CHAPTER V.

The time-honored “babes in the woods” could not have started on their pilgrimage with more childlike simplicity than did my husband and myself. The first five days, through the most beautiful country imaginable, were like a pleasure trip, and little prepared us for the hardships which followed. The roads were good, the scenery superb, and each night we were most hospitably entertained by some kind family.

Besides good food and comfortable beds, considerable advice as to the treatment of baby was thrown in gratuitously. It seemed all the more necessary just then, for although during the entire trip our little one slept sweetly throughout the day, no doubt lulled to rest by the motion of the vehicle, when night came she was tortured by that baby’s enemy—colic. As a cure, we kept adding to her coverings, until no one could have dreamed that the tightly strapped and blanketed basket contained a human being. Many were the comments of surprise when the child was exhumed from her manifold wrappings. If the custom of traveling by carriage long distances was not almost obsolete, I should advise all young mothers to try the basket plan. Not only was baby perfectly comfortable, but the saving of my strength was great, and that alone enabled me to survive the journey.

We passed the celebrated Cocomungo Ranch, with its beautiful vineyards and delicious wines, and many other spots, then unoccupied lands, which have since become populous towns. On the fifth day Camp Cady, where we expected to take final leave of civilization and enter the California desert, was reached. The camp was garrisoned by a detachment of only twenty men, and but two could be spared as an escort for us. Even then the wife of the officer in charge demurred, saying:

“Suppose the Indians should attack us? What could we do with only eighteen men?”

When during subsequent weeks I fully realized the dangers we were encountering, her remark was frequently recalled. Certainly two men were not sufficient to protect us from Indians.

Immediately after leaving Camp Cady we descended into a small cañon, and on emerging therefrom found ourselves dragging through deep sand, which continued for miles and was wearisome in the extreme. Our horses plodded along, and the monotony of desert travel was thoroughly established. Only eighteen miles were covered that day, yet it took ten hours, as we dared not urge the horses through such deep sand.

Our first encampment was a memorable one. Like all desert travelers, we did not stop on account of having reached an oasis, but simply because our horses could go no farther. I wondered then, as on our previous journey, why the particular spot at which we stopped had been selected. It always seemed to me that we might have gone on; but that was not a common-sense view—merely an eager desire to hasten toward home.

I never knew why we had no tent of any kind, not even the tiny shelter tent with which every soldier is supposed to be provided on all journeys; I do, however, know that we had not a stitch of canvas of any sort, and that baby was awakened every morning by the glaring sun shining full in her face. As the sun on the desert sand is reflective, we soon learned to dread it extremely.

I wish it were possible to impress others with the sensation those camps invariably produced upon me! Usually occupying as a spectator a passive position, I sat apart and watched the blazing fire and the figures of the men sharply defined against its light as they prepared supper, and then, peering into the unfathomable distance of loneliness beyond and on all sides, I indulged in all kinds of visions, none of which were calculated to make me especially happy.

That night, however, the men who accompanied us pretended to be unequal to the task of making ready our slight repast, and I essayed for the first time in my life, and under the greatest disadvantages, to cook an entire meal. A strong wind was blowing, which drove the smoke in my face and eyes. The more I tried to avoid this, the more it seemed to torture me; while my utter lack of knowledge in all culinary matters, especially when prosecuted under such circumstances, was very trying. Baby added to my misery by screaming with pain from her usual attack of colic.

Want of space in our little wagon had compelled us to forego all but the actual necessaries of life; and thus our bill of fare was limited to bacon, hard tack, and a small supply of eggs, which, with coffee, was our only food during that desert travel of five days. I learned to grill bacon and make excellent coffee, but never to enjoy cooking over a camp-fire.

Bright and early, awakened by the sun shining full in our faces, we started on our seventh day’s journey, which proved almost exactly like our sixth, yet closed with a tragic incident. The horses were our pride and glory—they were not only beautiful, but strong and useful. Watching them as they carried us along so swiftly and safely during the first five days had been a real pleasure, and we had become attached to the faithful animals.

