THROUGH ARIZONA TO SAN DIEGO
_September 14th._ Leaving Altar on the 10th we crossed a desert-like
plain or prairie for many miles to the Rancho "La Sone," as usual a
miserable cluster of mud jacals and surly Mexican vacheros, but we did
not care for that. We bought and killed one of their cattle, paying four
dollars for it; the next day the seller returned and asked seven, which
we refused.
On the lagoon near here we found the American Avoset, long-billed
curlew, and Canada crane; I thought I saw the sandhill, but it was so
far off I could not be certain; the red-shafted woodpecker is seen
daily, and many small birds, new to me, but not so abundant as two
hundred miles behind us. The soil of this country is beautiful in many
places, but the want of water and timber renders it difficult to live
here; the government is feeble, and desolation and poverty show that
better days have been seen. Tomorrow we start westward at 4 a. m. for
our march to the Colorado; how we shall get through the twenty leagues
with almost no water or grass I do not know, but it must be done.
Some of the men hearing the rattle of the snake of that name, in a small
bunch of musquit and cactus, took shovels to dig him out, and after
clearing away the brush soon found the holes the snakes live in. At
about two feet down they came to a tolerably large female, which had in
her nest nine young; beautiful little creatures, about a foot long; they
had great courage, and coiled and struck with fury at anything placed
near them.
_September 17th. Near Papagos[24] villages._ Last night, as for many
preceding evenings, we sat down to our supper of bread and water, our
sugar, coffee and all other matters culinary having been used up, and
the country affords no game. We all felt the want of coffee or meat,
after being up from 5 a. m. to 7 p. m., but we shall I hope, soon be
through this desolate country. Four days since one of the party killed
the largest and finest buck antelope I ever saw, and we expected a
treat, but it was like the meat of a poor two-year-old beef, hardly
so good. We found the horns of a Rocky Mountain sheep, and of the
black-tailed deer, but none have been killed, or even seen as yet.
The little water-holes we came to, were filled with animalculæ, and
contained many turtles and snakes, and a few frogs and toads. For
lizards this country cannot be surpassed; one little beauty with a
banded tail runs before us and across our path by dozens. It makes
frequent stops, and each time curls its tail on its back, and waves it
gently four or five times most gracefully, finally retreating to some
hole in the sand, or to a thicket of cactus which abounds.
We have met no Indians of the old Aztec race; fifty Papagos would
count all we have seen, and they are fast passing away judging from
the dilapidations of the towns, and the numbers of empty houses. The
people live on turtles, and what game they can get. I have seen some elk
and antelope skins dressed and terrapin shells are everywhere. We have
bought two terrapin fresh killed, some roots, and the fruit of a plant
like the maguey; we have seen one or two fine horses, small, but well
formed, ridden with only a rope around the neck; others had saddles;
all the men ride lightly and well.
We came to some of their burial mounds, and saw the kettles and culinary
articles of this poor people left for the dead, to aid them on their
journey to the happy hunting grounds prepared for them by the Great
Spirit. They are happy in their faith, and with no dissenting voices
about this method of salvation or that.
At one place just after leaving the second rancho of Papago Indians
on September 18th, we crossed what might certainly be called a part of
the desert. Strips of red gravel a mile or two long, and two or three
hundred yards wide, were frequently crossed, and other strips looking
like dried parched-up white clay; the mountains are very irregularly
formed, and of a blackish stone, looking in the distance almost purple.
I tried to take some sketches, but could not make time.
On September 19th I procured two specimens of the _Dipodomys
Phillippsii_;[25] the red tail and marsh hawks are abundant, and ravens
are seen, as well as buzzards from time to time. We find many mounds of
the _Dipodomys Phillippsii_, and prairie dog or some other marmot, but
they are so shy that we have not killed one yet. We picked up yesterday
horns of the Rocky Mountain sheep, and the Papagos tell us they are
found in plenty in the mountains around us.
