Poisonous Gas

Reprinted in Death Valley Book Of Knowledge (DVBOK) courtesy of the Los Angeles Times

The following Death Valley story was published in the January 19, 1890 edition of the Los Angeles Times. It is the amazing story of Colonel John Jewks and how he survived the lethal Death Valley gases. This was during a time when the alleged dangers of Death Valley were being widely reported to a public hungry for the gruesome details of this supposedly deadly countryside. Some stories and articles were predominantly factual, and others were … well, shall we say entertaining tales from the creative minds of authors more interested in publicity than reality. During these earlier days of the valley, few folks had any true idea of what was really out here, and with frightening chronicles such as the one that follows, it was almost guaranteed that no one would personally come out to investigate the validity of the claims.

Death Valley is truly a Land of Legend, a mysterious realm of illusion, deception, fear – a wild place made all the richer today by all the tales told yesterday, whether true or not. Enjoy the amazing story of Colonel John Jewks, and how he single-handedly cleared out the deadly toxins so that we may now visit Death Valley without fear!

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DEATH’S VALLEY OPEN

The Times Commissioner Reports Exclusively

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A Half Century of Horror Cleared Up – The Adventures of an Explorer – The Sea of Gas – Across the Deadly Valley on Stilts – Vast Wealth – Petrified Skeletons – A New Book on the Wonder of the Pacific Slope

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America is indebted to foreign authors for much valuable information about herself. Hardly a year passes but some distinguished writer passes through on his way to Asia, and his impressions a few months later are given to an appreciative public. It has become a matter of journalistic courtesy for the press of this country and citizens at large to aid these authors as much as possible, and The Times, while desiring to respect that professional modesty which prevents a paper from blowing its own horn, is forced into the position of stating what it has done in this connection.

For some months past there has been in this county a distinguished member of the Institute of France, a gentleman who is known in scientific circles all over the world. This savant is preparing an elaborate work on Death’s Valley, to be published at an early day. He found in Los Angeles so much information concerning it that a visit to the place was hardly necessary. The Times was informed of the matter some time ago; learned that the scientist wanted maps of the valley and accurate measurements of the depth of the deadly gas; samples of sticks eaten or corroded by contact; drawings of bodies and teams seen in the valley from the cliffs above – and determined to aid him in procuring the bottom facts.

The New York Herald had its Stanley; The Times its Schwatka; the Cosmopolitan its race around the world. Why should not the Pasadena edition of the Los Angeles Times have its representative in Death’s Valley, and give the results to this noble-hearted and gifted foreigner? There was but one difficulty: Who could be found to face the terrors of the now famous valley, that for years had been the destruction of thousands? It is enough to say that the man was found in the guise of Colonel John Jewks, late general manager of a Chicago gas company. The Times learned that Colonel Jewks could inhale more gas and live than any man in southern California. The Colonel wanted excitement; so it was settled, and two months ago he started.

Yesterday the expedition returned, and the Colonel’s report is given for the benefit of the savant, who is now in Los Angeles, and the general public. “Yes, sir,” said the Colonel, to a Times reporter; “I am back, and I claim to be the only man who ever went through Death’s Valley and didn’t die; and moreover, the valley is open to the public for the first time in the memory of man.”

“The valley is well known; it has the reputation of having caused the death of over 8000 persons in this century. Hundreds of [wagon] trains wandered into it and stood there petrified, or rather vitrified, turned into metal monuments.”

“Did you bring any of these out with you?” asked the reporter.

“No, I did not,” replied the Colonel, “and I will tell you why. To begin at the beginning, I made my will and started two months ago. I have been in the gas business all my life, and by habit have got so used to it that I can breathe it for some time without injurious effects; that’s why I thought I could make a go of it. I went to Barstow by rail, and on the 10th day of November started with a burro for the valley across the desert. I was 10 days on the trip, and on the 11th I sighted what they call the black cloud, which is, I discovered, nothing but buzzards hovering over the valley, watching the bodies and not daring to go down. They look from a distance like a black cloud, and are so described in some geographies; just make a special point of that as a new discovery. Death’s valley is,” continued the Colonel, “about 10 miles wide by 15 miles long, is surrounded by a range of lofty mountains. Before daylight of the 12th I was on the summit, and, with the burro, looked down onto one of the most frightful scenes in the known world. I could see the whole thing, inviting and beautiful, if you didn’t know it – but a horror if you did. What looked to be a beautiful lake I knew to be gas. With my glass I saw over 500 wagons of all kinds, bodies of horses, men, women and children – all as natural as life, just as if it was a picnic party; and that’s how so many got trapped; they see it all, think it a beautiful place to camp, ride in, and are suffocated. My plans were to cross in different directions and photograph the scenes, measure the gas layers and see where it came from.

