at that. I suppose I passed 50 head more that I did not count. If there is any worse desert ahead than we have found for 70 miles back, I don't know what it may be. I have noticed several dead horses, mules and oxen, by the roadside, that had their hams cut out to eat by the starving wretches along the road; for my own part I will eat the lizzards which infest the sage bushes, before I will eat the stock that died from the alkali. The destitution has reached its height now. Hundreds are entirely out of provisions, and there are none who have any to spare, and but very few who have enough to carry them into the mines. Often, almost daily, will some poor starved fellow come up to the wagon and pray us in God's name to give or sell him a crust of bread; some of them asserting that they have eaten no food for two, or even three days. Money is no consideration for food here; no one will sell it for money, but we always give enough to prevent starvation, when thus importuned, although we have not over five days' provision on hand, putting our trust in Providence for the issue to ourselves--for so long as there is game in the mountains we will never starve.

To-day is the first, since the third day of June, that we have been out of sight of snow for a whole day; it has been excessively hot, the dust rising in clouds; roads bad, owing to the deep sand.

32 miles.

August 1st. Remained camped to-day, preparing hay for crossing the Desert, which commences 20 miles from the slough or meadow. There is an abundance of grass at this point for all the stock that can ever reach here. We have to wade to get it, then cart it to the channel, and boat it across that in a wagon box. A man with his wife came into the camp last night on foot, packing what little property they had left on a single ox, the sole remaining animal of their team; but I was informed of a worse case than this by some packers, who said they passed a man and his wife about 11 miles back who were on foot, toiling through the hot sand, the man carrying the blankets and other necessaries, and his wife carrying their only child in her arms, having lost all their team.

2d. We still remain at the meadows. A team came in yesterday evening from Sacramento, loaded with provisions. They ask for rice $2.50 per lb.; for flour $2.00; bacon $2.00; whiskey $2.00 per pint, and brandy $3.00 per pint. We killed a cow this evening which we had picked up a few days ago at a camping ground, where she had been left on account of lameness. She was not exactly beef, but she was better eating than dead mules and horses by the road side; we divided her up in the train and among the starving people who are about us, only saving a small amount for ourselves, which we jerked and dried.

3d. We are still lying by. About two miles below our camp are some falls in the river, at which point the meadows terminate. There is no more grass from here until we reach Carson River, about 66 miles.--Some of the teams that left us above Fort Kearney came in to-day, entirely destitute of provisions, and had been so for some days, although they had contrived to starve along somehow. We heard of them before they got here, and saved a little beef for them.

4th. Sunday. Broke up camp and started again. We had stopped three days to recruit our horses before taking the desert, and although we have taken the utmost pains with them, they are weaker now than when we stopped. My advice to all is not to make any stop at this point, but push on to Carson River, for there is so much alkali in the water and grass here that your stock will not recruit. There is no water for the next 20 miles fit for stock to drink. We lost one horse to-day from watering beside the road, four miles before we got to the sink. He died in thirty minutes after drinking, in the greatest agony. Two others were much injured, so much so, that we could only get them to the sink with the greatest difficulty. Trimble and Sublet also lost one. Beware of shallow water along here.

20 miles.

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.

46 miles.

7th. There are several stations here, at which they sell flour at $1.50 per lb.; meals at $2.00 a head, and liquor at $1.00 a drink, and measure it themselves. There are great complaints of stock stealing here, some of the station keepers having a hand in it. About 20 men went down the river to-day to take some stock away from the Indians, which they had stolen. Among them, I saw Mountaineer Jack. He was riding a pony upon the full gallop, his hair, which would reach over his shoulders, streaming in the wind; he was dressed in buckskin from head to foot, sunburnt and bearded, his head guiltless of any other covering but that of nature's; he presented the most perfect specimen of a wild man, conveying to the beholder a feeling not unmixed with dread as he approached, rifle in hand, and his belt stuck full of revolvers and bowie knives. But Jack is always the poor man's friend, and shabby as he looks, his pockets are always lined with the yellow boys. He is now here at the station, ever ready to take part in whatever comes up, whether it be a game of French monte, a frolic, or to make a foray upon the Indian villages in the mountains, or recover the emigrants horses. A good story is told of him, of an incident which transpired a few days ago. He was then over the desert on the Humboldt. A couple of starved foot packers came across him, and taking Jim from his wild appearance to be some destitute emigrant as bad off as themselves, and as misery loves company, hailed him with, "Halloo, friend, we had better travel in company; you look as if you had seen as hard times as ourselves." Jack stopped and looked at them until they came up, when he asked them what they meant. They told him that they were starving, and had neither provision nor money--"What!" said Jack, "are you going to starve in this fine country? You are a couple of d----d fools if you do." They replied that they had no money, and if they had it would not buy food here. Jack put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a 10 dollar piece and gave them, telling them to go and buy some flour. They then started for the river to where there were some trains in sight, and Jack along with them. They found on the river a large train, the men of which were feeding flour to their mules.--One of them walked up to the captain of the train, and stating their condition and circumstances asked him to _sell_ them some flour. He refused to do it, telling them he wanted it for his mules. They told him they were starving, but he replied that he must look out for himself before he did for other folks, and that they might as well be off. Jack stood a silent listener to the conversation, but when he found that the captain would not let them have any flour, he walked up to him and asked him if he would let the men starve. In reply the captain made an insulting response, when Jack raised his fist and gave the captain a blow in the teeth, sprawling him on the ground, and telling him that he was worse than a d----d digger to refuse starving men flour, when he could feed it to mules; he left him and went with the packers to where they succeeded in buying some flour.