_September 21st._ The last village we passed of these Indians was
situated on a large prairie of miserably poor soil, sandy and dry,
covered with a peculiar small-leaved plant, containing a great deal of
astringent, gummy sap; we find this only on the poorest of soils full
of gravel and sand, and always hail it with dislike, though its taste,
a little of it, is pleasant, being slightly aromatic, and yet in some
way reminding one of baked apple. Why it is that these Indians settle in
such country, I cannot conceive, for even the lizards, in most places
innumerable, are scarce here. The Indians kill them with a light wand,
giving them a dexterous tap on the head; they pick up the game (?), slip
the head under a belt or string round their waists, and when sufficient
are collected a little fire is made, and this delicate repast is enjoyed
by them, as an epicure would relish his brace of woodcock.
I am told that a sort of mush is made of grasshoppers which abound all
over the country, some of which are very beautiful; the insects are
caught and dried, then pounded, and mixed with what meal or "pinole"
they have; the "pinole" generally consists of parched wheat or corn,
spiced and pounded, or ground dry on the "metale," the stone used by
the Mexicans for making the meal used for their tortillas; the dish is
considered quite a delicacy by both the Indians and Mexicans; the man
who told me this said he had tasted it, found it pleasant, and except
for the idea, a pretty good dish.
The horses of the Indians here are very tolerable but they are spoiled
by being ridden too young. They use them steadily when two years old,
and I saw even colts with the hair of the tail still curly, under boys
fourteen or fifteen years of age.
The houses are cones, four or five feet high and eight to fifteen feet
across, thatched in the rudest manner; in front of nearly every one
however, there is a shade, made by planting four poles, and erecting
on these a platform, first of sticks and brush, and finally earth on
which some plants and grasses grow. I saw one covered with a gourd
vine falling in festoons and strings, and bearing its hard fruit in
profusion; the pleasant verdure looked very inviting as we rode by in
the broiling sun. Two or three squaws were sitting under it, on the
palmetto mats, coarsely made, occupying themselves with their daily
avocations, some sewing on thin cotton stuff, some preparing the food.
The women were generally large and square-faced, with low foreheads
and ugly mouths, but fine eyes; they are generally dark, and very
occasionally a fairly good-looking girl is seen. We took an Indian
guide here, and offered him first a dollar a day; he took the money and
held out his hands for more; two men were with him, one of whom asked
what else would we give; he was shown a half-worn shirt; again he asked
for more, a white shirt was given him, he looked at the shirts and the
money, and pointed to a bright butcher knife; it was given to him. He
gave a smile of satisfaction, jumped on his horse, which stood ready
beside him, pointed out the road, motioned ahead and galloped off to his
own house, some quarter of a mile distant. Two or three of our party
followed him, myself among the number, and saw him lay his treasures
down before his father and family; he then put on the worn red shirt,
and with a low bow to all round him followed our company.
After a long and tedious ride over a gravelly prairie, with many cacti,
musquit and wild sage growing on it, we passed between two ironstone
mountains, up a valley to a well of sulphur water which was also pretty
well impregnated with salt, where all took a drink, and going over the
next ridge camped in poor grass and took our animals back to water them
at the well. Some of the mules drank five buckets of water, one after
the other (the common shaker buckets) and the average amount each animal
drank may be put down at three and a half. The want of water is the
greatest privation you can give a mule, as the flesh literally seems to
dry off them, and without water a mule will rapidly fall off from being
a good-looking animal, to a skeleton; but good grass and water, not too
salt, will in a week restore them wonderfully.
On our march today we came to a dry run, what Pennypacker calls "a
thunder-shower river," and after digging four feet found better water
than we had had for some time. We were all thirsty and drank of it
freely. I took two long draughts, and in half an hour was ready for
more, and the poor mules had to be kept away by a guard. Some of these
"thunder-storm rivers" rise so rapidly as to surround camps in less time
than it takes to remove the provisions and other property, and I was
told by some of the parties we met near the Gila, that on the El Paso
route a party of General Worth's train lost their baggage by just such
floods as we have to look out for.
