THE LAND OF THIRST
When the "tenderfoot" first strikes the desert country he is surprised
to learn that he is expected to pay for the water he uses for himself
and for his beast. A little later he becomes indignant upon finding
himself unable to purchase even a small quantity of the necessary fluid
because of the extreme caution of the proprietor of some desert well
where he has expected to replenish his stock of water.
It is not an unusual happening for the desert traveler, who has toiled
hours over the burning sands after his supply of water has been used
up, to find the desert-dweller unwilling to spare a drop of his scanty
supply. Not all desert wells are dependable, and sometimes the solitary
dweller of the oasis finds his supply exhausted; he then has to haul
all the water he uses forty or fifty miles until such time as the
winter rains come to replenish the vein which feeds his well.
One who has never experienced it can gain no idea of the torture of
thirst upon the desert. The scorching sun from a cloudless sky, with
never so much as a hint of haze to temper its rays, seems fairly to
drink the blood of the traveler exposed to its fierceness. From the
sands rises a cloud of fine alkali dust which penetrates the nostrils
and enters the mouth, stinging and inflaming the glands, and adding to
the torture of thirst. A few hours of this suffering without water to
alleviate the pain is sufficient to drive most men mad.
It is this desert madness which travelers most fear. If one can keep a
clear head he may possibly live and suffer and toil on to a place of
safety, even though bereft of water many hours, but once the desert
madness seizes him all hope is lost, for he no longer pursues his way
methodically, but rushes off in pursuit of the alluring mirages, or
chases some dream of his disordered brain which pictures to him green
fields and running brooks, ever just at hand.
Men tortured by thirst become desperate. A thirsty man knows no law
save that of might. Men who would, under ordinary circumstances, scorn
to do even a questionable act, will, when under the pressure of extreme
thirst, fight to the death for a few drops of water.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN WELL IN THE DESERT
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.]
Not long ago a respectable citizen of a little California town had
occasion to cross the desert at a point where water-holes were few and
far apart. He depended upon obtaining water at a certain ranch,
established at one of the oases on his route, and when he arrived there
he and his guide and burros were in sad condition, having been several
hours without water. He gave his guide a five-dollar gold-piece and
told him to see the rancher and purchase the water necessary to carry
them to the next watering-place. It happened that the rancher's well
was in danger of going dry, and he declined the money, refusing to part
with any water. Pleadings were unavailing, and the guide returned to
his employer and reported his inability to make a deal. Then the staid
citizen arose in his wrath and, with a ten-dollar gold-piece in one
hand and a revolver in the other, he sought the rancher.
"There is ten dollars for the water, if you will sell it," he said;
"and if not, I will send you to Hades and take it, anyway! Now which
will it be?"
There was but one reply to an argument of that kind; the rancher
sulkily accepted the money, the brackish water was drawn from the
well, and the journey was soon resumed. As a result of this
transaction, however, the rancher was obliged to take a forty-mile
journey over the desert and back, to replenish his water-supply from
another well.
John F. McPherson, of Los Angeles, manager of the Nevada Land Office,
left Los Angeles, in August, 1900, to traverse the Great Mojave Desert,
on his way to look over the lands in the Parumph Valley, in Nevada. His
experience, which was by no means uncommon, is best related by himself.
"I left Los Angeles by team," he says, "for the purpose of
retracing the Government surveys and making field notes. I
had with me two companions, one Samuel Baker and a young man
from the East. We proceeded over the foothills to Cajon
Pass, thence to Victor, out on the desert. It was in the
burning days of a fierce, dry summer. The earth was fervid
and the air quivered with the intense heat of the sun which
poured its burning rays from a cloudless sky. Bad luck
accompanied us from the very start. At Pomona, thirty miles
from Los Angeles, we lost a horse and had to purchase
another. At Daggett, out in the desert, which place we
reached the second day of our desert travel, we found the
thermometer registering 128 degrees in the shade. We passed
through Daggett and made camp, ten miles farther on, at
dark.
[Illustration: AN OASIS IN THE COLORADO DESERT
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.]
