barely fifteen miles a day. At the same time our horses began to die,
being less enduring than mules and more choice of food; men failed in
strength too, for during whole days they had to draw wagons with the
mules, or to hold them in dangerous places. By degrees unwillingness
seized the weakest; some got the rheumatism, and one, through whose
mouth blood came from exertion, died in three days, cursing the hour
in which it came to his head to leave New York. We were then in the
worst part of the road, near the little river called by the Indians
Kiowa. There were no cliffs there as high as on the Eastern boundary
of Colorado; but the whole country, as far as the eye could reach,
was bristling with fragments thrown in disorder one upon another.
These fragments, some standing upright, others overturned, presented
the appearance of ruined graveyards with fallen headstones. Those were
really the “Bad Lands” of Colorado, answering to those which extended
northward over Nebraska. With the greatest effort we escaped from them
in the course of a week.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: CHAPTER VII]
AT last we found ourselves at the foot of the Rocky Mountains.
Fear seized me when I looked from a proximate point at that world
of granite mountains, whose sides were wrapped in mist, and whose
summits were lost somewhere in eternal snow and clouds. Their size and
silent majesty pressed me to the earth; hence I bent before the Lord,
imploring Him to permit me to lead, past those measureless walls, my
wagons, my people, and my wife. After such a prayer I entered the
stone gullies and corridors with more confidence. When they closed
behind us we were cut off from the rest of the world. Above was the
sky; in it a few eagles were screaming, around us was granite and then
granite without end,—a genuine labyrinth of passages, vaults, ravines,
openings, precipices, towers, silent edifices, and as it were chambers,
gigantic and dreamy. There is such a solemnity there, and the soul
is under such pressure, that a man knows not himself why he whispers
instead of speaking aloud. It seems to him that the road is closing
before him continually, that some voice is saying to him: “Go no
farther, for there is no passage!” It seems to him that he is attacking
some secret on which God Himself has set a seal. At night, when those
upright legions were standing as black as mourning, and the moon cast
about their summits a silvery mantle of sadness, when certain wonderful
shadows rose around the “laughing waters,” a quiver passed through the
most hardened adventurers. We spent whole hours by the fires, looking
with a certain superstitious awe at the dark depths of the ravines,
lighted by ruddy gleams; we seemed to think that something terrible
might show itself any moment.
Once we found under a hollow in the cliff the skeleton of a man; and
though from the remnant of the hair which had dried to the skull, we
saw that he was an Indian, still an ominous feeling pressed our hearts,
for that skeleton with grinning teeth seemed to forewarn us that whoso
wandered in there would never come out again.
That same day the half-breed, Tom, was killed suddenly, having fallen
with his horse from the edge of a cliff. A gloomy sadness seized the
whole caravan; formerly we had advanced noisily and joyfully, now the
drivers ceased to swear, and the caravan pushed forward in a silence
broken only by the squeaking of wheels. The mules grew ill-tempered
more frequently, and when one pair stood as still as if lashed to the
earth, all the wagons behind them had to stop. I was most tortured by
this,—that in those moments which were so difficult and oppressive,
and in which my wife needed my presence more than at other times, I
could not be near her; for I had to double and treble myself almost,
so as to give an example, uphold courage and confidence. The men, it
is true, bore toil with the endurance innate with Americans, though
they were simply using the last of their strength. But my health was
proof against every hardship. There were nights in which I did not
have two hours of sleep; I dragged the wagons with others, I posted
the sentries, I went around the square,—in a word, I performed service
twice more burdensome than any one of the company; but it is evident
that happiness gave me strength. For when, wearied and beaten down,
I came to my wagon, I found there everything that I held dearest: a
faithful heart and a beloved hand, that wiped my wearied forehead.
