CHAPTER I.

Whether or not these personal reminiscences will interest the public remains to be determined; for one thing the narrator can vouch, and that is they are not in the least exaggerated. Several army experiences have of late been printed, and when in recounting mine I have often been asked to write them, it was not, as I then thought, for the purpose of publication; although, as they have been unusual, to say the least, I have been tempted to do so; and now that the whole course of my life has been changed I have reasons for issuing this book which may perhaps plead my excuse should the narrative prove uninteresting to some.

The army world, though a small one, yet extends over a large amount of territory. My experience of it, previous to marriage, consisted in seeing, entirely at its best, beautiful West Point, which I considered a fair type of every army post; so when I married, immediately after his graduation from there, a young second lieutenant, I thought that however far we might travel such a home would always be found at our journey’s end.

My husband, previous to his four years at West Point, as narrated in the preface, had been a soldier for two years in the War of the Rebellion, where he had so signalized himself by bravery that friends united in urging his father to remove the lad from the perilous surroundings of active warfare, and permit him to be educated in the profession for which he had shown such a decided talent. He was at that time but eighteen years old, and was probably the only man of that age who ever commanded a company in which his father and brother were enlisted men.

Mr. Boyd’s previous career causing him to prefer the cavalry branch of the service, application was therefore made for that; so when appointed he was ordered to San Francisco. Not knowing whence from there he would be sent, as some of the companies of his regiment were in Nevada, some in Arizona, and others in California, it was deemed unwise for me to accompany him, so I remained in New York.

We had been married but two days, and it seemed to me as if San Francisco was as far away as China, particularly as there was then no trans-continental railroad. Besides, I had lived in New York City all my life, and considered it the only habitable place on the globe.

When Mr. Boyd reached San Francisco he was assigned to a station in Nevada, which was so remote, and there appeared to be so little hope for any comfortable habitation, that he wrote me the prospect for my journey was very indefinite.

However, with the hopefulness of youth, he counted on a far more speedy accomplishment of his desires than anything in the nature of the situation seemed to warrant. The troops had been sent, as a sort of advance guard and protective force for the contemplated Pacific Railroad, to a point in the very eastern part of Nevada. The camp was named “Halleck,” in honor of General Halleck, and the accommodations were so limited that ladies were hardly needed, except to emphasize the limitations. Although it was well understood that I could not be comfortably located until summer, yet no second hint was needed when in mid-winter my husband wrote that I might come at least as far as San Francisco.

In the middle of January I left New York on one of the fine steamers of the Pacific Mail Steamship Company. The three weeks _en route_ were delightful, and the change from bleak, cold winter to the tropical scenes of Panama, and thence to the soft and balmy air of the Pacific, was so exhilarating that travel was simply a continuous pleasure.

Upon reaching San Francisco, nothing seemed more natural than that I should press on, in spite of the protestations of friends, who said that the Sierra Nevada Mountains were impassable at that season, and who predicted all sorts of mishaps. Nothing daunted, I determined at least to try, and so took steamer for Sacramento, and from thence train to Cisco, at the foot of the mountains, and the then terminus of the Pacific Railway. After leaving the train we continued our journey on sleds, in the midst of a blinding snow-storm, that compelled us to envelop our heads in blankets.

The snow, however, did not last many miles, and we were soon transferred to the regular stage-coach, a large vehicle with thorough-braces instead of springs, and a roomy interior which suggested comfort. Alas! only suggested! Possibly no greater discomfort could have been endured than my companion and self underwent that night. Those old-fashioned stage-coaches for mountain travel were intended to be well filled inside, and well packed outside. But it so happened that instead of the usual full complement of passengers, one other woman and myself were all.

A pen far more expert than mine would be required to do justice to the horrors of that night. Though we had left Cisco at noon, we did not reach Virginia City, on the other side of the mountains, until ten o’clock next morning. As long as daylight lasted we watched in amazement those wonderful mountains, which should have been called “Rocky,” for they have enormous precipices and rocky elevations at many points; from the highest we gazed down into ravines at least fifteen hundred feet below, and shuddered again and again.

One point, called Cape Horn, a bold promontory, is famous, and as great a terror to stage-drivers as is the cape from which it takes its name to navigators. We peered into endless precipices, down which we momentarily expected to be launched, for the seeming recklessness of our driver and extreme narrowness of the roads made such a fate appear imminent.

