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IN DEATH'S VALLEY.The Story of The “Jayhawkpra” Band and TheirSearch For Geld.A story full of realistic misery inits rugged simplicity, full of romantic%tragedy in its stern completeness has been brought to light by the passing /of an aged resident of this village, Oharles B. Mecum. Fifty-six years ago this April, as a gay, adventurous youth, fired with the zeal of conquering the trackless wilderness, Charles Mecum, with thirty-four comrades asdauntless and true-hearted as he,*started from Galesburg, 111., to blaze the trail e’en past the frowning Rockies to the land of gold, there to wrest from its shining sands the rightful booty of the victor of the plains* Muscular young fellows they were, sturdy, strong limbed, Illinois farmer lads, with the stoutest wagons, the fattest oxen and the most complete outfit of any of the numberless emigrants of those westward pointing days of ’49.: Between that shining day in April, and February 4th 1850—lie but ten months—but they hold a tale of human suffering which electrifies them with the vital currents of a life time. For from that gruesome tomb, death valley, on February 4, 1850, emerged thirty-two, gaunt, hollow-eyed human skeletons—the shattered remnant of of that gay band of dauntless adventurers of that April day. And herein lies their tale: Passing slowly but surely over Iowa’s broad prairies, the muddy Missouri was crossed at Omaha, whimsically described by one of the band in these words:“All we saw of Omaha was a few squas unning themselves on the bank of the river. But I understand it has improved some since then.”Following from there the old Mor-mon trail they arrived safely in Salt Lake City the last of July, as strong and hearty as they had been three months before, though often in the howling wilderness they had been harassed by the Indians, or had narrowly escaped being trodden under foot by the thousands of buffaloes that often stampeded along their line of travel. Hampered by no family cares, however, the adventurous spirit of these sturdy youths made light of every difficulty, and they proved themselves worthy knights of the trail. In Salt Lake City they stopped, as was the custom, for rest and preparation for the more arduous trip westward. Impatient soon to be off again they were ofily deterred from taking the northern route over the Sierra Nevada by the frightful stories of the Donner party, who became so maddened by the remorseless grasp of hunger and thirst as to resort to cannibalism, but two of the large party reaching California. As it was also too early to take the southern route because of the summer heat, they combined their train with the scattered wagons then resting in Salt Lake, and on October 3 started on the journey southward. Captain Juan Hunt, a Mormorn officer in the Mexican War, had been hired to guide this tram of one hundred and seven wagons, proposing to follow the old Santa Fee trail.All went well until Little Salt Lake was reached, 250 miles southward. Here some of the party by studying maps conceived the idea of turning due west and cutting off several hundred miles from the journey, the distance looking short and easy upon the map. The majority prevailing even against the protest of Captain Hunt, the train proceeded westward until they came to a sheer precipice of a thousand feet or more in the Wasatch mountains. Since progress now seemed impossible most of the party reconsidered their decisions to take the cut off and followed Captain Hunt around the Santa Fe trail. Not so the Jay-hawkers (as the Illinois boys had gaily nicknamed themselves.) The prime movers in the first plan for quickening their progress, they saw no reason for giving up thus easily. So explorers were sent out to find if possible a place of decent. That opening was easily found, and soon, without in.the least realizing the temerity oftheir undertaking, they were embarked j■upon a trip which Fremont had avoided with the cool reasoning of a man who will not recklessly sacrifice himself—a journey across the great American desert. -The horrors of that trip may best be described in the words of the youngest member of the party, Col. Coiion, now of Kansas City:i“Four months we were in traveiv ing* about 800 miles offthat desolate region. For fifty-two days we were practically without food, except the smallest rations of our half starved cattle and the scantiest supply of. water. We killed our cattle, but found the flesh unfit for food and the very marrow in the bones had borned to blood and water. We devoured the hides and entrails in the absence of anything m^e palatable. What little water we found was mostly alkaline and unfit to drink and what little water there was had a way of sinking suddenly into the sand.”