■\^shedAbizona
BECOLLECnONS OF
MYARMYLffE
BT
MABTHA. SUMMEEHAJfES
Vanished Arizona
Vanished Arizona
Recollections of the Army Life
of a New England Woman
BY
Martha Summerhayes
With Twenty-eight Illustrations
sr X
Published by
The Sai,km Press Co.
Salem, Mass.
6^"
.5^
Copyright, 1911, by Martha Summerhayes
TO MY SON
HARRY SUMMERHAYES
WHO SHARED THE VICISSITUDES OI^ MY
I<IFE IN ARIZONA, THIS BOOK IS
AFFECTIONATEI.Y DEDICATED
250803
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2007 with funding from
IVIicrosoft Corporation
http://www.archive.org/details/arizonarvanishedOOsummrich
Preface
I HAVE written this story of my army life at the
urgent and ceaseless request of my children.
For whenever I allude to those early days, and
tell to them the tales they have so often heard, they
always say: ** Now, mother, will you write these
stories for us? Please, mother, do\ we must never
forget them/'
Then, after an interval, ''Mother, have you written
those stories of Arizona yet?" until finally, with the
aid of some old letters written from those very places
(the letters having been preserved, with other papers
of mine, by an uncle in New England long since dead),
I have been able to give a fairly connected story.
I have not attempted to commemorate my husband's
brave career in the Civil War, as I was not married
until some years after the close of that war, nor to
describe the many Indian campaigns in which he took
part, nor to write about the achievements of the old
Eighth Infantry. I leave all that to the historian.
I have given simply the impressions made upon the
mind of a young New England woman who left her
7
PREFACE
comfortable home in the early seventies, to follow a
second lieutenant into the wildest encampments of
the American army.
Hoping the story may possess some interest for the
younger women of the army, and possibly for some
of our old friends, both in the army and in civil life,
I venture to send it forth.
PosTCRiPT (second edition) ,
The appendix to this, the second edition of my
book, will tell something of the kind manner in
which the first edition was received by my friends
and the public at large.
But as several people had expressed a wish that I
should tell more of my army experiences I have gone
carefully over the entire book, adding some detail
and a few incidents which had come to my mind
later.
I have also been able, with some difficulty and
much patient effort, to secure several photographs of
exceptional interest, which have been added to the
illustrations.
January, 1911.
Contents
chapter page
Preface 7
I. Germany and the Army 13
II. I Joined the Army 20
III. Army HoUvSE-keeping 23
IV. Down THE Pacific Coast 34
V. The Si<ue 41
VI. Up The Rio Coi^orado 48
VII. The Mojave Desert 58
VIII. Learning How to Soi^dier 70
IX. Across the Mogoi.i.ons 78
X. A PeriIvOus Adventure 86
XI. Camp Apache 88
XII. Life Amongst the Apaches 97
XIII. A New Recruit 109
XIV. A Memorabi^e Journey 117
XV. Fording the Litti^e CoXorado .... 125
XVI. Stoneman's Lake 131
XVII. The Coi^orado Desert 143
XVIII. Ehrenberg on the C01.ORADO .... 147
XIX. Summer at Ehrenberg 154
XX. My DE1.IVERER 172 .
XXI. Winter in Ehrenberg 178
XXII. Return to the States 187
XXIII. Back to Arizona 194
XXIV. Up the Vai,i.ey of the Gii,a 203
XXV. Oi,D Camp MacDowei.1, 209
XXVI. A Sudden Order 223
XXVII. The Eighth Foot Leaves Arizona . . 231
XXVIII. Cai^ifornia and Nevada 234 -
XXIX. Changing Station 249
XXX. Fort Niobrara .' 257
XXXI. Santa F6 271
XXXII. Texas 281
XXXIII. David's Isi^and 296
Appendix 304
9
List of Illustrations
Portrait of Martha Summerhayes Frontispiece
** Jack'* Mellon, the Famous Pilot of the Colorado River,
1875. 59
White Mountain Apache Indian Scouts, 1875 106
Captain William T. Worth, Brevet-Major, U. S. A.
