Leaving El Paso.--Deming.--The Desert.--The Armed Guard.--The Cacti and
Other Flowers.--The Yuma Indians.--Avoiding Kodaks.--Rossetti's "Sister
Helen."
We left El Paso with pleasant recollections of all the kindness we
received there, and once again we travelled into the night. Ere that,
however, we had ample time to note the rapidly increasing desert
character of our surroundings. The whole thing was like a Salvator Rosa
setting for wild adventure and daring lawlessness. I am confident that
any one owning a horse there, and not overburdened with moral sense,
would almost unconsciously become a desperado. May we not imagine that
man is apt to develop within himself the characteristics of those
animals who find a subsistence in such places? There the sly coyote,
the panther, and wildcat inhabit; there, too, the rattlesnake and other
venomous things have their life; and may not the environment which
produces such creatures have like effect upon men who grow up or dwell
there? Such were my reflections when at Deming, where we made a wait of
twenty minutes, I saw an armed guard mount our train to be all ready
for possible train robbers. One of the guards was a sweet-looking,
mild-mannered man, quite young; but the conductor told me that that
sweet fellow was the one who did the business, by a sure shot, in the
last recent train-robbing escapade. It seemed all a matter of course,
to fit in nicely with the landscape, and did not trouble us in the
least nor disturb our tranquil rest. The morning found us all safe and
unmolested, which was rather a disappointment to some of our ladies who
wished especially to encounter a train robbery or hold-up. The ideal
highwayman is ever held to be gallant to the ladies, even when
depriving them in good old-fashioned way of their jewels.
The desert of Arizona, through which we were speeding, had the same
pale and tawny look of dry, rocky, and alkaline soil; but nature is
never idle anywhere. Here we were entertained with whirling processions
of immense cacti, some thirty feet high, which seemed to dance past us
in grim, grotesque fashion as we rode along. Some species were gorgeous
in blood-red blossoms, an admirable contrast to the pale, bell-shaped
flowers of the yucca plant.
At Yuma we had a vivid evidence of what care and irrigation can do even
in this arid waste. The station enclosure was a mass of brilliant
beauty. There were red, pink, and white oleanders. There were
pomegranates in full bloom, with their rich yellow blossoms.
An enthusiastic German whom I met was quite enraptured with the sight
of palms and flowers, and declared that the railroad company ought to
establish oases such as this, but larger, at frequent intervals, well
furnished with casinoes, music, hotels, and all the appliances of Monte
Carlo. One can imagine that in this perfect air, and with such
luxurious surroundings, a lotos sort of life might be enjoyed for a
resting spell now and then.
The platform of the station was lined up with Indians having various
trinkets for sale, more or less authentic. The rich tint of the Indian
complexion, especially among the younger women and children, exactly
harmonized with the bright light and vivid surroundings of the desert
beyond and the flowers near by.
There was a graceful Indian Madonna there, with her chubby baby boy,
that any artist might covet to paint. Our kodaks were unable to snap
them off, for the moment the drop of the camera was on them the Indian
mothers gathered their brood under their shawls and wraps, just as a
hen would gather her chickens under her wings from a hawk. There is a
widespread superstition among primitive people that some evil may be
wrought to a person by working enchantment upon his or her likeness or
image. This is fearfully brought out in Dante Gabriel Rossetti's poem,
"Sister Helen." The poet discovers to us, in some ancient castle,
Sister Helen and her little brother. The child speaks and the sister
replies in this fashion:
"Why do you melt your waxen man,
Sister Helen?
To-day is the third since you began."
"The time was long, yet the time ran,
Little brother."
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,_
_Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"But if you have done your work aright,
Sister Helen,
You'll let me play, for you said I might."
"Be very still in your play to-night,
Little brother."
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,_
_Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"You said it must melt ere vesper bell,
Sister Helen;
If now it be molten, all is well."
"Even so,--nay, peace! you cannot tell,
Little brother."
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,_
_O what is this, between Hell and Heaven!_)
In this weird fashion the poem moves along. The whole story of the
wronged Sister Helen and her false lover, upon whose waxen image she
works her spell, is told us, until at last, the waxen image consumed,
the child with his pure, innocent eyes sees the wraith of the dead man
cross the threshold of the apartment where they are. The child
exclaims:
"See, see, the wax has dropped from its place,
Sister Helen,
And the flames are running up apace."
"Yet here they burn but for a space,
Little brother!"
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,_
_Here for a space, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"Ah! what white thing at the door has cross'd,
Sister Helen?
Ah! what is this that sighs in the frost?"
"A soul that's lost as mine is lost,
Little brother!"
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,_
_Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!_)
As we looked at the Indian women cuddling up their babes from the shot
of the camera, we saw an evidence of those deep and widespread
superstitions which make the whole world kin.
After leaving Yuma we soon cross the Colorado River, and ere darkness
set in upon us we could see the ordered lines of vines and olives, of
apricots and oranges, in rich and cultivated California, whose many
wonders both of nature and of man were soon to open more fully before
us.