"Eighteen miles beyond Daggett is Coyote Holes, where we
expected to find water to replenish the supply with which we
left Daggett at seven o'clock in the morning. We found the
well dry when we reached there, and the place red with
alkali. Near the well, two pieces of two by four scantling
marked the grave of some traveler who had preceded us and
who had run short of water before reaching the Holes. He had
arrived too far gone to go farther, and his companions had
remained with him till the end and had given him a burial in
the sand and set the scantlings to mark the spot. Those
scantlings proved our salvation a little later.
"By noon we had consumed all but about three gallons of our
water and we determined to save this till the last
extremity, for we had yet eighteen miles to go to the next
watering-place, Garlic Springs. Our horses were already in
bad shape and nearly crazed for want of water. In their
eagerness to reach it they plunged forward at a pace that
threatened soon to exhaust them. Our efforts to restrain
them by means of the reins were unavailing, and we were
obliged to take off our coats and throw them over the heads
of the animals and then lead them by the bits in this
blinded condition.
"Just beyond Coyote Holes, on the road to Garlic Springs, is
a fearful sink known as Dry Lake. Here the ground is shifty
and treacherous and the wheels of the wagon sank deep into
the sand. Just as we had reached the farther side of the
lake the forward axle of the wagon broke, letting the front
part of the wagon fall to the ground. This frightened the
horses so that they became almost unmanageable. They seemed
to realize that this delay meant possible death, and their
cries were almost human-like and were indeed pitiable to
hear.
"By this time the condition of my companions and myself was
dire, and we realized that time was of the greatest
importance. The thermometer registered 130 in the
shade--and no available shade. To add to our misery and
increase our danger a terrible sand storm arose, blinding,
stinging, and almost smothering us.
"It was like standing in front of a blast furnace, opening
the door, and catching at the blast. There were 1600 pounds
of provisions in the wagon at the time, and if we abandoned
that we were sure to perish of starvation. It could not be
thought of.
"We unhitched the horses and tied them to the rear of the
wagon and stretched the heavy canvas which had covered the
wagon over them to protect them from the sand storm. Our
salvation lay with the horses. If they became exhausted or
broke loose, we knew that our bones would be left to bleach
upon the desert sands as have the bones of so many desert
travelers.
"The young Easterner lost his courage and cried like a baby.
The three gallons of water were divided among man and beast,
and then Baker started back to Coyote Holes to get the two
pieces of scantling with which to mend our broken wagon.
While he was gone the young Easterner and myself threw the
freight from the wagon to make ready for the work of
trussing up the rig when Baker returned with the scantlings.
"The storm continued to increase and it soon became as dark
as midnight. When it came time for Baker's return the storm
was at such a height that we feared he would have perished
in it or that he had lost his way. Hour after hour passed
and still he did not return, and we lost hope. At about 9
o'clock in the evening, however, he came into camp with the
scantlings. His mouth was bleeding from thirst and he was
nearly blinded with the sand, but he had the material with
which to repair the wagon, and hope returned to all our
hearts.
[Illustration: SENTINEL PALM
A welcome sight to the desert traveler, for it marks an oasis hidden
in the cañon
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.]
"With stout wires and the timbers we soon had our wagon in
shape, and the freight was speedily loaded upon it and we
prepared to resume our journey. Our ill-luck, however, was
not at an end, for when we attempted to attach the tongue of
the wagon the king-bolt was not to be found. It was midnight
when we had our wagon repaired and loaded, and it was two
o'clock before we succeeded in pawing the king-bolt out of
the sand where it had fallen. Then we had twelve weary miles
to travel before we could reach water. We were all in a
terrible state when we started, and the wagon sank so deeply
in the sand that our progress was fearfully slow.
"Twenty-four hours without water in the desert is a terrible
thing. Before we had covered half the distance to Garlic
Springs Baker went mad. He was for abandoning the party, and
that meant, to one in his condition, certain death. There
was but one thing I could think of to prevent him, and that
I did. I pulled my revolver and told him if he attempted to
leave the party I would shoot him. He had enough sense or
sanity to heed the admonition, and he stayed with us. I had
to carry my revolver in my hand, however, and constantly
keep an eye on him. It was ten o'clock when we reached the
springs, and we were all on the verge of delirium. It was
several hours before our swollen and parched throats would
admit more than a very few drops of water at a time. We
bathed in the water, soaked towels in it and sucked at the
ends, and by degrees fought away the demon of thirst. Baker
spent five weeks in a hospital after reaching civilization,
and we all were unfitted for hard work for a long time."