Afterwards Brigadier-General 107
Barney's Store at Khrenberg, 1875 150
Our Quarters at Bhrenberg, 1875 156
Yuma Indians in 1875. 170
Native dress of the Cocopah and Yuma Indian Woman
in '75 176
Suw^rro, Giant Cactus, Near Camp MacDowell, Arizona,
1877. 206
Our Quarters at Old Camp MacDowell, Arizona, 1877 210
Bowen, Our Faithful Soldier-cook 215
Fort Yuma, Arizona, and Railroad Bridge on the Great
Colorado, 1877 232
Group: Lt. C. P. Terrett, Ivt. Bingham, Major Wilhelm,
Ivt. Phil. Reade, Lt. Charley Bailey 244
The Old "General McPherson" Plying From Angel
Island to Alcatraz and San Francisco, 1880 246
Mission Church of San Xavier del Bac. Showing the
Ruins 254
Mission Church of San Xavier del Bac. Front View 254
Altar, Mission of San Xavier del Bac 255
Ofi&cers' Quarters, Fort Niobrara, Nebraska, 1887 258
General August V. Kautz 261
A Sioux Indian Family; Buck, Squaw and Child 262
John W. Summerhayes, Major and Quartermaster, U.S.A. 268
Ox-team Fording the Niobrara River. Hauling Wood
to the Fort 269
Ox-teams Hauling Wood to Fort Niobrara, Nebraska,
1888 270
Old Palace of the Spanish Viceroys, Santa F6 276
Our Morning Rides at Santa F6, New Mexico, 1889 278
Frederic Remington and Jack Summerhayes 288
IJ
Vanished Arizona
CHAPTER I
gi:rmany and the army
The stai^wart men of the Prussian army, the Lan-
cers, the Dragoons, the Hussars, the clank of their
sabres on the pavements, their brilHant uniforms, all
made an impression upon my romantic mind, and I
listened eagerly, in the quiet evenings, to tales of
Hanover under King George, to stories of battles lost,
and the entry of the Prussians into the old Residenz-
stadt; the flight of the King, and the sorrow and
chagrin which prevailed.
For I was living in the family of General Weste,
the former stadt-commandant of Hanover, who had
served fifty years in the army and had accom-
panied King George on his exit from the city.
He was a gallant veteran, with the rank of General-
Lieutenant, ausser Dienst. A charming and dignified
man, accepting philosophically the fact that Hanover
had become Prussian, but loyal in his heart to his
King and to old Hanover; pretending great wrath
when, on the King's birthday, he found yellow and
white sand strewn before his door, but unable to
conceal the joyful gleam in his eye when he spoke
of it.
13 \
• ; ;•: -^ ' '' ' ^.«VANiSHED ARIZONA
The Generars wife was the daughter of a burgo-
master and had been brought up in a neighboring
town. She was a dear, kind soul.
The house-keeping was simple, but stately and pre-
cise, as befitted the rank of this officer. The General
was addressed by the servants as Bxcellenz and his
wife as Prau Bxcellenz. A charming unmarried
daughter lived at home, making, with myself, a
family of four.
Life was spent quietly, and every evening, after
our coffee (served in the living-room in winter, and
in the garden in summer), Frau Generalin would
amuse me with descriptions of life in her old home,
and of how girls were brought up in her day; how
industry was esteemed by her mother the greatest
virtue, and idleness was punished as the most be-
guiling sin. She was never allowed, she said, to read,
even on Sunday, without her knitting-work in her
hands; and she would often sigh, and say to me, in
German (for dear Frau Generalin spoke no other
tongue), ''Ach, Martha, you American girls are so
differently brought up"; and I would say, ''But,
Prau Generalin, which way do you think is the
better?'' She would then look puzzled, shrug her
shoulders, and often say, "Ach ! times are different I
suppose, but my ideas can never change."
Now the dear Frau Generalin did not speak a word
of Enghsh, and as I had had only a few lessons in
German before I left America, I had the utmost diffi-
14
GERMANY AND THE ARMY
culty at first in comprehending what she said. She
spoke rapidly and I would listen with the closest
attention, only to give up in despair, and to say,
''Gute Nacht,'' evening after evening, with my head
buzzing and my mind a blank.
After a few weeks, however, I began to understand
everything she said, altho' I could not yet write or
read the language, and I listened with the greatest
interest to the story of her marriage with young
Lieutenant Weste, of the bringing up of her four
children, and of the old days in Hanover, before the
Prussians took possession.
She described to me the brilliant Hanoverian Court,
the endless festivities and balls, the stately elegance
of the old city, and the cruel misfortunes of the King.
And how, a few days after the King's flight, the
end of all things came to her; for she was politely
informed one evening, by a big Prussian major, that
she must seek other lodgings — he needed her quarters.
At this point she always wept, and I sympathized.