Lillian, though suffering a little, never went to sleep wittingly
before my arrival; and when I reproached her she closed my mouth with a
kiss and a prayer not to be angry. When I told her to sleep she did so,
holding my hand. Frequently in the night, when she woke, she covered
me with beaver skins, so that I might rest better. Always mild, sweet,
loving, she cared for me and brought me to worship her simply. I kissed
the hem of her garment, as if it had been the most sacred thing, and
that wagon of ours became for me almost a church. That little one in
presence of those heaven-touching walls of granite, upon which she cast
her upraised eyes, covered them for me in such a way, that in presence
of her they vanished from before me, and amid all those immensities I
saw only her. What is there wonderful, if when strength failed others,
I had strength still, and felt that so long as it was a question of her
I would never fail?
After three weeks’ journey we came at last to a more spacious canyon
formed by White River. At the entrance to it the Winta Indians
prepared an ambush which annoyed us somewhat; but when their reddish
arrows began to reach the roof of my wife’s wagon, I struck on them
with my men so violently that they scattered at once. We killed three
or four of them. The only prisoner whom we took, a youth of sixteen,
when he had recovered a little from terror, pointed in turn at us and
to the West, repeating the same gestures which the Yampa had made. It
seemed to us that he wanted to say that there were white men near by,
but it was difficult to give credit to that supposition. In time it
turned out to be correct, and it is easy to imagine the astonishment
and delight of my men on the following day, when, descending from an
elevated plateau, we saw on a broad valley which lay at our feet, not
only wagons, but houses built of freshly-cut logs. These houses formed
a circle, in the centre of which rose a large shed without windows;
through the middle of the plain a stream flowed; near it were herds of
mules, guarded by men on horseback.
The presence of men of my own race in that valley filled me with
astonishment, which soon passed into fear, when I remembered that they
might be “criminal outlaws” hiding in the desert from death. I knew
from experience that such outcasts push frequently to very remote and
entirely desert regions, where they form detachments, on a complete
military footing. Sometimes they are founders of new societies as it
were, which at first live by plundering people moving to more inhabited
places; but later, by a continual increase of population, they change
by degrees into ordered societies. I met more than once with “outlaws”
on the upper course of the Mississippi, when, as a squatter, I floated
down logs to New Orleans; more than once I had bloody adventures with
them, hence their cruelty and bravery were equally well known to me.
I should not have feared them had not Lillian been with us; but at
thought of the danger in which she would be if we were defeated and I
fell, the hair rose on my head, and for the first time in my life I was
as full of fear as the greatest coward. But I was convinced that if
those men were outlaws, we could not avoid battle in any way, and that
the conflict would be more difficult with them than with Indians.
I warned my men at once of the probable danger, and arranged them in
order of battle. I was ready either to perish myself, or destroy that
nest of wasps, and resolved to strike the first blow.
Meanwhile they saw us from the valley, and two horsemen started toward
us as fast as their horses could gallop. I drew breath at that sight,
for “outlaws” would not send messengers to meet us. In fact, it turned
out that they were riflemen of the American fur company, who had their
“summer camp” in that place. Instead of a battle, therefore, a most
hospitable reception was waiting for us, and every assistance from
those rough but honest riflemen of the desert. Indeed, they received us
with open arms, and we thanked God for having looked on our misery and
prepared such an agreeable resting-place.
A month and a half had passed since our departure from Big Blue River.
Our strength was exhausted, our mules were only half alive; but here we
might rest a whole week in perfect safety, with abundance of food for
ourselves, and grass for our beasts. That was simply salvation for us.
Mr. Thorston, the chief of the camp, was a man of education and
enlightenment. Knowing that I was not a common rough fellow of the
prairies, he became friendly at once, and gave his own cottage to me
and Lillian, whose health had suffered greatly.
I kept her two days in bed. She was so wearied that she barely opened
her eyes for the first twenty-four hours; during that time I took care
that nothing should disturb her. I sat at her bedside and watched
hour after hour. In two days she was strengthened enough to go out;
but I did not let her touch any work. My men, too, for the first few
days slept like stones, wherever each one dropped down. Only after
they had slept did we repair our wagons and clothing and wash our
linen. The honest riflemen helped us in everything earnestly. They
were Canadians, for the greater part, who had hired with the company.