It is easy to gather tales of this sort from the towns bordering upon
the deserts. There are still more disastrous tales which remain untold
because none survive to relate them. Items similar to the one herewith
given are by no means rare. The subjoined one is an associated press
dispatch dated Imperial, April 28, 1903. It says:
"Five human skeletons were found to-day at the east side of
the Salton River, making eighteen found to date on the part
of the desert being brought under irrigation. The
presumption is that the persons may have perished from
thirst as many have done in this region, which a few months
ago was utter barrenness. Nothing has been found to give any
clew to the identity of these persons whose bones may have
lain on the desert for many years."
Down in the Colorado Desert is a well which is bringing its owner a
fortune. Within a radius of fifty or sixty miles are a score or more of
mining camps where no water is to be found. Prospectors and other
travelers, also, frequently pass that way, and there is no other water
for many miles about. These travelers and the residents of the mining
camps are glad to pay handsomely for water from this well.
The proprietor has built tanks and loading apparatus for the
convenience of his patrons, and he has established the following
schedule of prices:
[Illustration: AN OASIS DWELLING THATCHED WITH PALM LEAVES IN COLORADO
DESERT
This might pass for a cannibal's hut in the South Sea Islands
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.]
100 gallons, or less, 25 cents per gallon.
Two-horse load, 10 cents per gallon.
Four-horse load, 8 cents per gallon.
The well is a very deep one and the water was obtained by drilling. It
requires a power-pump to raise the water to the surface, and the fuel
to run the boiler and engine has to be hauled many miles across the
desert sands, so, after all, the rates for water are not so exorbitant
as they may seem at first glance.
Every year the great deserts of the West claim scores of victims, the
most of whom die of thirst. Men go out into the arid plains, are not
again heard from, and their fate remains, in many cases, a mystery to
the end of time. Again, beside a bleaching skeleton is found a trinket
or belonging which serves to identify the remains. Sometimes the
identification comes long after death, as in the case of a Los Angeles
prospector who years ago left that city with a companion to cross the
desert.
The two men lost their way, and the prospector, leaving his companion
with the burros at the foot of an eminence, climbed to the top to take
a survey of the country and try to get his bearings. After waiting an
hour or more for him to return, his comrade began searching for him,
and after several hours of vain seeking he resumed the journey alone
and eventually reached his destination in safety. Twenty years later
some prospectors found human bones upon the desert and beside them a
hunting-knife and a watch which had belonged to the long-lost
prospector. He had died within two miles of good water.
Here and there in the solitudes of these great Saharas may be seen rude
crosses, or stones heaped into mounds, to mark the spot where, in
horrible torture, some human life went out. And, strange as it may
seem, these graves are more plentiful in the vicinity of the oases than
elsewhere. To drink heavily after several hours of abstinence is almost
certain death. Many a poor fellow has struggled on through hours of
extreme torture, buoyed up by the thoughts of the refreshing draught
awaiting him, only to die in agony from drinking too deeply of the
precious potion.
[Illustration: A DESERT BEDROOM
From photograph by C. C. Pierce & Co.]
Sometimes death comes from a very different cause. Not long ago a
veteran prospector was taking a party across the desert, and saw in the
distance a green spot on the plain. They were headed for Timber
Mountain, where good water is plentiful, but they had run short of
water some hours before, and were nearly choked with thirst. They
turned from their course to visit the green spot, believing that water
would be found there. They were not mistaken, for a bubbling spring
greeted their eyes, a sight more welcome than would have been a mine of
gold, but about the spring were strewn a number of human skeletons,
indicating that a goodly sized caravan had met death there.
They were too thirsty to pause to make inquiry as to the cause of this
wholesale fatality, and hurried on to the spring to cool their parched
tongues. The leader of the party, however, was suspicious and insisted
that no one should take more than a few drops of the water at that
time. His caution proved their salvation, for within a few minutes
after drinking of the water all were taken violently ill. The spring
was a natural arsenic fountain.
As soon as the party was able to travel the journey was resumed and
Timber Mountain was reached in safety. The guide carried away some of
the water for analysis and thus learned of the properties of the
spring. Later, he returned and set up a sign to inform travelers of the
dangerous character of the water.