Leaving this water-hole Boggs and myself walked to the peaks of one of
the conical mountains of iron-stone, which here surround the plains; it
was bluish-black with heavy dashes of purple intermingled for yards at
a time, and looked like huge masses of earth that had been frozen, and
were just in the crumbling state which precedes thawing. The view from
the top was very grand, but all the scenes we had as we ascended from
the plain gave pleasure. At first the broad prairie stretched west as
far as the line of horizon; a few feet higher on the mountain enabled us
to see the conical heads of others, and as we went higher and higher,
we saw hill after hill, and mountain capped mountain, and the straight
line which formed our horizon at first was lost in the irregular one
of peaks of the wildest character and desolation. As we looked north
round the entire country to north again, our eyes surveyed miles of
apparently waste barren country, without wood, water or animated nature;
one vulture alone sailed magnificently round us, surveying us from a
closer circle at every whirl he made, his wings rustling as they glided
past only a few feet from us. We admired his grace and envied his power,
as we watched the sun go down, and fancied that just beyond the hills
we saw were the waves of the Gulf of California. We descended to camp
in the evening shadows and made our meal of bread and water with good
appetites.
_September 22d._ I remained behind this morning with one of the men to
hunt up some missing mules, so that the main party were some ten miles
on the road ahead, but we overtook them at nine that night, and camped
down without water or grass.
_September 23d._ Daylight saw us on the march again, and at twelve we
found good grass, and halted for four hours, leaving at sundown for the
Gila, expecting to reach it by daylight, but our mules were so hungry
we could not drive them, and we encamped again without grass or water.
_September 24th._ At daylight again we were off, and one o'clock brought
us to the long-looked-for Pimos Valley, with a rancho of one small house
and a few broken-down mules. However, here we found water and a camp
ground.
_September 25th._ Off again as soon as light with ourselves and animals
somewhat refreshed by a long day's rest, plenty of corn, water and
melons. Before our arrival here we had looked forward with pleasure to
meeting others from home travelling our road, hoping to have news of
comparatively late date, as this valley is a sort of rendezvous; but
we have no more than we bring, we pass and re-pass companies daily,
but since we find they have no news for us we go on with a single
salutation.
As we came unexpectedly upon the wagon trail of the Gila route, an
exclamation of joy came from almost every one, and tired as we were we
journeyed until night in better spirits than we had been in for some
time. The old chief of the Pimos came out to see us, and presented
letters from Col. Cooke,[26] Col. Graham[27] and others, recommending
him as honest, kind and solicitous for the welfare of Americans. I gave
him three broken-down mules, and some other trifles for which he seemed
grateful, but the extravagance of the Americans who have passed through
has made it difficult for anyone to make reasonable bargains with either
Pimos or Maricopas;[28] we had to give him a flannel shirt for a little
over a peck of corn, wheat or beans. Many who came to trade had already
made up their minds only to do so for some particular article, and
in those cases it was not of the least avail to offer anything else.
Sometimes they would refuse a flannel shirt in exchange for a couple of
melons, but by tearing the shirt into strips and sewing these together,
two or three times the value of the garment may be obtained, as they
are delighted with anything resembling a sash, or bands for the head.
Jewelry had no value to them, fancy beads were worthless, stone beads
however they traded for eagerly, but _we_ had none. Red blankets and
blue, red flannel torn into long strips they preferred to anything,
though many of the women chose white shirts; like all squaws they are
very good natured. They are dressed in a cotton, home-made sarape, if
[wearing] a garment fastened round the waist, and leaving the whole
upper part of the body exposed, can be called dressed; their hair is
cut square across the forehead, and worn not very long.
We found some weed in the grass here very injurious to our horses and
mules. I lost my mare here. Weed lost his, and nearly all ran down, so
as to be scarcely fit for use. Having now four men without mounts, I
was persuaded to buy a wagon and harness complete, as I could get one
for twenty-five dollars.
The river bottom here forms a great flat, which was, I think, once
irrigated; at all events, it is cut up by a great many lagoons, nearly
all muddy, but the water is not so salt in those that do not run, as
to be undrinkable; in some places the water is so impregnated that as
the water evaporates, a cake of pure salt is deposited, and the Indians
on being asked for it, brought us five or six pounds in a lump. It
was pure white when broken, but on the surface a sediment covered it.