Our alarm did not permit us to duly appreciate the scenery’s magnificent grandeur; besides, every possible effort was required to keep from being tossed about like balls. We did not expect to find ourselves alive in the morning, and passed the entire night holding on to anything that promised stability. An ordinary posture was quite impossible: we had either to brace ourselves by placing both feet against the sides of the vehicle, or seize upon every strap within reach.

Long before morning all devices, except the extreme one of lying flat on the bottom of the coach and resigning ourselves to the inevitable, had failed. Every muscle ached with the strain that had been required to keep from being bruised by the constant bumping, and even then we had by no means escaped.

We had supped at Donner Lake, a beautiful spot in the very heart of the mountains, made famous by the frightful sufferings of the Donner party, which had given the lake its name, and which has been so well described by Bret Harte in “Gabriel Conroy,” that a passing mention will suffice. It proved an unfortunate prelude to our eventful night; for in the midst of our own sufferings we were compelled to think of what might befall us if we, like that ill-fated party, should be left to the mercy of those grand but cruel mountains, which already seemed so relentless in their embrace that although haste meant torture yet we longed to see the last of them.

The bright sun shone high overhead long before we reached Virginia City, where I saw for the first time a real mining-town. It is not my purpose to describe what has been so ably done by others, but simply confine myself to personal experiences; and I will, therefore, merely state that I gladly left Virginia City, knowing that soon after we should emerge from mountain roads, and on level plains be less tortured.

We were not, however, quite prepared for the method that made jolting impossible, and which, being the very extreme of our previous night’s journey, was almost equally unendurable. On leaving the breakfast-table at Virginia City, we were greatly surprised to find our coach almost full of passengers; but we climbed in, and for five days and nights were carried onward without the slightest change of any sort. There was a front and back seat, and between the two a middle one, which faced the back that we occupied. Whenever in the course of the succeeding five days and nights it was needful to move even our feet, we could only do so by asking our _vis-à-vis_ to move his at the same time, as there was not one inch of space unoccupied.

The rough frontiersmen who were our fellow-passengers tried in every way to make our situation more endurable. After we had sat bolt upright for two days and nights, vainly trying to snatch a few moments’ sleep, which the constant lurching of the stage rendered impossible, the two men directly facing us proposed, with many apologies, that we should allow them to lay folded blankets on their laps, when, by leaning forward and laying our heads on the rests thus provided, our weary brains might find some relief. We gratefully assented, only to find, however, that the unnatural position rendered sleep impossible, so decided to bear our hardships as best we could until released by time.

Our only respite was when the stage stopped for refreshments; but as we experienced all the mishaps consequent upon a journey in mid-winter, such as deep, clinging mud, which made regular progress impossible, we frequently found that meals were conspicuous by their absence; or we breakfasted at midnight and dined in the early morning. The food was of the sort all frontier travelers have eaten—biscuits almost green with saleratus, and meats sodden with grease, which disguised their natural flavors so completely that I often wondered what animals of the prairies were represented.

The names of our stopping-places were pretentious to such a degree that days passed before I was able to believe such grand titles could be personated by so little. I also noticed that a particularly forbidding exterior, and interior as well, would be called by the most high sounding name.

Alas for my hopes of escape from mountain travel! How gladly would I have welcomed some mountains instead of the endless monotony of that prairie! Nevada is particularly noted for the entire absence of trees, and the presence of a low, uninteresting shrub called sage-brush. It looks exactly as the name indicates, is a dingy sage-green in color, and, with the exception of a bush somewhat darker in hue and called grease-wood because it burns so readily, nothing else could be seen, not only for miles and miles, but day after day, until the weary eye longed for change. At dusk imagination compelled me to regard those countless bushes as flocks of sheep, so similar did they appear in the dim light, and I was unable to divest my mind of that idea during our entire stay in Nevada.

With such a state of affairs sleep was out of the question, and consequently nights seemed endless. I considered myself fortunate in having an end seat, and often counted the revolutions of the wheels until they appeared to turn more and more slowly, when I would propound that frequent query which always enraged the driver:

“How long before we reach the next station?”

I remember one night we made eight miles in fifteen hours, and the next day fifteen miles in eight hours. Both seemed wearily slow; but according to our driver the roads were to blame.