.Early in the wearisome march stout wagons had been cub to carts, and carts again to pack saddles to lighten the burdens of the famished oxen,They threw away their gun*, their jack knives and every weight. One man had $2,500 in gold, and offered it on the halves to any one who would carry it through, but life meant more than money to these grim human beings who tramped all day and day after day without speaking, even youth’s flashing courage quenched In the remorseless grasp of cruel hunger, and the very gold they sought was scattered on the arid plain. At one time they were three days without water. Two men fell down and could go no farther. Their comrades promised to return if water should be found; and overjoyed at the sight one of the boys who had gone on, drank and fell dead. Returning to the comrades behind, one had fallen from tha rocks where they had left him, and was dead; the other had crawled half a mile or more on his hand and knees and died. Comradship did not fail through all the torturous days, when toil and suffering left them half starved, halftclothed and with bloodstained feet John Colton, the youngest, a boy of 17, gave up to die. Charles Mecum, who was driving a tottering steer, helped the boy onto the poor animal and by midnight brought him into camp and saved his life. Again when rations were but one biscuit a day, Mr. Mecum fell exhausted. A littleman, L. A. Richards, second cpusin«of the late Governor DeForest Richards of Wyoming, stepped up and gave him his biscuit, going without himself, and persuaded him to make one more effort—saved his life. On the morning of February 4, John Colton and Tom Shannon started in advance of the party. The tortuaing mirage with its ever vanishing vision of sparkling fountains had ceased to quicken the feet of the weary traveler, for the death print was already appearing on their faces, the imprint of the teeth was upon many a shrunken cheek, and deadened limbs almost refused to answer the call of the rapidly weakening will. As the two men in advance walked tottering down the barren canon of the Rio Santa Clara, it suddenly made a sharp turn—and, most glorious vision—before them lay stretched one of those beautiful valleys of the Santa Clara, with its luxuriant pasturage and herds; at all times and to all people the riches garden upon God’s green earth. To these starved wanders of the arid waist, the very pyradise of God! Calling hastily to the four vanqueros on horseback who sat lazily watching the eafc-ttle. the meh by signs mede known their dire need—and the response was no less ready. Sending one of the peons back to the ranch for further help, the other three hurried up the trail to meet the suffering party, and not a moment to soon were they, for four had‘already lain down for the last time und were baought in by the peons on horses. They had found— not a land flowing with milk and honey —but better still for these thirsting, impoverished beings, sparkling, pure, cold water and rich, juicy, healthful beef. For two weeks they alternately devoured the cattle which that great hearted Spaniard ordered lassoed and killed for these starving strangers, and slept the refreshing sleep of satisfied physical need.Is it strange that of all names, that of that city of refuge, Rancho San Francisquito, should sound most musical in the ears of these, the rescued? Is it strange that of all days February 4 should be filled with the sweetest aroma of an awakening hope?For thirty-five years—on February 4, as many of the “Jayhawkers” as cuuld reach the appointed meeting place—have observed this anniversary day of deliverance from death and Death Valley. Those not coming sending letters to be read. They have met in Cpl. Col. Colton’s elegant residence in Kansas City, in John Gross-cup’s mining cabin on California’s mountain side, in “Deacon” Richard’s farm house in Nebraska, in Comrad Mecum’s cottage home fifty miles from a railroad in Baker City, Oregon. Col. Colton’s has been the charmed spirit which has bridged the chasm of the years. Indefatiguable in efforts to keep track of these comrades of the trail, this youngest boy has scoured the continent in followingthe faintest clue of his older brothers.- .After twenty years search for one, a sailor, he at last reached bis home a few weeks after his death. This sailor had left behind him, however, the one written account of this journey, his• isailor’s log-book, a priceless relic to the “Jayhawker” band, and proudly among the “Jayhawkers” historic records, Col. Colton has each year sent an invitation similar to this of 1905, to every survivor of this remarkable expedition:“The Jay hawkers of ’49, Headquar;-ers Kansas City, Mo,, Jan. 10, 1905.— Deai Comrade:—February 4th is coming in view much more rapidly than in the years 1850,- when without its knowledge our lost party was within a short distance from the Pacific coast, but our five or 9ix miles daily march approached very slowly the ranch San Francisquito and the land of our des-Mserate trails. We will commemoratethat event this year at the home of Comrade Charles B., Mecum, Mt. Vernon, Iowa. • Our remaining lew being widely apart if you are prevented from coming write a longer letter than ever before for those present to enjoy.