Thus I came to know military life in Germany, and
I fell in love with the army, with its brilliancy and
its glitter, with its struggles and its romance, with
its sharp contrasts, its deprivations, and its chivalry.
I came to know, as their guest, the best of old
military society. They were very old-fashioned and
precise, and Prau Generalin often told me that Amer-
ican girls were too ausgelassen in their manners. She
often reproved me for seating myself upon the sofa
15
VANISHED ARIZONA
(which was only for old people) and also for looking
about too much when walking on the streets. Young
girls must keep their eyes more cast down, looking up
only occasionally. (I thought this dreadfully prim,
as I was eager to see everything). I was expected to
stop and drop a little courtesy on meeting an older
woman, and then to inquire after the health of each
member of the family. It seemed to take a lot of time,
but all the other girls did it, and there seemed to
be no hurry about anything, ever, in that elegant old
Residenz-stadt. Surely a contrast to our bustling
American towns.
A sentiment seemed to underlie everything they
did. The Emperor meant so much to them, and they
adored the Empress. A personal feeling, an affec-
tion, such as I had never heard of in a republic, caused
me to stop and wonder if an empire were not the best,
after all. And one day, when the Emperor, passing
through Hanover en route, drove down the Georgen-
strasse in an open barouche and raised his hat as he
glanced at the sidewalk where I happened to be stand-
ing, my heart seemed to stop beating, and I was over-
come by a most wonderful feeling — a feeling that in
a man would have meant chivalry and loyalty unto
death.
In this beautiful old city, life could not be taken
any other than leisurely. Theatres with early hours,
the maid coming for me with a lantern at nine o'clock,
the frequent Kaffee-klatsch, the delightful afternoon
i6
GERMANY AND THE ARMY
coffee at the Georgen-garten, the visits to the Zoo-
logical gardens, where we always took our fresh rolls
along with our knitting-work in a basket, and then sat
at a little table in the open, and were served with
coffee, sweet cream, and butter, by a strapping Hes-
sian peasant woman — all so simple, yet so elegant, so
peaceful.
We heard the best music at the theatre, which was
managed with the same precision, and maintained by
the Government with the same generosity, as in the
days of King George. No one was allowed to enter
after the overture had begun, and an absolute hush
prevailed.
The orchestra consisted of sixty or more pieces, and
the audience was critical. The parquet was filled
with officers in the gayest uniforms; there were few
ladies amongst them ; the latter sat mostly in the
boxes, of which there were several tiers, and as
soon as the curtain fell, between the acts, the officers
would rise, turn around, and level their glasses at the
boxes. Sometimes they came and visited in the boxes.
As I had been brought up in a town half Quaker,
half Puritan, the custom of going to the theatre
Sunday evenings was rather a questionable one in my
mind. But I soon fell in with their ways, and found
that on Sunday evenings there was always the most
brilliant audience and the best plays were selected.
With this break-down of the wall of narrow preju-
dice, I gave up others equally as narrow, and adopted
17
VANISHED ARIZONA
the German customs with my whole heart.
I studied the language with unflinching persever-
ance, for this was the opportunity I had dreamed
about and longed for in the barren winter evenings at
Nantucket when I sat poring over Coleridge's trans-
lations of Schiller's plays and Bayard Taylor's version
of Goethe's Faust.
Should I ever read these intelligently in the
original ?
And when my father consented for me to go over
and spend a year and live in General Weste's family,
there never was a happier or more grateful young
woman. Appreciative and eager, I did not waste a
moment, and my keen enjoyment of the German
classics repaid me a hundred fold for all my in-
dustry.
Neither time nor misfortune, nor illness can take
from me the memory of that year of privileges such
as is given few American girls to enjoy, when they
are at an age to fully appreciate them.
And so completely separated was I from the Ameri-
can and English colony that I rarely heard tny own
language spoken, and thus I lived, ate, listened, talked,
and even dreamed in German.
There seemed to be time enough to do everything
we wished; and, as the Franco-Prussian war was just
over (it was the year of 1871), and many troops were
in garrison at Hanover, the officers could always join
us at the various gardens for after-dinner coffee,
18
GERMANY AND THE ARMY
which, by the way, was not taken in the demi-tasse,
but in good generous coffee-cups, with plenty of rich
cream. Every one drank at least two cups, the
officers smoked, the women knitted or embroidered,
and those were among the pleasantest hours I spent in
Germany.
The intrusion of unwelcome visitors was never to
be feared, as, by common consent, the various classes
in Hanover kept by themselves, thus enjoying life
much better than in a country where everybody is
striving after the pleasures and luxuries enjoyed by
those whom circumstances have placed above them.
