Some were quite sarcastic in
their remarks about the invalid preacher who never earned his bread by
the sweat of his brow, and by their actions showed that they did not
care very much whether he ever got through or not. They thought he ought
to have asserted his manliness and taken the burden on himself, and not
lean upon his delicate and trusting wife as he seemed to do. All are
sure that it is to his faithful wife the Rev. J.W. Brier owed his succor
from the sands of that desert.
Looking back on the scenes of that day, the way the selfish dispositions
of people were made manifest is almost incredible. Every one seemed to
think only of saving his own life, and every spark of human sympathy and
kindness seemed extinguished. A man would drink the last cup of water
even if his neighbor choked.
This camp was the same one which the Author mentions in his narrative,
to which Rogers and himself crept so silently and carefully at night to
ascertain whether the occupants were friends or foes. They were much
pleased to find it was Capt. Doty of the Jayhawkers and his mess who had
remained behind to dry the flesh of an ox they had killed when it could
travel no longer. The others had gone on ahead, following the trail,
leaving these to follow. They staid here two days, and it was while
waiting here that the Rev. J.W. Brier came up as before related, and
they all went on together when they moved.
Nearly every man had carried a gun in the early days of the expedition,
hoping to kill game, and to be well armed in case of attack by Indians
or enemies, but they began to find that they were useless encumbrances,
and first one and then another would throw away his fire-arms as a
burden too great for a weary man to bear.
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