The country is nearly flat, and on the light sandy soil there is found
grass, in some places very sparse and thin, and in the others pretty
good. No water but rain water, and that at long distances apart. We find
on the few hills the columnar cactus in great abundance, a great many of
the same class of plants as on the Rio Grande, and convolvuli without
number; they seem to live on dew. The soil of the hills is rocky, and
indeed, sometimes for miles, chalky limestone takes the place of rock
entirely.
_October 1st._ The first rise as we enter the desert gives the view of
the plain for a great distance, and it seems one vast waste of twenty
by a hundred miles.
The road is continuous clay and sand, so impregnated with salt and
other mineral matter deleterious to vegetation, that sun flowers and
salt grass, and the accursed emblem of barrenness and sterility "Larrea
Mexicana," [Creosote plant] according to Dr. Trask, are all that are
seen in the way of herbage. In places the sunflowers are marvelously
luxuriant, and cover miles of the country, and are from five to seven
feet high, the road cut through them being the only gap in their almost
solid ranks.
The dust in this road is over the shoe tops, and rises in clouds,
filling eyes and almost choking us as we trudge along, sore and
jaded—men, horses, mules, cattle. We stop at night, after eight hours'
travel, having made only fifteen or twenty miles; often without food
except by chance, for our animals. Grass is only found in the good bends
of the river, which we may strike, or may not.
_October 3d._ Left at eight in the morning, and rode fifteen miles,
where we found water in some holes; we had noticed a very heavy rain
yesterday in this direction, which had probably filled them. We rode
on until night, when we camped until one in the morning, when, by the
light of a full moon we re-packed and started on for the river which we
reached at eight in the morning. Resting here for four hours, we started
to make five miles or more; necessity demanded our doing this to arrive
at good grass.
Passing along the sandy trail we saw hundreds of the plumed partridge
(the brown-headed). I shot five in about ten minutes. I could not delay
longer, as my fast-walking little mule was too jaded to put to the pain
of going faster to catch up with the train. These birds, at this season,
seem to feed on the seeds of the pig-weed, which is now and then seen
in patches of many acres, putting one in mind of old potato fields. The
sandy desolation of the river bottom is beyond belief; nothing but the
sand hills of the Carolina coast can compare with it.
_Oct. 5th._ A few cotton-woods and scrub-willow, with dried weeds, and
some sunflower plants, make thickets here and there, and this is all
that is to be seen in the way of vegetation, for about a hundred miles
below the Pimos villages, which hundred miles we made in five days,
and are now, thanks to a placard at the forks of the road, across the
far-famed Gila, in a grassy bottom of coarse swamp tufts, which is
better than nothing, but our animals do not seem to like it much, though
they eat it, in their starved condition.
The river here is a very rapid stream at this season, about a hundred
and fifty yards wide, and from eighteen to twenty inches deep, with very
deep holes in places. The bottom is shifting quicksand, delightfully
varied with drift logs, put exactly where they can best trip up the
mules; as the water is like that of the Mississippi, _below_ St. Louis,
you never see the logs until you are over them.
We look and long for Gila trout, and wild-fowl, but in vain. I shot
two blue-wings and one of our men caught two little trout. Our road is
garnished almost every league, with dead cattle, horses or oxen; and
wagons, log chains, and many valuable things are left at almost every
camping ground by the travellers; we ourselves have had to do the same,
to relieve our worn and jaded mules, able now to carry only about a
hundred pounds. Our personal effects amount to about one change each,
with our ammunition and arms, all else discarded or used up or stolen.
Opposite our camp about three miles from us, is a hot spring of
beautifully clear water; it is so hot as to just be bearable (we have
now no thermometer) and is tasteless.