The gay uniforms lent a brilliancy to every affair,
however simple. Officers were not allowed to appear
en civile, unless on leave of absence.
I used to say, ''Oh, Frau General, how fascinating
it all is!'' ''Hush, Martha," she would say; "Hfe
in the army is not always so brilliant as it looks;
in fact, we often call it, over here, 'glaenzendes
Blend f "
These bitter words made a great impression upon
my mind, and in after years, on the American
frontier, I seemed to hear them over and over again.
When I bade good-bye to the General and his
family, I felt a tightening about my throat and my
heart, and I could not speak. Life in Germany had
become dear to me, and I had not known how dear
until I was leaving it forever.
(19)
CHAPTER II
I joine:d thk army
I was put in charge of the captain of the North
German Lloyd S. S. ''Donau/' and after a most ter-
rific cyclone in mid-ocean, in which we nearly found-
ered, I landed in Hoboken, sixteen days from
Bremen.
My brother, Harry Dunham, met me on the pier,
saying, as he took me in his arms, "You do not
need to tell me what sort of a trip you have had;
it is enough to look at the ship — that tells the story."
As the vessel had been about given up for lost,
her arrival was somewhat of an agreeable surprise
to all our friends, and to none more so than my old
friend Jack, a second lieutenant of the United States
army, who seemed so glad to have me back in America,
that I concluded the only thing to do was to join the
army myself.
A quiet wedding in the country soon followed my
decision, and we set out early in April of the year
1874 to join his regiment, which was stationed at
Fort Russell, Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory.
I had never been west of New York, and Cheyenne
seemed to me, in contrast with the finished civiliza-
tion of Europe, which I had so recently left, the
wildest sort of a place.
20
I JOINED THE ARMY
Arriving in the morning, and alighting from the
train, two gallant ofificers, in the uniform of the
United States infantry, approached and gave us wel-
come; and to me, the bride, a special "welcome to
the regiment" was given by each of them with out-
stretched hands.
Major Wilhelm said, " The ambulance is right here;
you must come to our house and stay until you get
your quarters."
Such was my introduction to the army — and to the
army ambulance, in which I was destined to travel
so many miles.
Four lively mules and a soldier driver brought us
soon to the post, and Mrs. Wilhelm welcomed us to
her pleasant and comfortable-looking quarters.
I had never seen an army post in America. I had
always lived in places which needed no garrison, and
the army, except in Germany, was an unknown quan-
tity to me.
Fort Russell was a large post, and the garrison
consisted of many companies of cavalry and infantry.
It was all new and strange to me.
Soon after luncheon. Jack said to Major Wilhelm,
"Well, now, I must go and look for quarters: what's
the prospect?"
"You will have to turn some one out," said the
Major, as they left the house together.
About an hour afterwards they returned, and Jack
said, "Well, I have turned out Lynch; but," he
21
VANISHED ARIZONA
added, **as his wife ai^d child are away, I do not
believe he'll care very much/'
*'Oh,'' said I, ''Vm so sorry to have to turn any-
body out !''
The Major and his wife smiled, and the former
remarked, ''You must not have too much sympathy:
it's the custom of the service — it's always done — by
virtue of rank. They'll hate you for doing it, but
if you don't do it they'll not respect you. After
you've been turned out once yourself, you will not
mind turning others out."
The following morning I drove over to Cheyenne
with Mrs. Wilhelm, and as I passed Lieutenant
Lynch's quarters and saw soldiers removing Mrs.
Lynch's lares and penates, in the shape of a sewing
machine, lamp-shades, and other home-like things, I
turned away in pity that such customs could exist in
our service.
To me, who had lived my life in the house in
which I was born, moving was a thing to be dreaded.
But Mrs. Wilhelm comforted me, and assured me
it was not such a serious matter after all. Army
women were accustomed to it, she said.
(22)
CHAPTER III
ARMY HOUSE-KKKPING
Not knowing before I left home just what was
needed for house-keeping in the army, and being able
to gather only vague ideas on the subject from Jack,
who declared that his quarters were fumislied ad-
mirably, I had taken out with me but few articles
in addition to the silver and linen-chests.
I began to have serious doubts on the subject of
my menage, after inspecting the bachelor furnishings
which had seemed so ample to my husband. But
there was so much to be seen in the way of guard
uount, cavalry drill, and various military functions,
besides the drives to town and the concerts of the
string orchestra, that I had little time to think of the
practical side of Ufe.
