Contents ▼▲
Front Matter A Change of Homes "Joe Bowers" The Reasons for Moving Mother's Anxiety How we were to Travel Our Movable Home Leaving Ashley Eben Jordan On the Road Eben's Predictions What about California The First Encampment Night in Camp The Town of Independence Kansas Indians Looking into the Future A Stormy Day A Lack of Fuel Making Camp in a Storm A Thunderstorm Another Company of Pikers The Stock Stray Away An Indian Village I Weary with Traveling Eben's Boasts Suffering with Thirst In Search of Water Quenching Our Thirst Making Butter A Kansas Ferry At Soldier Creek Bread Making Prairie Peas Eben as a Hunter A Herd of Buffaloes Excitement in the Camp A Feast of Buffalo Meat Curing the Meat A Wash Day Uncomfortable Traveling Ellen's Advice Indians and Mosquitoes Prairie Dogs Colonel Russell's Mishap Chimney Rock At Fort Laramie Cooking in a Fireplace Trappers, Hunters, Indians On the Trail Once More Independence Rock Arrival at Fort Bridger Toward California At Bear River The Coming of Winter Utah Indians A Dangerous Trail Sunflower Seeds and Antelope A Forest Fire The Great Salt Lake Eben as a Fisherman Grasshopper Jam A Deserted Village The Great Salt Desert A Dangerous Journey Bread and Coffee Making Breaking Camp at Midnight Approaching the Salt Desert A Plain of Salt Like A Sea of Frozen Milk Salt Dust A Bitter Disappointment Coffee instead of Water A Spring of Sweet Water The Oasis Searching for Water The Beautiful Valley Snake Indians A Scarcity of Food Springs of Hot Water In the Land of Plenty The Truckee River The Sacramento Valley The Mission of San Jose Our Home in California

Martha of California - James Otis




The Great Salt Desert

We were near what is known as the Great Salt Desert; in fact, were to cross it on the morrow, and when Eben Jordan led me some distance farther up the ridge, I could see it at my feet.

The desert is covered with salt like sand, and on it grows nothing except wild sage, while from where we were then camped, until it would be possible again to find water, is no less than sixty miles, as Eben said.

[Illustration] from Martha of California by James Otis

Sixty miles over a soft surface where the animals would oftentimes sink fetlock-deep, and the wheels of the wagons plow into the salt sand until the progress must be woefully slow.

In addition, all the while we would plod along knowing that no water was to be had, save what we carried with us, until the train gained the opposite side.

We were camped on the side of a mountain which seemed to be made up almost wholly of rock; this place had been decided upon because there could be found a small spring, yielding barely enough water to satisfy the desires of ourselves and the animals.

It was the last spring or stream of fresh water we should come upon until we had traveled across that desert, which, from the distance, looked like a great sea of milk. Once we had started upon the journey, it would be necessary to continue on, heeding not those who might fall by the way, so I heard father and Colonel Russell say, for the lives of our people depended upon our going steadily forward.