Night far on the prairie is always solemn, but when in a doubtful
country, where one is uncertain as to the friendliness of the Indians,
our watch became one of silence and caution. We saw a long line of
regularly placed fires burn up, and, hour after hour, could see them
flare up, as fresh fuel was placed on them. We had heard that Captain
Thorn[29] with a hundred emigrants was just behind us, and we thought
this might be his camp; but when morning came and a long line of dark
objects met my eyes as I left my tent, I wondered if they could be
mules, so regular in their distances and march. I soon saw it was a
procession of a hundred and fifty squaws, each carrying the provisions
like a pack mule for her husband, who, hero-like, armed with spear,
shield and bow, proudly bore himself and his quiver, made of wild-cat,
cougar, or other skin, full of arrows, on to the wars of the Maricopas
and Apaches, _so it was said_; probably the object was to assist the
Yumas against the Americans. Of this we had no proof, for all was
quiet, owing no doubt to the good effect produced by the appearance of
the Americans, and the prompt shooting of a party of Texans who had
shot one or two Yumas Indians for not making the right landing. Such
summary proceedings never occurred again. We also heard that Lieut.
Coats [Couts][30] said that he had been the main cause of the favorable
change in the Indians towards the Americans, especially on the part of
the Yumas. We saw many of this tribe riding their horses with ropes in
the animals' mouths, pads for saddles, and ropes around the bodies in
which they can slip their feet.
_October 14th._ Sixteen days of travel from the Pimos village and
_such travel_, as please God, I trust we may none of us ever see
again, brought us to within three miles of the Gila.[31] If we thought
ourselves badly off at Altar, we are much more reduced in every way
than we were there. The food poor, monotonous and inefficient has been
_forced_ down, simply to sustain life. We have lost more mules, of
course; our wagon delayed us at least ten miles a day, and we left it
after using it three days. We were on the "qui vive" for Indians all
the time. Lack of water and grass we have almost come to regard as
inevitable; truly we looked, and are, a forlorn spectacle, and we feel,
I am sure, worse than we look.
With all this there has been no useless complaining, no murmuring, and
with all our privations, greater than I care to enumerate, or even to
think about, we are none of us ill, though a good many feel the effects
of their hardships, and are weakened by them. John Stevens walked _all_
the way from the last Pimos village, and declares he never felt better;
Henry Mallory, Bob Layton and I have done almost as much walking and
are perfectly well.
All along the road we have been told we could trade with the Yumas here,
but a few pumpkins seemed to be all they had at this season, and, as
our provisions were at the lowest ebb, we left for the crossing of the
Colorado.
We had the use of a boat in the crossing, which belonged to a Mr. Harris
who came from Texas, near Houston. It was really a large wagon body,
made into a scow, and very useful we found it; Mr. Harris treated us
with the greatest kindness, and aided us with provisions to the best
of his abilities, and we most sincerely wished him and his amiable wife
all happiness and comfort.
We found Lieut. Com. Coats most kind and hospitable; with the aid of
his sergeant's boat, a wagon body caulked, we crossed with everything,
in two days. I found the Indians, who swam our mules, the fastest and
most powerful swimmers I ever saw, being able to swim round the horses
and guide them with readiness and facility that astonished us all; they
swim over-handed. I could find no one willing to sell or trade horses,
and we are about to start on this much-heard-of and much-dreaded desert,
having lost two mules which were drowned after the company had crossed;
they returned to drink, and losing footing could not regain it, and had
not sufficient strength to battle against the current.
Last evening I was invited to take supper with Lieut. Coats, which I
greatly enjoyed, for seldom have I eaten with such an appetite, and I
found the beefsteak excellent, after being without meat for so long a
time; for some weeks we have had nothing but an occasional partridge;
meat, in the accepted sense of the word, we had only eaten twice since
we left Altar, September 12th, to date, October 16th, living on beans,
a little rice, and as luck would have it, sixteen pounds of flour
we bought from Mr. Stephenson at the hot springs. Lieut. Engineer
Whipple,[32] now making observations at the junction of the Gila and
Colorado rivers, was very kind to me, and this evening Col. Thorn came
up with us; we had been expecting this for some time. Col. Collins
[Collier], the collector from San Francisco treated us with great
courtesy, and I shall reluctantly bid these gentlemen good-bye, and
start across the desert with forty-six men half mounted, one quarter the
rations we should have had, mules jaded, but the men, thank God, all in
good health.