Added to this, we were enjoying the delightful
hospitality of the Wilhelms, and the Major insisted
upon making me acquainted with the "real old-
fashioned army toddy'' several times a day, — a new
beverage to me, brought up in a blue-ribbon com-
munity, where wine-bibbing and whiskey drinking
were rated as belonging to only the lowest classes.
Po be sure, my father always drank two fingers of
tine cognac before dinner, but I had always con-
sidered that a sort of medicine for a man advanced
in years.
?3
VANISHED ARIZONA
Taken all in all, it is not to be wondered at if I saw
not much in those few days besides bright buttons,
blue uniforms, and shining swords.
Everything was military and gay and brilliant, and
I forgot the very existence of practical things, in
listening to the dreamy strains of Italian and German
music, rendered by our excellent and painstaking
orchestra. For the Eighth Infantry loved good music,
and had imported its musicans direct from Italy.
This came to an end, however, after a few days, and
I was obliged to descend from those heights to the dead
level of domestic economy.
My husband informed me that the quarters were
ready for our occupancy and that we could begin
house-keeping at once. He had engaged a soldier
named Adams for a striker ; he did not know whether
Adams was much of a cook, he said, but he was the
only available man just then, as the companies were
up north at the Agency.
Our quarters consisted of three rooms and a kitchen,
which formed one-half of a double house.
I asked Jack why we could not have a whole house.
I did not think I could possibly live in three rooms
and a kitchen.
''Why, Martha," said he, "did you not know that
women are not reckoned in at all at the War Depart-
ment? A lieutenant's allowance of quarters, accord-
ing to the Army Regulations, is one room and a
kitchen, a captain's allowance is two rooms and a
24
ARMY HOUSE-KEEPING
kitchen, and so on up, until a colonel has a fairly
good house/' I told him I thought it an outrage;
that lieutenants' wives needed quite as much as
colonels' wives.
He laughed and said, "You see we have already
two rooms over our proper allowance; there are so
many married officers, that the Government has had
to stretch a point."
After indulging in some rather harsh comments
upon a government which could treat lieutenants'
wives so shabbily, I began to investigate my sur-
roundings.
Jack had placed his furnishings (some lace cur-
tains, camp chairs, and a carpet) in the living-room,
and there was a forlorn-looking bedstead in the bed-
room. A pine table in the dining-room and a range in
the kitchen completed the outfit. A soldier had
scrubbed the rough floors with a straw broom : it was
absolutely forlorn, and my heart sank within me.
But then I thought of Mrs. Wilhelm's quarters, and
resolved to try my best to make ours look as cheerful
and pretty as hers. A chaplain was about leaving
the post and wished to dispose of his things, so we
bought a carpet of him, a few more camp chairs of
various designs, and a cheerful-looking table-cover.
We were obliged to be very economical, as Jack was a
second lieutenant, the pay was small and a little in
arrears, after the wedding trip and long journey out.
We bought white Holland shades for the windows, and
25
VANISHED ARIZONA
made the three rooms fairly comfortable and then I
turned my attention to the kitchen.
Jack said I should not have to buy anything at all;
the Quartermaster Department furnished everything
in the line of kitchen utensils; and, as his word was
law, I went over to the quartermaster store-house to
select the needed articles.
After what I had been told, I was surprised to
find nothing smaller than two-gallon tea-kettles, meat-
forks a yard long, and mess-kettles deep enough to
cook rations for fifty men! I rebelled, and said I
would not use such gigantic things.
My husband said : ''Now, Mattie, be reasonable ; all
the army women keep house with these utensils; the
regiment will move soon, and then what should we
do with a lot of tin pans and such stuff ? You know a
second lieutenant is allowed only a thousand pounds
of baggage when he changes station.'' This was a
hard lesson, which I learned later.
Having been brought up in an old-time community,
where women deferred to their husbands in every-
thing, I yielded, and the huge things were sent over.
I had told Mrs. Wilhelm that we were to have
luncheon in our own quarters.
So Adams made a fire large enough to roast beef
for a company of soldiers, and he and I attempted to
boil a few eggs in the deep mess-kettle and to make
the water boil in the huge tea-kettle.
But Adams, as it turned out, was not a cook, and I
26
ARMY HOUSEKEEPING
must confess that my own attention had been more
engrossed by the study of German auxiliary verbs,
during the few previous years, than with the art of
cooking.
Of course, Hke all New England girls of that period,
I knew how to make quince jelly and floating islands,
but of the actual, practical side of cooking, and the
management of a range, I knew nothing.
