--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Martineau, James H. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 31 number: 9 published: 1928-07 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "James H. Martineau, “A Tragedy of the Desert,” *Improvement Era* 31, no. 9 (July 1928): 771–772." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3109unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3109unse start_page: 771 end_page: 772 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1928-07) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3109unse publication_year: 1928 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1928, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # A Tragedy of the Desert A Tragedy of the Desert By James H. Martineau [This article was written in 1910. away June 24, 1921. — EDITORS.] A recent publication notes the discovery in or near Death Valley, Nevada, of a heap of relics, supposedly those of a "Mor- mon" colony on their way to California, in 1849. This is an erroneous supposi- tion in one particular, as no "Mormon" company ever perished in such a manner. But it is unfortunately true that a com- pany of thirty families of emigrants on their way to Southern California did per- ish miserably of hardships and famine in 1849, in the locality named, and doubtless the relics found pertained to them. The writer was personally intimate with one of the few survivors of that party, a Mr. Bennett, who afterwards joined the "Mormon" Church, lived in San Bernardino, and who was driven with others from their homes by an anti- "Mormon" association, styling itself "Rekabites," in 1858, and came to Iron county, Utah, where I became acquainted with him. We were afterwards comrades in what was called the "White Mountain Mission." This was an exploring ex- pedition sent out by Governor Brigham Young and led by Col. William H. Dame. It consisted of sixty men, of which the writer was appointed historian, and still possesses the original notes. Mr. Bennett gave the writer the story of the fearful tragedy, and proved his identity repeatedly by his knowledge of the country we traversed — to us totally unknown — by telling us what we would find on our next day's travel; as, for instance, — "Just over that low ridge you'll find water, but it's warm and brackish; but no feed there for our animals." Often he described the country ahead, and al- ways correctly. He was able to do this because we pur- sued the same route as did his unfortunate associates for about one hundred twenty Since then its author has died, having passed miles-. We saw where they had cut a roadway through cedar groves, and we found, strewn along the way, numerous reminders of the emigrants, such as an anvil and blacksmith's tools, boxes and things heavy and burdensome on a journey; and later, fragments of wagons abandoned as teams gave out or died. The Indians told of five wagons thus left in one place. These items are mentioned as proofs of the veracity of our informant; and as I am perhaps the only living survivor of that exploring party and pos- sess perhaps the only record thereof, I re- peat the story as it was told me. My informant said: "We numbered thirty families, fully 150 souls, all well off, who separated in southern Utah from a party of a hundred families. on our way to Southern California. This we did against the advice of our 'Mormon' guide, who declared there was no practicable route directly west from Iron county where we separated, — no known pass north of the usual route to southern California; and that we would find neither water nor grass for our teams. But one of our men had a map of Col. Fremont's travels on which was rep- resented a mountain range running westerly to the Sierra Nevadas, thus forming the south "Rim of the Basin." The map also showed numerous streams issuing from that imaginary range; consequently there must be water and feed along its base. Such a cut-off would save several hundred miles; and we thought Fremont's map more reliable than the opinion and advice of our guide, who confessed that he had never seen that country himself but had his information only from Indian report We started on that cut off — many to their death, and all because of a faulty map. "For days we journeyed, but no such range of mountains or even hills came in view. 'It must be farther on.' said the hopeful ones, until hope died and we faced a life and death struggle. We had gone too far to think of returning to our starting point, — to stop any- where now was to die of starvation in a desert where was scarcely a living animal, not a single tree nor stream of water, and where all the 772 IMPROVEMENT ERA springs — twenty to sixty miles apart — were every one of them warm, salty or brackish. We simply must go on, to live or die. "As our cattle grew weak, loads were di- minished continually by throwing away things not absolutely needed. And finally a wagon was abandoned with most of its load, its surviving oxen being added to another team. "Coming finally to what is now appro- propriatcly known as Death Valley, we re- mained some time to rest our teams. At length we started onward, but at camping time found no water, though all. men and animals, were in sore need after a day's journey under a boiling sun. and through sand, alkali dust and stunted grcasewood brush. To the eye there was not the least indication of a spring anywhere. To advance another day without water was an impossibility, for our teams would die of thirst. Hopeless and faint- ing, we returned lo our place of temporary safety. "After a rest of a day or two we started out in a different direction, hoping thus to find water, but with the same sad result. Death now seemed our portion, but we were saved by what seemed to us a special inter- position of Providence — a heavy rain storm! Quilts, sheets and all sorts of things were spread out to catch the precious fluid until everything was filled which would contain it. and in a steady rain we again started on our way, finding now and then a pool where our teams could drink, and thus made our day's journey safely, and the next also. "But now our oxen, worn and famished, died day after day, and wagons filled with valuable property were continually, though reluctantly, abandoned until all were thus left standing mournfully in the desert. We drove our few remaining cattle to serve as food, some of the stronger ones being loaded with the belongings of their owners. Among the rest a woman rode a gentle ox. She was wealthy and hated to abandon silks and finery: so. in addition to her food tied on behind her. she pinned laces and ribbons on her person, and rode in fine style for a time. But a gust of wind set her finery a-fluttering. which scared the oxen near her and the herd stam- peded. She kept her seat in the midst of the herd, gained the front, and then fell. The herd rushed over and around her, but not one stepped upon her; she arose safe, but with sadly besmeared and bedraggled adorn- ments. Though in so sad a s ate. we had to laugh, in which she joined. "From this time our sufferings greatly in- creased. Men. women and children wearily stumbled onward, carrying what they could in their hands or on their backs, fainting in the boiling heat and thirsting almost unto death. As time progressed the last ox was killed and subdivided, the flesh being eaten raw. Soon that was gone. Now and then a rabbit was killed by a stick or a stone, hardly a mouthful for each. Once we met a few Indians who gave us some pine-nuts, but took much of our clothing from our backs. 'Human endurance has its limits. The weak began to die. Lying down at night they never awoke again; and, unburied, their bodies became the food of the hungry coyote or the raven. "But there was no time for sentiment. All fatherly, brotherly or motherly love seemed lost, — a selfish desire — each for himself. One becoming too weak longer to proceed was left behind to die alone, for weakened men were not strong enough to carry any one else. Thus husbands or wives abandoned their com- panions, mothers their children, and children their parents, leaving them sitting down faint- ing, but alive, to linger a few days — if not sooner, torn in pieces by wild animals — then to die alone. "Finally, as we reached the eastern foot- hills of the Sierra Nevadas. but seven were left of all the company, six men and one woman. Admiring her plucky fight for life we had helped her all we could, until she told us all not to try to save her any longer. She might as well die here and now as tomorrow. This seemed true. She sat down upon a stone bade each good-bye and we left her alone. But we had not been more than an hour in camp when here she came, seemingly as well able to travel as others. She said she had felt resigned to die. until the thought came — what if a wolf should find her and tear her in pieces! Deadly fear gave her renewed strength. She rose, staggering at first, but finally gained her comrades and camp. The following day we were discovered by a white man out hunting for game and he conducted us to his camp where we found food and safety." Such was the sad tale he told me, and I personally had abundant evidence of its truth. But many have been the desert's victims, with not one left to tell the tale. The Only Perfect Day No day can be perfect unless at its close we can catalogue to our credit, honest labor given to our employer, encouraging words to fellow-workers, courtesy to strangers, sympathy to sufferers, kind words to dumb animals, smiles to little children, love and consideration to the members of our own household and thanks to God for permitting us to live in this wonderful world. — D. C. Retsloff.