They spent the winter in trapping beavers, killing skunks and minks;
in summer they betook themselves to so-called “summer camps,” in which
there were temporary storehouses of furs. The skins, dressed there
in some fashion, were taken under convoy to the East. The service of
those people, who hired for a number of years, was arduous beyond
calculation; they had to go to very remote and wild places, where all
kinds of animals existed in plenty, and where they themselves lived
in continual danger and endless warfare with redskins. It is true
that they received high wages; most of them did not serve, however,
for money, but from love of life in the wilderness, and adventures,
of which there was never a lack. The choice, too, was made of people
of great strength and health, capable of enduring all toils. Their
great stature, fur caps, and long rifles reminded Lillian of Cooper’s
tales; hence she looked with curiosity on the whole camp and on all the
arrangements. Their discipline was as absolute as that of a knightly
order. Thorston, the chief agent of the company, and at the same time
their employer, maintained complete military authority. Withal they
were very honest people, hence time passed for us among them with
perfect comfort; our camp, too, pleased them greatly, and they said
that they had never met such a disciplined and well-ordered caravan.
Thorston, in presence of all, praised my plan of taking the northern
route instead of that by St. Louis and Kansas. He told us that on that
route a caravan of three hundred people, under a certain Marchwood,
after numerous sufferings caused by heat and locusts, had lost all
their draught-beasts, and were cut to pieces at last by the Arapahoe
Indians. The Canadian riflemen had learned this from the Arapahoes
themselves, whom they had beaten in a great battle, and from whom they
had captured more than a hundred scalps, among others that of Marchwood
himself.
This information had great influence on my people, so that old Smith,
a veteran pathfinder, who from the beginning was opposed to the route
through Nebraska, declared in presence of all that I was smarter
than he, and that it was his part to learn of me. During our stay
in the hospitable summer camp we regained our strength thoroughly.
Besides Thorston, with whom I formed a lasting friendship, I made
the acquaintance of Mick, famous in all the States. This man did not
belong to the camp, but had wandered through the deserts with two
other famous explorers, Lincoln and Kit Carson. Those three wonderful
men carried on real wars with whole tribes of Indians; their skill and
superhuman courage always secured them the victory. The name of Mick,
of whom more than one book is written, was so terrible to the Indians,
that with them his word had more weight than a United States treaty.
The Government employed him often as an intermediary, and finally
appointed him Governor of Oregon. When I made his acquaintance he was
nearly fifty years old; but his hair was as black as the feather of a
raven, and in his glance was mingled kindness of heart with strength
and irrestrainable daring. He passed also for the strongest man in
the United States, and when we wrestled I was the first, to the great
astonishment of all, whom he failed to throw to the ground. This man
with a great heart loved Lillian immensely, and blessed her, as often
as he visited us. In parting he gave her a pair of beautiful little
moccasins made by himself from the skin of a doe. That present was very
timely, for my poor wife had not a pair of sound shoes.
At last we resumed our journey, with good omens, furnished with minute
directions what canyons to take on the way, and with supplies of salt
game. That was not all. The kind Thorston had taken the worst of our
mules and in place of them given us his own, which were strong and well
rested. Mick, who had been in California, told us real wonders not only
of its wealth, but of its mild climate, its beautiful oak forests, and
mountain canyons, unequalled in the United States. A great consolation
entered our hearts at once, for we did not know of the trials which
awaited us before entering that land of promise.
