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.