We camped at once and took the loads from all the animals that
they might feed in comfort on the sweet grass that lay before them.
We tarried here perhaps two hours, till the cattle stopped eating, and
amply enjoyed the scene. Never again would any one of the party go back
over that dreary desert, they said, and everyone wondered why all places
could not be as green and beautiful as this one. I cannot half tell how
we felt and acted, nor what we said in our delight over this picture of
plenty. The strong contrasts created strong impressions, and the tongues
so long silent in our dry and dreary trouble were loosened to say
everything the heart inspired. Think as much as you can; you cannot
think it all.
We felt much better after our rest, and the oxen seemed stronger and
better able, as well as more willing to carry their loads, so we soon
prepared to move on down the valley, toward the house we had spoken of
as the goal we were to reach. It was now the 7th day of March 1850, and
this date, as well as the 4th day of November 1849 will always remain an
important one in memory. On the last named day we left the trail to take
the unfortunate cut-off, and for four long months we had wandered and
struggled in terrible hardship. Every point of that terrible journey is
indelibly fixed upon my memory and though seventy-three years of age on
April 6th 1893 I can locate every camp, and if strong enough could
follow that weary trail from Death Valley to Los Angeles with unerring
accuracy.
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