Moved our camp up the river six miles to better grass. Saw Bagwell again; he said that he never came so near perishing as he did in crossing the desert; that having nothing to eat but the piece of dried meat, which being somewhat salt, made him thirsty, and having no water, his tortures became almost insupportable, and that when he reached the first water camp, his tongue was swollen so that he could not keep it in his mouth, and had turned black; that he expended his half dollar, (which was all the money that he had) for water, which enabled him to reach the river, where he got a meal of victuals on credit, and went to work cutting grass and getting it across the river at sixpence a bundle, and was making five dollars a day at the business. He left the road where we struck the river for us to come up to where he was, and he would have all the grass ready for us that we should want gratis, but finding grass, we were not compelled to tax him.

We had a California court in camp to-day. A couple of Irishmen got a man drunk, and after getting him to lie down, laid themselves down one on each side of him. Presently a man from Pike co. Ill., came along, and said that they were picking his pockets. Seeing that nobody else would interfere, I went to him, tumbled him over and took the money away from him, when the bystanders, a crowd of whom had gathered around, picked him up and kicked him out of the camp. When this was settled some men came forward and stated that the other one had picked another man's pocket who was then drunk in a gully near bye, then tumbled him over, and found as drunk as he pretended to be, he got over it very easily when his turn came. He jumped upon his feet and denied the charge so vehemently, and with such brazen impudence, that many thought I was mistaken and wrong in holding him to it. I insisted on taking him to the man who was robbed, which was done, when he admitted that he picked his pocket, but said the man was his brother, which we found to be true; this so enraged those who had spoken in his favor, that they whirled him around and commenced kicking him out of the camp. In the affray he drew a revolver, which was instantly knocked out of his hand. A man on the bank of the river seeing the revolver ran for it, which led to another scuffle, those who were kicking him supposing him to be a friend to Barney, but the man succeeded in getting the pistol, which he instantly threw into the river.

A man was found dead in a wagon on the desert this morning; he probably died of hunger and thirst. The Carson River is about 12 yards wide at this place, and three feet deep. Its banks are composed of ridges with narrow bottoms covered with willows and scattering cottonwood trees, with some grass.

6 miles.

8th. Litwiler and company sold their horses this morning and started on foot. Ford, one of our men, went with them, leaving but four of us; we being nearly out of provisions. A man came to our camp this morning who had lost everything on the desert, his team, wagon, provisions, and father; he had been without sleep or food for two nights and a day, and was pretty much worn out. I made him a cup of coffee, and gave him some boiled corn, which having devoured, he laid himself down in the shade and slept until evening, then went in pursuit of his father again.--He was from Missouri.

A man came near being drowned near us this morning, but was saved by a person standing on the bank, who plunged in and brought him out. He tumbled off his horse while crossing the river, which frightened him so much that he could not help himself in the least. The traders here buy horses of the emigrants for from two lbs. of flour to 10, per head.--Such is the destitution. I saw one horse, saddle and bridle, a very good one too, sold on the desert for three gallons of water.

9th. Started again this morning, taking along the Missourian who lost his father. We consumed the last of our rice this morning, leaving us reduced to six quarts of corn, and three lbs. of dried meat for four of us. The road soon leaves the river and strikes across the desert, making the river again about two miles from the Carson River meadows. The Missourian and myself followed up the river and found a very good packing trail; we killed two turtle doves which sustained us through the day. Saw snow again to-day on the tops of the Sierra Nevadas. 22 miles.

10th. Camped on the meadows late last night where we remain to-day to recruit our horses. Jonathan and myself went into the mountains hunting, found a few deer, but they were so wild that we could not get a shot; killed a large yellow rattlesnake, a sage hare, and found an old Indian and boy fishing, traded my pocket knife to the boy for a line with 10 bone hooks I attached to it, caught about 40 small fish, and got back to camp about dark.

11th. Sunday. Still remain in camp. Fuller left us this morning, having concluded to pack through on foot with Dr. Cody, of our county. A man died near us last night. He was picked up on the desert and brought thus far by some gentlemen from Davenport, Iowa. He was left there by his messmates sick, without food or water, and when found, his hands and face were so blistered by the scorching sun that the skin all peeled from them, leaving them as raw as a piece of beef. Poor fellow!--When found he was crying in the most excruciating agony for a drop of water to quench his burning thirst. Burning at the stake would be too merciful to the hardened wretches who left him sick and helpless on those burning sands. The gentlemen who picked him up had been lying bye two or three days at this place expressly on his account. One of them was a physician; although the poor fellow was a stranger to them, they tended him with all the assiduity of brothers.