On reaching Soda Lake at the end of our seventh day’s journey, and second after leaving Camp Cady, we were not a little dismayed to find that the horses were suffering quite severely from the effects of their hard two days’ pull through the deep sand. On being unharnessed, one immediately plunged into the lake, and in spite of all efforts remained there. The result may be conjectured. In his heated and exhausted condition he foundered, and to our great sorrow had to be shot.

That was a serious hindrance to our progress; but, fortunately, we had with us a pack-mule laden with grain for the horses. Needless to state he was relieved of his load, much of which we left by the roadside; the remainder, necessary for the animals’ sustenance, was placed in our wagon, which rendered us still more uncomfortable. It would be difficult to tell what we did with our feet, for not an inch of space on the bottom of the wagon was unoccupied.

We left Soda Lake with joy, as its alkaline properties rendered the water useless for all ordinary purposes, and a better supply was longed for. During that entire desert journey, until the Colorado River was reached, we had not a drop of water that could quench thirst. Both men and animals were to be pitied.

Our eighth day was dreadful in its manner of progress. The pack-mule, quite unaccustomed to harness, had no idea of bearing his share of the burden, while our beautiful little mare chafed in the company of such an ungainly creature, and seemed so desirous to be rid of him that she did all the pulling. For days our minds were occupied with the problem of how to restrain her and urge on the mule. Every effort to accomplish this only made matters worse, for it invariably resulted in the latter breaking into a clumsy, lumbering gallop that was very ludicrous.

At length we left the deep sand and traveled over the most level country imaginable. It proved, however, even more dreary, for the ground was white as snow with alkaline deposits. As far as the eye could reach, only an endless, white, barren plain, unrelieved by even a scrub bush, was visible. In all my frontier life and travel I never saw anything so utterly desolate as was that desert.

We found, after the first day of unmatched steeds, that our little mare must be favored or she too would die. It was therefore decided to travel mainly at night. The ground was so hard and white that the sun’s reflection was most dazzling. When, on the ninth day, we encamped with only our wagon to shade us from its intense rays, I would have given almost anything for the shelter a strip of canvas would have afforded. Long before noon, and long after, the pitiless sun poured down upon us, until hands and faces were blistered; even poor little baby had to be smeared with glycerine as a preventive.

In that manner we traveled for two days over the desert; and although the sun’s heat was almost unendurable, yet our only safety lay in so doing.

We started about sundown on the ninth night, and reaching an old disused house about midnight, prepared to camp. I had been so tortured for several days and nights by the absence of all shelter, that my husband readily complied with the request to place our mattress inside those old walls. The roof had long before disappeared: but it seemed good to be once more in any sort of inclosure, and I lay down very composedly. My sleep was, however, soon disturbed by the strangest sounds. I awakened to find that a veritable carnival was being held by insects, and the uncertainty concerning their species was anything but agreeable. Every imaginable noise could be detected. I bore it silently as long as possible, until confident I heard rattlesnakes, when in great fear I hugged my baby closer, expecting our last moments had come, yet hoping to shield her from their fangs.

Such a night of wretchedness I hope never again to experience. All kinds of horrible sounds terrified me to such an extent that a firm resolve was formed never to pass another night in a place of whose inhabitants I was unaware. I am confident that every sort of vermin infested that old ruined house, and our subsequent perils with visible foes gave me far less anxiety.

Having learned to dread being a source of extra trouble to Mr. Boyd on a journey which taxed every energy of his mind and body, I always endured everything quietly as long as possible. That alone enabled me to go through such a night of agony—interminable it seemed at the time, but in reality only a few hours, for dawn soon came.

Midday again found us on our way; and when we began to descend into the Colorado basin, and caught sight of Fort Mojave’s adobe walls and the muddy banks of the river, we felt as if the end of a hard journey had at last been reached, and rejoiced exceedingly to see friendly faces and receive a hearty welcome. Knowing that each day’s travel was bringing us nearer home, we gladly crossed the river and shook the dust of California from our feet.