“So, after a good night’s sleep, to the windward, I buckled on a pair of stilts I had brought, and with my gasometer and photographic outfit lashed to the mule, started down. I descended 2000 feet before I struck the level, and then took a gopher our of my pocket, which I had brought for the purpose, and dropped it upon the ground. The gas was there, as the gopher died in 10 seconds. I took another gopher and stooped down; at my waist it was all right, but at my knees it began to gasp, so I determined that the height of the gas at the outer or radial edge, or, to use the technical term, at the outer edge of its impingement, it was five feet deep. Care was now necessary, as, should I stop or fall and get my head below this, I would be a dead man. I moved on with the greatest precaution, but, as slowly as I walked, some of the gas came up and almost suffocated me. I carried a long stick, and, lifting it up, the moment the end which had been in the gas struck the atmospheric air, it burst into a blue flame that under the spectrum showed violet lines. In a moment the flame went out and I found the stick incased in a white, metallic substance; in fact, the fiber had disappeared. Moving on carefully, I approached a train, an old fashioned prairie schooner, and tying the burro to the wheel prepared to photograph the scene. Here was a family sitting. The man was smoking a pipe; the mother in the act of stooping down; the children lying in various positions – all looking from the action of the gas as if they had been turned into white metal. Near here was a bag which had burst open, and piles of gold and silver poured out through a break. Without thinking, I stooped to pick it up, but the gas met me, and measurement showed it to be three feet deep here. I leaned against the wheel and took off my stilts and tried to fish up some of the money; then one of the gophers I had in my coat pocket began to struggle, and I jumped on to the cartwheel to save it, and bethought me of my watch. I pulled it out; it had stopped at 10:30, the gas had destroyed the works.”

The Colonel showed the reporter the watch. It had no works, the space being filled with a substance resembling cotton.

“I worked over two hours trying to reach that wealth, but had to give it up. I visited over 30 trains of immigrants and looked upon hundreds who would have been 49ers had it not been for this deadly valley. There was not a living thing excepting self, the burro and black cloud of buzzards a mile over head. I found (and here the Colonel brought out a map covered with figures) that the gas was lowest in the exact center of the valley, it being but two feet deep there; but it was more deadly. A gopher introduced here died in just one second, without a struggle. From this point I found the depth gradually increased inversely as the distance from the center to the mountains, and that its power decreased inversely in the same proportion. In other words, at the center, where the gas was three feet deep, a gopher died in one second; while at the base of the mountains, where the depth was eight feet, it took 10 seconds. In this way, by multiplying the time it took to kill the gopher at the three-foot place by the it took to kill one at the five-foot base, I obtained the specific gravity of the gas and the volume, which I estimated at 6,000,000,000,000,000 meters.”

“Gas meters?” asked the reporter.

“Certainly,” replied the Colonel, courteously. “In five days I mapped the entire region, and located the depths as you see on the map.

“Every night as I retired to the surrounding peaks, to sleep and feed the burro, I pondered upon some method to secure the property in sight, but so unattainable. The only way was to remove the gas; but how? Would it burn? The next day I took in an ordinary beer bottle and brought it out filled with gas. Touching a match to it, it flamed up like ordinary gas, and developed such a heat that it melted the bottle. Well, young man, “ said the Colonel, taking off his sombrero, “to say that I was delighted goes without saying. I saw myself going back to Pasadena rolling in wealth.

“Well, the next three days I employed in hauling sticks and grass to the summit of the steepest peak, and finally I had a combustible ball 20 feet in diameter. You perceive my idea; it was to light the ball, start it down, and so ignite the lake of deadly gas. I waited until the night of the 30th, and as soon as darkness set in I applied the match, and the enormous ball blazed up. A simple touch, and it went rushing down into this terrestrial hell. I sat on the back of the burro and watched it bound from rock to rock, until finally it sprang into the abyss, and –“ Here the Colonel rose and led the way to the backyard.

“Do you see that burro?” The reporter did. The burro was pure white and resembled the last one in at the late tournament. “Do you see this?” and the Colonel raised his sombrero. “When that ball was touched off, that burro and my hair were as black as coals; 18 seconds later they were as white as the driven snow. My reason totters when I tell it,” continued the Colonel, pacing the floor. “but the moment the ball struck the lake of gas the world seemed afire; a mass of flame 10×15 miles shot upward with a roar. I felt a mighty heat, noticed an indescribable odor of burning feathers, and knew no more. I was aroused by being struck by something, and came to find my burro white as snow and dead, and singed buzzards falling all about; so I estimated that the flame had shot up a mile in height to have reached the birds. The first thing in the morning I cast my eyes in the direction of the valley. There it was, but not a wagon or the remains of a single object. I hurried down, released several gophers and they ran off. The gas had disappeared. I took off my stilts, walked about, laid down; not a trace of the deadly poison remained; but every trace of human beings had disappeared. The fierce heat had melted the gold and sliver, and destroyed every trace and vestige of what has been so long a horror.”

“Death’s Valley is open to the world, then?”

“Yes sir,” replied the Colonel; “it is perfectly safe; the gas cannot accumulate again, I have estimated, under 1000 years.”

“There was one point,” said the reporter, “I did not understand.”

“What was that,” asked the Colonel.

“How did the burro breathe the gas?”

“Ah! I am glad you mentioned that point,” said the explorer. “I muzzled his nose in a gunny sack and he breathed through his ears. Necessity is the mother of invention.”

Such are the simple facts collected by The Time expedition. When they appear in the new work by the eminent savant among us full particulars will be given. The sketches given are from photographs taken by Colonel Jewks on the spot. The Colonel has been offered an extended engagement to lecture on Death’s Valley, and will probably go East soon.

Kelp.

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Reprinted in Death Valley Book Of Knowledge (DVBOK) courtesy of the Los Angeles Times