CHAPTER III.

Meantime much had happened to make that year an eventful one. My expectation of finding the new, untried world into which I was ushered a place where all were ready to meet me with open hearts and hands had been completely shattered. The captain who commanded our company, and the first lieutenant, had taken a violent dislike to Mr. Boyd because he was unaccustomed to the lack of discipline they allowed; and their almost unlimited powers enabled them to deprive us of much to which we were justly entitled.

They were two of the most illiterate men whom I have ever met; and shortly after, when the army consolidated, both found more fitting occupation in a frontier mining-town. I mention this only to account for the unnecessary hardships to which we were subjected. For instance, when gardens were planted, and the company was raising fine vegetables, we were allowed neither to buy nor to use any, and had to continue to live on rations.

But the most unkind treatment of all was shown when my husband met with a severe accident. He was returning from a successful fishing-trip when his horse—and a more unruly mustang cannot well be imagined—fancied some cause for fright, and began to buck on the side of a steep hill. Mr. Boyd, deeming discretion the better part of valor, jumped off, and fell with his entire weight upon one leg, fracturing it just below the knee. His companion decided to ride into camp, a distance of six miles, for assistance, and a litter was at once sent out. My husband lay there alone, helpless and suffering, until long after dark, the coyotes, or small wolves, coming around in droves, and it was with the greatest difficulty he kept them off by the use of both gun and pistol.

When he was brought into camp late at night, my first remark was that I derived some comfort from the situation, inasmuch as he would not be compelled to join an expedition which had been for some time projected. Mr. Boyd was to have been sent with an escort of twenty men on a surveying party. That would have kept him in the field all summer, and left me entirely alone.

The officer in command displayed his malevolence by sending with the expedition the soldier who had volunteered to wait on us, thus leaving me without the slightest assistance in caring for my husband. The doctor was exceedingly kind and good, and I could obtain my meals where we had on my first arrival; but I was obliged to carry Mr. Boyd’s food quite a long distance, and perform every sort of hard, menial labor—even chopping wood; for nights, lying unable to move, my husband would become chilly and need a fire.

Many other hardships were entailed, and I was quite worn out with working and nursing, when, in a month’s time, Mr. Boyd was able to walk on crutches. However, the accident had given me his society for the entire summer, at which I rejoiced exceedingly; for I had often wondered what I should do if left alone, friendless as I felt myself to be.

At that time the whole army was in a chaotic state, especially on the Pacific coast, where California volunteers, though brave and hardy men, were totally unaccustomed to military discipline, and the officers not of a character to enforce it. The wild lawlessness which had made California a place of terror, and that had only been subdued by the vigilance committee, was still extant, and many occurrences during our first year of army life showed there were desperadoes among us.

Had the officers in command been gentlemen, at least a semblance of respect would have been shown; but the enlisted men, treated by their officers exactly as they had been while both were volunteers, were disposed to dislike a man who after four years of rigid training at West Point had grown accustomed to discipline and was disposed to exact it.

The first duty which called my husband from home was an expedition after some horses that had been sent to Camp McDermott, a distance of about two hundred miles. He took with him ten men, and experienced very little difficulty in managing them while going; but returning, with twenty extra horses, the soldiers were in a lawless state, disposed to be unruly, and would become intoxicated whenever liquor could be had. Despite the fact that water was obtainable only at the stations _en route_, Mr. Boyd made a practice of procuring in casks all that would be needed, and marching a few miles beyond the stations, so as to prevent liquor being obtained; for in all those places, although water might be scarce, a barrel of the vilest whisky could always be found.

The plan worked well for the first hundred miles; but one night the men stole back to the station and insisted that liquor be given them. Mr. Boyd always warned station-masters of the extreme danger of allowing his men to have whisky, as with so many horses the services of all were required; but that day some had been procured from an unknown source, and they were determined to have more. The station-master refused to furnish it, and barricaded his door so that no one could enter.

The men were infuriated; and just as my husband arrived on the scene one of them rushed madly against the door and forced it open, only to be met by a ball from a pistol fired by some one inside the room, which killed him instantly. That sobered the rest, who obeyed the order given to carry their dead comrade back to the encampment. Fearing further disturbance my husband broke camp and traveled till daylight, when finding the already over-loaded wagon much encumbered by the dead body, which had repeatedly slipped off, he stopped and buried it by the roadside. After that he had no trouble, as the men were completely subdued.