In driving away, we waved our caps long in farewell to the honest
Canadians. As to me, that day of parting is graven in my heart for the
ages, since in the forenoon that beloved star of my life, putting both
arms around my neck, began, all red with embarrassment and emotion, to
whisper something in my ear. When I heard it I bent to her feet, and,
weeping with great excitement, kissed her knees.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: CHAPTER VIII]
TWO weeks after leaving the summer camp, we came out on the boundary of
Utah, and the journey, as of old, though not without labors, advanced
more briskly than at the beginning. We had yet to pass the western part
of the Rocky Mountains; forming a whole network of branches called the
Wasatch Range. Two considerable streams, Green and Grand Rivers, whose
union forms the immense Colorado, and numerous tributaries of those
two rivers, cut the mountains in every direction, opening in them
passages which are easy enough. By these passages we reached after a
certain time Utah Lake, where the salt lands begin. A wonderful country
surrounded us, monotonous, gloomy; great level valleys encircled by
cliffs with blunt outlines,—these, always alike, succeed one another,
with oppressive monotony. There is in those deserts and cliffs a
certain sternness, nakedness, and torpor, so that at sight of them the
Biblical deserts recur to one’s mind. The lakes here are brackish,
their shores fruitless and barren. There are no trees; the ground over
an enormous expanse exudes salt and potash, or is covered by a gray
vegetation with large felt-like leaves, which, when broken, give forth
a salt, clammy sap. That journey is wearisome and oppressive, for whole
weeks pass, and the desert stretches on without end, and opens into
plains of eternal sameness, though they are rocky. Our strength began
to give way again. On the prairies we were surrounded by the monotony
of life, here by the monotony of death.
A certain oppression and indifference to everything took gradual
possession of the people. We passed Utah,—always the same lifeless
lands! We entered Nevada,—no change! The sun burnt so fiercely that our
heads were bursting from pain; the light, reflecting from a surface
covered with salt, dazzled the eye; in the air was floating a kind of
dust, coming it was unknown whence, which inflamed our eyelids. The
draught-beasts, time after time, seized the earth with their teeth, and
dropped from sunstroke, as if felled by lightning. The majority of the
people kept themselves up only with the thought that in a week or two
weeks the Sierra Nevada would appear on the horizon, and behind that
the desired California.
Meanwhile days passed and weeks in ever increasing labors. In the
course of a certain week we were forced to leave three wagons behind,
for there were no animals to draw them.
Oh, that was a land of misfortune and misery! In Nevada the desert
became deeper, and our condition still worse, for disease fell upon us.
One morning people came to inform me that Smith was sick. I went to see
what his trouble was, and saw with amazement that typhus had overthrown
the old miner. So many climates are not changed with impunity; severe
labor, in spite of short rests, makes itself felt, and the germs of
disease are developed from hardship and toil. Lillian, whom Smith
loved, as if she had been his own daughter, and whom he blessed on the
day of our marriage, insisted on nursing him. I, weak man, trembled in
my whole soul for her, but I could not forbid her to be a Christian.
She sat over the sick man whole days and nights, together with Aunt
Atkins and Aunt Grosvenor, who followed her example. On the second
day, however, the old man lost consciousness, and on the eighth he
died in Lillian’s arms. I buried him, shedding ardent tears over the
remains of him who had been not only my assistant and right hand in
everything, but a real father to Lillian and me. We hoped that after
such a sacrifice God would take pity on us; but that was merely the
beginning of our trials, for that very day another miner fell ill, and
almost every day after that some one lay down in a wagon, and left it
only when borne on our arms to a grave.
And thus we dragged along over the desert, and after us followed the
pestilence, grasping new victims continually. In her turn Aunt Atkins
fell ill, but, thanks to Lillian’s efforts, her sickness was conquered.
The soul was dying in me every instant, and more than once, when
Lillian was with the sick, and I somewhere on guard in front of the
camp, alone in the darkness, I pressed my temples with my hands and
knelt down in prayer to God. Obedient as a dog, I was whining for mercy
on her without daring to say: “Let Thy will and not mine be done.”
Sometimes in the night, when we were alone, I woke suddenly, for it
seemed to me that the pestilence was pushing the canvas of my wagon
aside and staring in, looking for Lillian. All the intervals when I was
not with her, and they formed most of the time, were for me changed
into one torture, under which I bent as a tree before a whirlwind.
Lillian, however, had been equal to all toils and efforts so far.
Though the strongest men fell, I saw her emaciated it is true, pale,
and with marks of maternity increasingly definite on her forehead,
but in health, and going from wagon to wagon. I dared not even ask if
she were well; I only took her by the shoulders and pressed her long
and long to my breast, and even had I wished to speak, something so
oppressed me, that I could not have uttered a word.