“Fraternally,John B. Colton.” The invitation list has each year lessened until but three “Jayhawkerr” boys besides himself could claim the right. Less than a month after this historic meeting in our village, CharlesB. Mecum passed away, leaving John B. Colton, the one survivor this side of the Sierra Nevada. John Gross-cup still lives in his little miner’scabin near Lay ton ville. Cai,, and L.Dow Stephens at San Jose, two feeble old men, whose voices will soon be silenced.Col. Colton as a stalwart figure of those rugged pioneer, days has been prominently before the American people for years. A personal friend of Gen. Fremont, Jessie Benton Fremont, Kit Carson, Jim Bridger, Jim Baker and many other noble figures of his life and times. His one greatest life purpose has been to bring to these illustrious pioneers the glory due their majestic gifts to the American people. In December he assisted Gen. Dodge of the Union Pacific in placing a monument to Jim Bridger in beautiful Mt. Washington cemetery in Kansas City. He has worked with increasing ardor each year to obtain the ear of congress to the story of the neglect of Gen. Fremont’s last resting place. He has given President Roosevelt an original picture of Kit Carson to place in the capitol at Albany, and has worked unceasingly to get permission to place j the picture of his friend, at his own expense, in the Denver capitol, in place of the gentlemanly figure now there, which does injustice to this man of steel and sinew. He has record upon record to proved the “Jayhawker” band the unwilling discoverers of “Death Valley” and when his voice is silenced, history will speak for him the true story of these “Jayhawkers”of ’49, and every dauntless pioneer who blazed the trail to the new west with all its power and privilege.—Iowa Times Republican.HARD TO IMITATE.£Boandt* Beyond the -Ability of OurVocal Organs.■“That man can imitate perfectly the jingle of money,” said in a tone of eu logy a young woman.“Well, what of that?” objected her companion. “That ought not to be hard to do.”“Try to do it”The objector, after summoning into his mind the sound of jingling money, tried. “R-r-r-tat-tat,” he went. “Br-br-bra-ra-ra, chk-chkk-ehk.” Then he iled apologetically, for he had failed, ot by the furthest stretch of the imagination could it be said that he had uttered a sound that resembled money's jingle in the least degree.“I knew you couldn't do it” said the young woman, “It is amazing how many simple sounds there are that we can’t imitate, try as we will. There io, for instance, the sound of a person walking, the sound of a typewriting machine in operation, the sound of running water, the sound of a breaking dish. You can’t imitate those commonplace noises, and I doubt if any one in the world can. Our vocal capacity seems to us large, but it is really limited enough—as limited as that of many animals and much more limited than that of certain birds. That is why I honor a man who has extended his vocal capacity sufficiently to imitate the pleasant, silvery sound of money’s jingle.”—-Baltimore Herald.THE ALBATROSS.Wonderful Flights of This Great Feathered Wanderer.Of all the strange creatures seen by travelers not the least interesting isthe wandering albatross. This great feathered wanderer, sometimes measuring seventeen feet from tip to tip ofhis wings, will follow a ship for days.at a time. Some travelers and sailors declare that they have seen a particular bird fly for weeks at a time withoutresting. The albatross has alwaysbeen a bird of mystery, and in ancient times the people believed that these unwearying sea birds were, the companions of the Greek warrior Diomedes. Who were said to have been changed into birds at the death of Choir chief.Though the superstition about the killing of an albatross bringing; badluck is only ^ foolish one. ir. has served .a useful purpose for many years in preventing the slaughter of these beautiful and gallant birds—-hie sailors’ friends and the landsmen’s wonder. Up in dreary Kamchatka, that outlying part of Siberia which outs into the norlli Pacific, the natives, never having heard of the superstition about the albatross, catch him and eat him, but his flesh makes such poor food that, after all, the legend may be said to hold good, for he is indeed in bad luck who has to make a meal of it.—Ottawa Free Press.i1i111iJDeveloped Genius,Lady—Do you think that your inventive genius was hereditary or developed? Inventor—I owe it all to my dear wife. When we were first married I used to stay late at the club, and my wife cross questioned me severely whenever I came home late. The necessity of inventing fresh excuses taxed me to the utmost, and this faculty became so abnormally developed that as soon as I turned it to business account I made a fortune with ease.(f31t1I6£I(Itett*
Newspaper Details
Atlantic Messenger
Atlantic, Iowa, US
Thu, May 18, 1905
Page 6
Full Page
Clipped by
Anonymous
USA 10 Sep 2019
Other Publications Near Atlantic, Iowa
Atlantic Cass County Democrat
Atlantic Bruces Optimist
Atlantic Advertiser
Atlantic News Telegraph
Atlas of Cass County Iowa