Here was a dilemma, indeed!
The eggs appeared to boil, but they did not seem
to be done when we took them off, by the minute-hand
of the clock.
I declared the kettle was too large; Adams said he
did not understand it at all.
I could have wept with chagrin! Our first meal
a deux I
I appealed to Jack. He said, ''Why, of course,
Martha, you ought to know that things do not cook
as quickly at this altitude as they do down at the
sea level. We are thousands of feet above the sea here
in Wyoming." (I am not sure it was thousands, but
it was hundreds at least.)
So that was the trouble, and I had not thought of it !
My head was giddy with the glamour, the uniform,
the guard-mount, the military music, the rarefied air,
the new conditions, the new interests of my life.
Heine's songs, Goethe's plays, history and romance
were floating through my mind. Is it to be wondered
at that I and Adams together prepared the most
27
VANISHED ARIZONA
atrocious meals that ever a new husband had to eat?
I related my difficulties to Jack, and told him I
thought we should never be able to manage with such
kitchen utensils as were furnished by the Q. M. D.
*'Oh, pshaw ! You are pampered and spoiled with
your New England kitchens," said he; "you will
have to learn to do as other army women do — cook
in cans and such things, be inventive, and learn to
do with nothing." This was my first lesson in army
house-keeping.
After my unpractical teacher had gone out on some
official business, I ran over to Mrs. Wilhelm's quar-
ters and said, "Will you let me see your kitchen
closet?"
She assented, and I saw the most beautiful array
of tin-ware, shining and neat, placed in rows upon
the shelves and hanging from hooks on the wall.
''SoT I said; "my military husband does not know
anything about these things ;" and I availed myself of
the first trip of the ambulance over to Cheyenne,
bought a stock of tin- ware and had it charged, and
made no mention of it — because I feared that tin-
ware was to be our bone of contention, and I put
off the evil day.
The cooking went on better after that, but I did not
have much assistance from Adams.
I had great trouble at first with the titles and the
rank: but I soon learned that many of the officers
were addressed by the brevet title bestowed upon them
28
ARMY HOUSE-KEEPING.
for gallant service in the Civil War, and I began to
understand about the ways and customs of the army
of Uncle Sam. In contrast to the Germans, the
American lieutenants were not addressed by their
title (except officially) ; I learned to ''Mr." all the
lieutenants who had no brevet.
One morning I suggested to Adams that he should
wash the front windows; after being gone a half
hour, to borrow a step-ladder, he entered the room,
mounted the ladder and began. I sat writing. Sud-
denly, he faced around, and addressing me, said,
''Madam, do you believe in spiritualism?"
"Good gracious ! Adams, no ; why do you ask me
such a question ?"
This was enough ; he proceeded to give a lecture on
the subject worthy of a man higher up on the ladder
of this life. I bade him come to an end as soon as I
dared (for I was not accustomed to soldiers), and
suggested that he was forgetting his work.
It was early in April, and the snow drifted through
the crevices of the old dried-out house, in banks upon
our bed ; but that was soon mended, and things began
to go smoothly enough, when Jack was ordered to
join his company, which was up at the Spotted Tail
Agency. It was expected that the Sioux under this
chief would break out at any minute. They had
become disaffected about some treaty. I did not like
to be left alone with the Spiritualist, so Jack asked
one of the laundresses, whose husband was out with
29
VANISHED ARIZONA
the company, to come and stay and take care of me.
Mrs. Patten was an old campaigner; she under-
stood everything about officers and their ways, and
she made me absolutely comfortable for those two
lonely months. I always felt grateful to her; she
was a dear old Irish woman.
All the families and a few officers were left at the
post, and, with the daily drive to Cheyenne, some
small dances and theatricals, my time was pleasantly
occupied.
Cheyenne in those early days was an amusing but
unattractive frontier town; it presented a great con-
trast to the old civilization I had so recently left. We
often saw women in cotton wrappers, high-heeled
slippers, and sun-bonnets, walking in the main streets.
Cows, pigs, and saloons seemed to be a feature of the
place.
In about six weeks, the affairs of the Sioux were
settled, and the troops returned to the post. The
weather began to be uncomfortably hot in those
low wooden houses. I missed the comforts of home
and the fresh sea air of the coast, but I tried to make
the best of it.
Our sleeping-room was very small, and its one
window looked out over the boundless prairie at the
back of the post. On account of the great heat, we
were obliged to have this window wide open at night.
