This plain, with its
barren ranges and buttes is now known as the Mojave Desert. This part of
the view they seemed to study over, as if to fix every point and water
hole upon their memory. We turned to go to camp, but no one looked back
on the country we had come over since we first made out the distant snow
peak, now so near us, on November 4th 1849. The only butte in this
direction that carried snow was the one where we captured the Indian and
where the squashes were found.
The range next east of us across the low valley was barren to look upon
as a naked, single rock. There were peaks of various heights and colors,
yellow, blue firery red and nearly black. It looked as if it might
sometime have been the center of a mammoth furnace. I believe this range
is known as the Coffin's Mountains. It would be difficult to find earth
enough in the whole of it to cover a coffin.
Just as we were ready to leave and return to camp we took off our hats,
and then overlooking the scene of so much trial, suffering and death
spoke the thought uppermost saying:--"_Good bye Death Valley!"_ then
faced away and made our steps toward camp. Even after this in speaking
of this long and narrow valley over which we had crossed into its nearly
central part, and on the edge of which the lone camp was made, for so
many days, it was called Death Valley.
Many accounts have been given to the world as to the origin of the name
and by whom it was thus designated but ours were the first visible
footsteps, and we the party which named it the saddest and most dreadful
name that came to us first from its memories.
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