Gradually, however, hope began to enter me, and in my head were
sounding no longer those terrible words of the Bible: “Who worshipped
and served the creature more than the Creator.”
We were nearing the western part of Nevada, where, beyond the belt of
dead lakes, the salt lands and desert rocks find an end, and a belt of
prairie begins, more level, greener, and very fertile. During two days’
journey no one fell ill; I thought that our misery was over. And it was
high time!
Nine men had died, six were ailing yet; under the fear of infection
discipline had begun to relax; nearly all the horses were dead, and
the mules seemed rather skeletons than beasts. Of the fifty wagons
with which we had moved out of the summer camp, only thirty-two were
dragging now over the desert. Besides, since no one wished to go
hunting lest he might fall somewhere away from the caravan and be
left without aid, our supplies, not being replenished, were coming to
an end. Wishing to spare them, we had lived for a week past on black
ground squirrels; but their malodorous meat had so disgusted us that
we put it to our mouths with loathing, and even that wretched food
was not found in sufficiency. Beyond the lakes, however, game became
more frequent, and grass was abundant. Again we met Indians, who, in
opposition to their custom, attacked us in daylight and on the open
plain; having firearms, they killed four of our people. In the conflict
I received such a severe wound in the head from a hatchet that in the
evening of that day I lost consciousness from loss of blood; but I was
happy since Lillian was nursing me, and not patients from whom she
might catch the typhus. Three days I lay in the wagon, pleasant days,
since I was with her continually. I could kiss her hands when she was
changing the bandages, and look at her. On the third day I was able to
sit on horseback; but the soul was weak in me, and I feigned sickness
before myself so as to be with her longer.
Only then did I discover how tired I had been, and what weariness had
gone out of my bones while I was lying prostrate. Before my illness I
had suffered not a little concerning my wife. I had grown as thin as
a skeleton, and as formerly I had been looking with fear and alarm at
her, so now she was looking with the same feelings at me. But when my
head had ceased to fall from shoulder to shoulder there was no help for
it; I had to mount the last living horse and lead the caravan forward,
especially as certain alarming signs were surrounding us on all sides.
There was a heat well-nigh preternatural, and in the air a dull haze as
if of smoke from a distant burning; the horizon became dull and dark.
It was impossible to see the sky, and the rays of the sun came to the
earth red and sickly; the draught-beasts showed a wonderful disquiet,
and, breathing hoarsely, bared their teeth. As to us, we inhaled fire
with our breasts. The heat was caused, as I thought, by one of those
stifling winds from the Gila desert, of which men had told me in the
East; but there was stillness round about, and not a grass blade was
stirring on the plain. In the evening the sun went down as red as
blood, and stifling nights followed. The sick groaned for water, the
dogs howled. Whole nights I wandered around a number of miles from
the camp to make sure that the plains were not burning; but there was
no fire in sight anywhere. I calmed myself finally with the thought
that the smoke must be from a fire that had gone out already. In the
daytime I noticed that hares, antelopes, buffaloes, even squirrels,
were hastening eastward, as if fleeing from that California to which
we were going with such effort. But since the air had become a little
purer and the heat somewhat less, I settled finally in the thought that
there had been a fire which had ceased, that the animals were merely
looking for food in some new place. It was only needful for us to push
up as soon as possible to the burnt strip, and learn whether the belt
of fire could be crossed or whether we should go around it. According
to my calculation it could not be more than three hundred miles to the
Sierra Nevada, or about twenty days’ journey. I resolved, therefore, to
reach it, even with our last effort.
We travelled at night now, for during the hours of midday heat weakened
the animals greatly, and among the wagons there was always some shade
in which they could rest.
One night, being unable to remain on horseback because of weariness and
my wound, I sat in the wagon with Lillian. I heard all at once a sudden
wheezing and biting of the wheels striking on some peculiar ground; at
the same time shouts of “Stop! stop!” were heard along the whole length
of the train. I sprang from the wagon at once. By the light of the moon
I saw the drivers bent to the earth and looking at it carefully. At the
same moment a voice called:
“Ho, captain, we are travelling on coals.”