I heard the cries and wails of various animals, but
Jack said that was nothing — they always heard them.
30
ARMY HOUSE-KEEPING
Once, at midnight, the wails seemed to be nearer,
and I was terrified ; but he told me 'twas only the half-
wild cats and coyotes which prowled around the post.
I asked him if they ever came in. "Gracious, no!"
he said; "they are too wild."
I calmed myself for sleep — when like lightning, one
of the huge creatures gave a flying leap in at our
window, across the bed, and through into the living-
room.
'' Jerusalem r cried the lieutenant, and flew after
her, snatching his sword, which stood in the corner,
and poking vigorously under the divan.
I rolled myself under the bed-covers, in the most
abject terror lest she might come back the same way;
and, true enough, she did, with a most piercing cry.
I never had much rest after that occurrence, as we
had no protection against these wild-cats.
The regiment, however, in June was ordered to
Arizona, that dreaded and then unknown land, and
the uncertain future was before me. I saw the other
women packing china and their various belongings.
I seemed to be helpless. Jack was busy with things
outside. He had three large army chests, which were
brought in and placed before me. "Now," he said,
"all our things must go into those chests" — and I sup-
posed they must.
I was pitifully ignorant of the details of moving,
and I stood despairingly gazing into the depths of
those boxes, when the jolly and stout wife of Major
31
VANISHED ARIZONA
von Hermann passed my window. She glanced in,
comprehended the situation, and entered, saying,
''You do not understand how to pack? Let me help
you: give me a cushion to kneel upon — now bring
everything that is to be packed, and I can soon show
you how to do it." With her kind assistance the
chests were packed, and I found that we had a great
deal of surplus stuff which had to be put into rough
cases, or rolled into packages and covered with burlap.
Jack fumed when he saw it, and declared we could
not take it all, as it exceeded our allowance of weight.
I declared we must take it, or we could not exist.
With some concessions on both sides we were finally
packed up, and left Fort Russell about the middle of
June, with the first detachment, consisting of head-
quarters and band, for San Francisco, over the Union
Pacific Railroad.
For it must be remembered, that in 1874 there were
no railroads in Arizona, and all troops which were
sent to that distant territory either marched over-
land through New Mexico, or were transported by
steamer from San Francisco down the coast, and up
the Gulf of California to Fort Yuma, from which
point they marched up the valley of the Gila to the
southern posts, or continued up the Colorado River by
steamer, to other points of disembarkation, whence
they marched to the posts in the interior, or the
northern part of the territory.
Much to my delight, we were allowed to remain
32
ARMY HOUSE-KEEPING
over in San Francisco, and go down with the second
detachment. We made the most of the time, which
was about a fortnight, and on the sixth of August we
embarked with six companies of soldiers, Lieutenant
Colonel Wilkins in command, on the old steamship
"Newbern," Captain Metzger, for Arizona.
(33)
CHAPTER IV
DOWN the: pacific COAST
Now THE "Newbern'' was famous for being a good
roller, and she lived up to her reputation. For
seven days I saw only the inside of our stateroom.
At the end of that time we arrived off Cape St. Lucas
(the extreme southern point of Lower California),
and I went on deck.
We anchored and took cattle aboard. I watched the
natives tow them off, the cattle swimming behind their
small boats, and then saw the poor beasts hoisted up
by their horns to the deck of our ship.
I thought it most dreadfully cruel, but was in-
formed that it had been done from time immemorial,
so I ceased to talk about it, knowing that I could not
reform those aged countries, and realizing, faintly
perhaps (for I had never seen much of the rough
side of life), that just as cruel things were done to
the cattle we consume in the North.
Now that Mr. Sinclair, in his great book '*The
Jungle," has brought the multiplied horrors of the
great packing-houses before our very eyes, we might
witness the hoisting of the cattle over the ship's side
without feeling such intense pity, admitting that
everything is relative, even cruelty.
It was now the middle of August, and the weather
34
DOWN THE PACIFIC COAST
had become insufferably hot, but we were out of the
long swell of the Pacific Ocean ; we had rounded Cape
St. Lucas, and were steaming up the Gulf of Cali-
fornia, towards the mouth of the Great Colorado,
whose red and turbulent waters empty themselves into
this gulf, at its head.
I now had time to become acquainted with the
officers of the regiment, whom I had not before met;
they had come in from other posts and joined the
command at San Francisco.