That night the monotony was relieved by what we considered a very pleasing incident, as it afforded some excitement. A rather small pig decided to accompany us, and some of the passengers made our driver frantic by betting on piggy winning the race: as a fact, he did reach the station first. I felt quite dejected at having to leave him there; for in our lonely journey we longed for companions in misery, and he seemed very miserable during that weary night.

Notwithstanding the level monotony of the country, we were constantly being brought up short by gullies which crossed our road. The sensation was akin to that one experiences when arrested by the so-called “thank-you-mums,” met with in Eastern rural districts.

As the very tiniest streams in the West are designated rivers, we were always expecting, only to be disappointed, great things in that line. At last, when we reached Austin, and saw that the Reese River could be stepped across, all expectations of future greatness in the way of rivers were relinquished.

Austin, at that time a very small mining-town, was so insignificant as to be regarded as merely a mile-stone on the journey. We gladly left it to continue our travels, which soon became less monotonous by reason of low mountains that we crossed in the night, before reaching what I had hoped was to be the end of my long stage-ride.

Mr. Boyd had arrived first at the military camp at Ruby, where we remained two days to rest before continuing our journey. This was necessary, as the loss of sleep for five long nights had so prostrated me that when I found myself in a recumbent position, consciousness to all outside surroundings was so completely lost that the intervening day and night were entirely blotted out.

I no longer felt particularly young. Experience and the loss of sleep had aged me. Yet knowing that the years which had passed over my head were as few as were consistent with the dignity of a married woman, I was taken quite aback when one of the employees connected with the stage station asked my husband:

“How did the old woman stand the trip?”

I listened intently for his answer, fully expecting to hear the man severely rebuked, if not laid flat; but Mr. Boyd understood human nature better than I, and in the most polite tones replied:

“Thank you, very well indeed.”

We were then within about one hundred miles of our destination, Fort Halleck, Nevada, and the remainder of our journey was to be made in an entirely different vehicle from the stage-coach—a government ambulance, and in this case the most uncomfortable one I have ever seen. Many are delightful; but that was an old, worthless affair, and instead of the usual comfortable cross seats had long side ones, which covered with slippery leather made security of position impossible. My trunk was first placed inside, then a huge bundle of forage, which left only room for two people near the door.

We jogged on monotonously the first day, seeing the same scenery: it seemed to me a duplicate of that looked upon for days past. Very thankful I was, however, for the absence of any steep hills; for we fully expected, at the first climb, to be buried under my own huge trunk, which appeared to have as great a tendency to shift its position as I had.

Instead of feeling a womanly pride in the possession of an abundant wardrobe, I ruefully wished most of it had been left behind, more especially as the stage company charged a dollar for each pound of its weight. The combined amount of this and my stage fare was just two hundred and fifty dollars. As my fare by steamer had been exactly that amount, I had, before reaching my husband, disposed of five hundred dollars, in return for which five seemingly endless days and sleepless nights of tiresome travel had been endured, together with many bumps and bruises.

One of the objects I have in writing these adventures is to show how an army officer is compelled to part with all he obtains from the government in paying expenses incurred by endless journeys through newly settled countries.

But to resume our ambulance trip. As night approached the motion ceased, and I doubt if mortal was ever more amazed than I when told we were to go no farther. Not a sign of habitation was in sight! Nothing but broad plains surrounded us on all sides! Not even a tree could be seen, and the four mules had to be hitched to our ambulance wheels, as tiny bushes were not, of course, available for such a purpose. A fire was made of grease-wood, a piece of bacon broiled on the coals, and a huge pot of coffee served in quart tin cups, which is the only way soldiers condescend to drink it, as no less amount will suffice, coffee being their greatest solace on long marches.

That, my first real experience in camping out, was indeed novel. The knowledge that except one tiny dot in the wilderness—our ambulance—we had no resting-place, gave me a curiously homeless feeling that was indeed cheerless.

When, a little later, we sought our couch, it proved to be anything but downy. My trunk and the forage had been taken out, and the seats, always made as in a sleeping-car so that the backs let down, formed the bed. It was not, however, altogether uncomfortable, as we had plenty of blankets.