On their return to camp the entire story was related to me; and knowing how great Mr. Boyd’s anxiety had been, I fully expected he would be commended, if not rewarded. Instead of that he was actually called to account, principally for burying the dead soldier by the roadside, which the commanding officer seemed to consider wrong, when to have traveled so many days with the body uncoffined would have been quite impossible.

I was highly diverted by the efforts my husband made to procure presents for me, and shall never forget the peculiarity of his gifts. In passing through Austin at one time he endeavored to buy fruit, as we missed it greatly, and deemed a box of apples at only one dollar a dozen a marvelous bargain, as three dollars had been paid for those previously purchased.

On another occasion Mr. Boyd had yielded to the temptation to buy a sewing-machine, which he thought would please me very much, as indeed it would had I been able to use it; but the machine was entirely out of order and represented nothing in the way of usefulness, unless a month’s pay which it had cost might be so considered.

Another present was of a more noisy sort. Knowing that I had never seen a “burro,” Mr. Boyd was induced to buy one for me because it was cheap and so docile a child might ride it. The latter it certainly proved to be; but living in tents, where every sound penetrated to our ears, the animal became a perpetual nuisance; consequently, when one day he strayed away, never to reappear, we were not sorry.

The brute was indeed small, but his voice was a marvel of strength and volume, and his bray resounded on all sides at the most inopportune moments. If military orders were being read, “Burro” kept up an accompaniment which drowned all other sounds; and in his apparent loneliness, the poor fellow had a way of seeking human companionship, and would appear at our doorstep and lift up his voice in a manner that made us feel the roof must rise above our heads in order to allow the fearful sound to escape. He afforded us a great deal of amusement, however, and all his antics were laughed at and condoned.

About that time another troop of the regiment was sent from Idaho, and we then enjoyed the society of a very charming New York woman, who accompanied her husband, and the fittings of whose tent amused us much. This lady had a large private fortune, yet she had not been with us a month before, resigning herself to the inevitable, she bent weekly over the wash-tub and ironing-board, as help was not procurable; nor did this officer’s wife find a treasure of a soldier, as I had, who would volunteer to relieve her of such unaccustomed drudgery.

Deciding that her tent would present a more cheerful appearance if papered, all newspapers received were, immediately after being read, pasted on the walls. A preference was given to illustrated journals, and it was very diverting to inspect those pictures which reflected many scenes of our former lives. How often the wish was expressed that we could be as well sheltered as were the servants in city homes, and my friend frequently longed for as good a roof overhead as had her mother’s barn. A year of such hardships sufficed; at the end of that time her husband resigned his commission, and for many years they have been quartered in New York City.

As the second winter of our camp life approached, we prepared in a measure for it by procuring a larger heating stove; but the stove took up a great deal of room in our little tent, and so was crowded into a corner, with the result of constant danger from fire. I attempted to keep account of the number of times our tent had ignited and been patched to cover the burned places. Mr. Boyd usually built a fire very early, before going to his duties, and on one memorable morning the entire top of our sitting-room tent burned away, leaving it quite uncovered.

My anxiety to live in a house was so great that I calmly deliberated whether or not to call for assistance; but second thoughts concerning the probable destruction of our belongings, and the absurdity of expecting a house to immediately erect itself for our benefit, decided me. I had really grown inured to fire, as one would naturally become who was exempt from all personal danger; for if the canvas had burned away, open air and sky would have surrounded us.

During all those months work had been actively prosecuted on the Union Pacific Railroad; and as it was to approach us very closely, we felt that not only would personal benefit result therefrom, but it would bring an influx of inhabitants into the country which must promote its prosperity through opening mines, irrigating and cultivating arable land, and so forth. The latter, however, became problematical, as it was found impossible to procure other labor than Chinese on the railroad. The class of settlers who occasionally appeared were of a restless, nomadic sort; and if they located on a plot of land soon tired of the industry required to make of the place a home.

The chief result of the increased population was most noticeable in the number of accidents which occurred both on the railroad and in our neighborhood. The post doctor’s services were in almost daily requisition; and as our hospital was also a tent, and many of the injured were carried there, my soul was harrowed by the cries of wounded men which could not be stifled in that clear atmosphere with nothing but canvas intervening.