_October 17th._ We went only two miles to our first camp, but today
came twelve up the river, through a cotton-wood bottom; on the road we
heard that Captain Thorn had been drowned. The canoe in which he was
making his last trip, was capsized, and one of the Mexicans, who could
not swim, seized him in such a manner that he could not shake him off,
nor hold him so as to save him, and they went down together. So ends
the life of an officer of distinction, whose quiet, gentlemanly manner
won from me my admiration and good-fellowship during the few hours of
intercourse we had enjoyed.
We passed one or two Indian huts, all Yumas; they were scarcely
friendly, and our trading was very limited. I saw three about to cross
the river, here like the Ohio when it has low banks, but muddy. They
had a float of dried rushes on which they put their few garments; the
two men stripped without hesitation, but the squaw seemed a good deal
put out at our presence; she commenced undoing her sarape two or three
times; eventually with a laugh and joke with her companions, she waded
into the muddy stream until the water nearly touched her garment, and
then with great rapidity and grace removed it, the same instant sinking
into the water so quickly, that her person was not in the least exposed;
and she swam the river fully as rapidly as her associates.
_October 18th._ We encamped a few miles further on with nothing for
our horses, and morning saw us tramping over dust and sand, to the
sand hills twelve miles distant. When we reached them, I mounted one of
them to see how our road lay; immediately the rolling sand hills of the
Carolina coasts were brought to mind; there was not a tree to be seen,
nor the least sign of vegetation, and the sun pouring down on us made
our journey seem twice the length it really was.
[_No date._] We encamped at the wells [Cooke's Wells], and started out
at two in the morning to go thirty-six miles to the next grass, having
given our animals a good feed of musquit beans, which we found in great
abundance, about five miles below us. We went on well until we came to
the lagoons, and truly _here_ was a scene of desolation. Broken wagons,
dead shrivelled-up cattle, horses and mules as well, lay baking in the
sun, around the dried-up wells that had been opened, in the hopes of
getting water. Not a blade of grass or green thing of any kind relieved
the monotony of the parched, ash-colored earth, and the most melancholy
scene presented itself that I have seen since I left the Rio Grande.
We turned to our road at twelve o'clock, the sun blazing down on us, and
expecting to go nine miles more without water; I feared the mules would
never do it, but about two miles further on, we came to good water, and
after a short rest on we went for seven more, when we found shade, and
a good supper, for the Sergeant's guard here had killed a wild cow, and
made us a present of part of it. The thirty-six miles had been made,
and the worst part of the road was past.
[_No date._] Here we stayed one day to wait for some of our party, who
had waited hoping to purchase provisions; they were sorely jaded, but
had not lost a mule when they re-joined us. Leaving them to rest, I went
to Col. Collins' camp for fifty pounds of biscuit and some rice, and we
then took the way west, for the next water-hole, our horses loaded with
grass; which as it had been good, we had taken the precaution to secure
before we started at four o'clock.
[_No date._] We camped at a pretty lake, shallow but clear, and good to
drink; at the back was one of those peculiar rocky mountains so common
in this country, and I made an outline of it. Some wagoners killed an
ox, but to me it was uneatable, so I turned in as usual, on bread and
beans, and the luxury of a cup of tea. Bachman lost his mules here, and
he and Walsh stayed until daylight, the rest of us leaving much earlier.
I have felt rather anxious about Bachman as he is not strong.
_October 23d. San Felipe._[33] Three days of sunny road, and three
nights of freezing cold, have brought us to San Felipe, and a pretty
valley it is, but no water, and no wood of any consequence, still there
is enough for travellers' purposes, and the sight of the trees gave us
great pleasure, after the dearth of vegetation through which we have
been passing. We find no food here, and most of the company have gone
to Santa Isabella, a rancho fifteen miles distant, where they expect to
get all we want.
_San Felipe. October 24th._ My own mules having been more heavily laden
than the average, were very tired, and I have stayed here, leaving
Mess 6, consisting of Joseph Lambert, Ayres, Weed and Steele five miles
behind to wait for Bachman and Walsh. The rest started with John Stevens
in charge, for Santa Isabella. I ascended the first hill, and had a view
of the long rows of cottonwoods bordering the irrigating ditches of the
once highly cultivated, but now deserted, Mission grounds. Desolation
reigned everywhere, decayed stumps of gigantic trees planted by hand,
indications of shrines, from the clumps of beautiful cedars by which
they are so frequently surrounded, and other tokens of industry, told
of the comfort that had formerly been enjoyed in this lovely valley.