Soon after falling asleep I was awakened by what seemed to be a complete upheaval of our couch. I was thoroughly terrified and prepared for almost anything; but examination showed that our alarm was caused by one of the mules, that had worked his way under our ambulance, and in attempting to rise had almost upset it. A readjustment of the lines by which a mule was tied to each wheel somewhat reassured me; but those playful attempts to either upset or drag our extemporized couch in any direction in which the mules felt inclined to go, resulted in our passing a restless night. Sometimes one mule would be seized with an ambitious desire to break away; this would rouse the other three, who would each in turn attempt to stampede, and but for the driver’s timely assistance it is difficult to state what might have happened, as our vehicle was not sufficiently strong to withstand such violent wrenches.

When morning dawned we resumed our march, and great was my joy on learning that we would have four walls around us during the two succeeding nights. I was, however, rather startled to find myself disturbing so many that evening, for when we reached the little log hut that was to shelter us, it proved to be, though but eighteen feet square, the abode of ten men. In all the log cabins at which we stopped a bed occupied one corner of their only room. Those beds were, of course, only rough bunks of unplaned pine timber; but by reason of being raised above the mud floors formed very desirable resting-places.

The almost chivalrous kindness of frontiersmen has become proverbial with women who have traveled alone in the far West, where the presence of any member of the sex is so rare the sight of one seems to remind each man that he once had a mother, and no attention which can be shown is ever too great. When, therefore, our hosts saw my reluctance to deprive them of what must have been occupied by at least two of their number, they assured me I would confer a favor by accepting the proffered hospitality. Although shrinking from the proximity of so many men, yet remembering my shaky bed of the previous night, I was glad to find refuge behind the improvised curtains which they deftly arranged.

It seemed indeed odd on this and succeeding nights to see huge, stalwart men preparing food, baking the inevitable biscuits in Dutch ovens over the coals in open fireplaces, and being so well pleased if we seemed to enjoy what was placed before us.

Our next day’s journey was diversified by the discovery that our vehicle was like the famous one-horse shay, likely to drop in pieces; indeed, we had twice to send back several miles for the tires, which had parted company with their wheels. Such a condition of our conveyance, coupled with several other mishaps, led us to feel very dubious as to our destination being eventually reached in safety.

On arriving at the cabin in which our third night was to be passed, we found it occupied by fifteen men. As usual, we were ensconced in the only bed. I tried to feel doubly protected, instead of embarrassed, by the vicinity of so many men; nor did I consider it necessary to peer about in an effort to learn how they disposed of themselves. I well knew it was too cold to admit of any sleeping outside. Being startled by some noise in the night, I drew back the curtains, and looked on a scene not soon to be forgotten. Not only were the men ranged in rows before us, but the number of sleepers had been augmented by at least six dogs, which had crept in for shelter from what I found in the morning was a severe snow-storm, that covered the ground to the depth of ten inches or more.

On the last day of that long journey I arose, feeling particularly happy at the prospect of soon reaching our destination; and even the sight of snow did not disconcert me, as I reasoned that we were to ride in a covered vehicle, and with only twenty miles to traverse had nothing to fear.

Though all might have gone well had our ambulance been strong, but two miles of the distance had been covered when we sank in an enormous snow-drift. Our mules had wandered from the road into a deep gully, and in trying to pull us out succeeded in extricating only the front wheels of the wagon, so farther progress in that vehicle was quite impossible. Nothing could be done except call upon our friends of the past night for assistance, which they promptly rendered, sending us their only wagon—an open, springless one—which seemed so exposed they begged me to return to the cabin. But my anxiety to reach our journey’s end was by that time so great I would have tried to walk could no other mode of procedure have been found.

So, seated in the very center of the wagon, with as much protection as our blankets could afford, we rode the remaining eighteen miles, snow falling continually and rendering it impossible to distinguish the road. Travel under such conditions, and especially in a springless conveyance, made our previous jaunt over mountains fade into insignificance.

The day seemed endless; and though at first I kept shaking off the snow, yet when we reached our destination, after riding for twelve long hours, I had become so worn and weary as to no longer care, and was almost buried beneath it.

It is always the last straw which breaks the camel’s back, and that, the last day of our journey, was the first on which I had felt discouraged; in spite of constant efforts I finally succumbed to our doleful surroundings, and in tears was lifted out and carried into what proved to be my home for the next year.