One of the young officers who knew my terror on that score, delighted in giving me exaggerated accounts of their sufferings, and used to relate the most remarkable cases, which I fully believed at the time, though later his deceit and exaggeration were discovered. It seemed to me that the frontier at best was a place where suffering prevailed to a degree not commensurate with the number of inhabitants.

We were very near the “white pine region,” where an immense silver mine created great excitement, the novelty of which pleased us almost as much as if we were to share in the material benefits thereof.

Mr. Boyd’s promotion to a first lieutenantcy, which had been expected for many months, was at that time received, and we hoped the railroad would enable us to make the journey consequent upon such promotion in greater comfort than had been possible on our previous one. Alas! how bitterly we deplored the unalterable fact so common in army life, that after having endured severe hardships, and watched the advent of brighter days, as promised by the approach of a railroad and the completion of officers’ quarters, we were compelled to leave for distant Arizona without sharing in any of the advantages which would naturally follow.

My husband’s promotion transferred him to a company of the regiment stationed at Prescott, Arizona Territory. We had first to reach San Francisco, go from thence by sea to Southern California, and then across into Arizona. One beautiful morning, just a year from the time of my arrival, we started for California. We were glad to be able, instead of having to endure the discomforts of a stage-ride, to strike the railroad twelve miles from Camp Halleck. The road had reached that point only a few days before, and the rails having been newly laid none but construction trains had passed over it.

We were obliged to wait for a car until the next morning, when a hospitable welcome was given us by the engineer in charge, who with his wife and family occupied the construction train, and seemed most comfortable in their movable home. They had every needful arrangement to make them so, for the cars, two in number, were roomy as possible. The first car was divided into an admirable kitchen and dining-room, which were presided over by a Chinese cook; the second into sitting and bedrooms so arranged that they were cozy and comfortable.

Our only fear was of the possibly infested atmosphere, for we were told that smallpox had broken out among the Chinese railroad employees, and was prevailing to an alarming extent. A delightful day and night were, however, passed with our new friends, who shared with us their sleeping accommodations, Mr. Boyd rooming with the engineer and I with his wife. At nine o’clock next morning we left them, feeling very grateful for the kindness received.

Our gratitude was in no wise lessened, though our fears were increased, when the following day a telegram overtook us which stated that our engineer friend had succumbed to smallpox. He recovered from the disease perhaps sooner than we did from our panic: so great an exposure was at a most inconvenient time, for, like Joe, we had to “move on.”

I was astonished to find that the car which was to take us farther West was only the caboose or freight car of an ordinary train; and when, having climbed into the huge side opening, the steps were taken away, leaving us high and dry, the prospect was far from encouraging. There was no accommodation for comfort of any sort, and only rough benches for seats. The car, too, was filled with railroad employees, and the atmosphere soon became intolerable. The roadbed was so new and the jolting so alarming, I concluded a stage-ride would have been preferable, as we could at least have seen what was before us.

We stopped frequently, yet were so far above the ground I dared not descend, and, in fact, there was no special occasion to do so, for we rode until three the next morning before reaching a place where a mouthful of food could be obtained. Having anticipated when once on the railroad to travel so rapidly that we need make no preparations beforehand, our ride of eighteen hours in covering less than fifty miles was not only unexpected, but almost unendurable from hunger and fatigue. When at three o’clock in the morning a stopping-place was at last reached I was quite exhausted. Food and rest were found there, and best of all a civilized sleeping-car, in which we went on to Sacramento.

The journey through Nevada seemed incredibly swift. As we crossed the Sierra Nevada mountains and passed through twenty-five miles of snow-sheds, which cut off the view just as one began to enjoy it, I felt almost glad to have taken what had become so completely a memory of the past—a stage-ride over those grand old mountains.

It was wonderful to observe the marked difference in vegetation between Nevada and California. Just as soon as we reached the Pacific coast exquisite green verdure contrasted so favorably with Nevada’s arid desolation as to cause one to feel as if in a veritable “land of promise.” The refreshment to our weary eyes after a year of absence from such scenery was a source of the greatest imaginable pleasure. Then to cover in a few short hours the same distance which had previously required five weary days and nights was not the least of our many causes for gratitude. When Sacramento was reached, the exquisite beauty of the country was so great we felt that all the encomiums California had ever received were fully warranted.

The next day we arrived in San Francisco, and once more felt civilized.