The hills to the east are all bare, but those to the west have many
beautiful live oaks, running up the deep ravines that are between each
sharp ridge.
[_No date._] As we rode up the valley, entering the mountains, the
contrast between the scene before us, and the desert we had just left,
was like coming into Paradise, and we trotted along the banks of a clear
little brook, and sauntered on through patches of wild sage and wild
oats, the first we had seen, with real pleasure. As we reached the top
of the ridge, one of those beautiful natural parks, to be seen only in
our southern latitudes, was before us, and we had the first glimpse of
what might be called California; the pleasure I felt then is and will
be a lasting one.
Passing the dividing line, we began our descent following another
stream, adorned on both sides with the most magnificent California oaks
and sycamores; not so excessively large, but of splendid form and broad
spreading shade and foliage, in full tropical luxuriance. At sundown,
far down the valley of Santa Maria, we rejoined our camp, and found all
well, and Mr. Browning treated me to a pound or two of most delicious
grapes. They tasted so refreshing and delicious, that for a few minutes
I forgot everything else, all my anxieties for the termination of our
long and tedious journey, with the attendant troubles and difficulties
seemed smoothed over.
[_No date._] We arrived today at Santa Maria itself, twenty miles
further on our way, really enjoying our march through this beautiful
valley.
_San Diego Mission. November 3d._ We spent the night at Santa Maria
and then left for San Diego; the country contains many lovely valleys,
and some of the hills are beautiful, and richly covered with wild oats,
possessing all but water and wood to make it a most desirable land for
the farmer. At sundown we reached the Mission of San Diego,[34] once
evidently beautiful and comfortable; its gardens still contain many
palms, olives and grapes, and no doubt the plain below, when irrigated,
must have been most productive.
We found an American soldier in charge, and as the last reflection of
sunlight tipped the waves of the Pacific Ocean with gold, and the sullen
roar of the breakers borne in on the last of the sea breeze for that
day came to my ears, tired and sad, I sat on the tiled edge of the long
piazza leaning against one of the brick pillars in a most melancholy
mood. I could remain here a long time musing on what is before me,
realizing in the desertion of all about me that all things mortal pass,
but it is necessary to continue our journey, as we are six miles from
anything to eat, and we know that two long hours will be requisite to
get over the distance; so we must go.
_San Diego. November 4th._ Mr. Browning on his fine horse "Ures" led the
way, and I came close at his heels on my favorite mule. Nine o'clock
brought us to this town; no hotel nor boarding house, so we went to
the quartermaster, Lieut. Murray,[35] to leave our things and find a
place to put our horses. He received us most kindly, his wife setting
before us some excellent venison, and the first real bread and butter
we had seen since we left New Orleans, to all of which we did complete
justice. The Lieutenant apologized for not giving me a bed, following
this up by the presentation of a pillow, and regrets that he could do
nothing better than this and his floor. I had my blankets and was soon
comfortably asleep under the first roof I had slept under since we
departed from Jesus Maria.
Lieut. Ord[36] lay next me, and this morning left for the steamer bound
for San Francisco, and I went to the office for letters, but found none,
so set to work to get provisions ready for the company.
Five miles from San Diego is the bay, beautiful enough on one side,
but opposite are long islands of flat land, and the view ends in
distant hills far below, no doubt the coast line. Here I saw many old
acquaintances among the birds, the brown pelican wheels and plunges for
his prey, as on the Gulf of Mexico, terns, curlews (the long-billed),
the California black-bellied plover, and great numbers of the horned
grebe. I killed two of them, and left them with Mr. Murray, as I carried
my gun when I went to the fort for our provisions, which were stored in
old hide warehouses. The traffic in hides and jerked beef has been for
many years the great industry at this place.
I rode on to our camp in the rain, the first we had had for some weeks,
and though now cold, and chilling us to the bone, we would have given
worlds for it a short time previously, whilst crossing the dreary
desert.