12th. Started again this morning, but our road led across a sand plain 12 miles wide, when we struck the river again, following a packing trail, thus avoiding the desert back from the river.

22 miles.

13th. Our road followed the river until noon, when we had another stretch of desert for 13 miles. The valley begins to narrow somewhat.

23 miles.

14th. Passed through a canon seven miles, continually crossing brooks of cold clear water from the mountains--beautiful meadows and rich land on the bottoms. Desert plains back, and still back lofty Sierra Nevadas, their sides covered with the evergreen pine, their summits with snow.--Passed some hot springs, and trading stations. The latter have little to sell but whiskey; some few of them beef.

27 miles.

15. Passed the Mormon station, saw a party of Californians and Mexicans prospecting. There is gold this side of the mountains. Entered the seven mile Kanyon, which begins the real pass of the Sierra Nevada. A branch of the Carson River runs through it, which stream we follow to its head. The Kanyon is a wild, picturesque place, with perpendicular wall of gray granite hundreds of feet high, with lofty pines in the bottoms, and a perfect chaos of granite blocks rent from the walls above. We were compelled to camp in it with nothing for our horses to eat, which somewhat destroyed the romance of the thing; as for eating ourselves, it is so long since we have had anything to eat that we don't trouble ourselves about it.

23 miles.

16th. Got out of the Kanyan into the valley, and stopped to bait. Drove about six miles and camped for the night; grass abundant in this valley. J. Ingalls killed a California partridge to-day. It is larger than a partridge In the States, and finely flavored.

8 miles.

17. This morning we had the Nevadas to climb; this is the point which will stop the Pacific Railroad on this route, if anything will do it. This rise is said to be 9000 feet in 13 miles. After climbing the first mountain we descended to a lake, which is the head of one of the branches of the Sacramento. It is the crater of an extinguished volcano. The next mountain, the Snowy Peak, is still worse than the last, although both for most part of the way are as steep as the roof of a house; in climbing it our road lay over the snow, which was 20 feet deep for 80 rods up its side. Having reached the top of the snowy peaks, we took a cut-off, descended about two miles and camped at a small brook where we found good grass. We had the good fortune to shoot three woodchucks [groundhogs,] this evening which, in addition to three lbs. of flour we coaxed out of a Californian, made us feel as rich as the Rothschilds. We have not eaten for the last two weeks (all of us) as much as one man would have eaten if he could have had all that he required, consequently we are living in the greatest luxury and abundance to-night, having all we can eat. It does not take much to make man happy after all; here we have been starving along for the last month, crossing deserts, drinking rotten, alkali or salt water, or deprived entirely, and now we've got to the top of the Nevadas, around our camp fire amid snow drifts, with plenty of good water and three woodchucks for three of us, and we are the happiest mortals alive; we seem to have forgotten that we ever suffered privation.

16 miles.

18th. Killed another woodchuck this morning; begin to feel as if we are getting into a land of plenty again. Passed a small lake at the foot of the snowy peak, which was well filled with spotted trout. We made a mistake and took a wrong trail this morning, after passing the lake which took us over some tremendous granite ridges to ascend and descend which we had great difficulty, often climbing and descending bare smooth rocks for rods at a place, the horses frequently sliding down such places on their haunches. We found good grass in the ravines, which was some compensation for the badness of the route. We got out to the road about dark, and reached Leek, Springs where we found some grass, and camped.

18 miles.

19th. Our road lay along the summit of a ridge covered with heavy pine and cedar forests, but no grass, and but little water. Had nothing for our horses to eat but brush this evening. A man was shot just back of us. A trader had left the road to look for grass and water, when coming to a fallen tree by a thicket, several men rose up from behind it and snapped a gun at him, which did not go off, but the trader's revolver did, tumbling one of them into the bushes, and the trader went off too, before they could make another attempt.

28 miles.

20th. We Passed the forks of the Weaver Creek and Hangtown road, but got on a wrong trail which we followed nearly to the Weaver Creek. Found plenty of grass and cut enough to supply our horses for the night, which would have cost us in Hangtown about five dollars. Met some miners who, not knowing the country much better than we did, directed us to go back by the way of Johnson's Ranch, which was about 12 miles, when we were by the right route, only seven miles from Hangtown. We reached the diggings at the head of the emigrant ravine, three miles from Hangtown, about nine o'clock, P.M., and camped.

20 miles.

21st. Leaving packs and horses in camp we entered the town this morning, where we found great numbers of our friends and county people, as also my brother, who had reached the mines 25 days ahead of us, having started on the Council Bluffs route at the same date that I did.

3 miles.

CALIFORNIA--GENERAL REMARKS.