The daughter of the lieutenant-colonel was on board,
the beautiful and graceful Caroline Wilkins, the belle
of the regiment; and Major Worth, to whose company
my husband belonged. I took a special interest in
the latter, as I knew we must face life together in the
wilds of Arizona. I had time to learn something
about the regiment and its history; and that Major
Worth's father, whose monument I had so often seen
in New York, was the first colonel of the Eighth
Infantry, when it was organized in the State of New
York in 1838.
The party on board was merry enough, and even
gay. There was Captain Ogilby, a great, genial
Scotchman, and Captain Porter, a graduate of Dublin,
and so charmingly witty. He seemed very devoted to
Miss Wilkins, but Miss Wilkins was accustomed to
the devotion of all the officers of the Eighth Infantry.
In fact, it was said that every young lieutenant who
joined the regiment had proposed to her. She was
35
VANISHED ARIZONA
most attractive, and as she had too kind a heart to
be a coquette, she was a universal favorite with the
women as well as with the men.
There was Ella Bailey, too, Miss Wilkins' sister,
with her young and handsome husband and their
young baby.
Then, dear Mrs. Wilkins, who had been so many
years in the army that she remembered crossing the
plains in a real ox-team. She represented the best
type of the older army woman — and it was so lovely
to see her with her two daughters, all in the same
regiment. A mother of grown-up daughters was not
often met with in the army.
And Lieutenant-Colonel Wilkins, a gentleman in
the truest sense of the word — a man of rather quiet
tastes, never happier than when he had leisure for
indulging his musical taste in strumming all sorts of
Spanish fandangos on the guitar, or his somewhat
marked talent with the pencil and brush.
The heat of the staterooms compelled us all to sleep
on deck, so our mattresses were brought up by the
soldiers at night, and spread about. The situation,
however, was so novel and altogether ludicrous, and
our fear of rats which ran about on deck so great,
that sleep was well-nigh out of the question.
Before dawn, we fled to our staterooms, but by sun-
rise we were glad to dress and escape from their
suffocating heat and go on deck again. Black coffee
and hard-tack were sent up, and this sustained us
36
DOWN THE PACIFIC COAST
until the nine-o'clock breakfast, which was elaborate,
but not good. There was no milk, of course, except
the heavily sweetened sort, wHich I could not use: it
was the old-time condensed and canned milk; the
meats were beyond everything, except the poor, tough,
fresh beef we had seen hoisted over the side, at Cape
St. Lucas. The butter, poor at the best, began to
pour like oil. Black coffee and bread, and a baked
sweet potato, seemed the only things that I could
swallow.
The heat in the Gulf of California was intense.
Our trunks were brought up from the vessel's hold,
and we took out summer clothing. But how inade-
quate and inappropriate it was for that climate ! Our
faces burned and blistered; even the parting on the
head burned, under the awnings which were kept
spread. The ice-supply decreased alarmingly, the
meats turned green, and when the steward went down
into the refrigerator, which was somewhere below the
quarter-deck, to get provisions for the day, every
woman held a bottle of s^lts to her nose, and the
officers fled to the forward part of the ship. The
odor which ascended from that refrigerator was inde-
scribable: it lingered and would not go. It followed
us to the table, and when we tasted the food we tasted
the odor. We bribed the steward for ice. Finally,
I could not go bclo^v at all, but had a baked sweet
potato brought on deck, and lived several days upon
that diet.
37
VANISHED ARIZONA
On the 14th of August we anchored off Mazatlan, a
picturesque and ancient adobe town in old Mexico.
The approach to this port was strikingly beautiful.
Great rocks, cut by the surf into arches and caverns,
guarded the entrance to the harbor. We anchored
two miles out. A customs and a Wells-Fargo boat
boarded us, and many natives came along side, bring-
ing fresh cocoanuts, bananas, and limes. Some Mexi-
cans bound for Guaymas came on board, and a troupe
of Japanese jugglers.
While we were unloading cargo, some officers and
their wives went on shore in one of the ship's boats,
and found it a most interesting place. It was gar-
risoned by Mexican troops, uniformed in white cotton
shirts and trousers. They visited the old hotel, the
amphitheatre where the bull-fights were held, and the
old fort. They told also about the cock-pits — and
about the refreshing drinks they had.
My thirst began to be abnormal. We bought a
dozen cocoanuts, and I drank the milk from them, and
made up my mind to go ashore at the next port ; for
after nine days with only thick black coffee and bad
warm water to drink, I was longing for a cup of
good tea or a glass of fresh, sweet milk.
A day or so more brought us to Guaymas, another
Mexican port. Mrs. Wilkins said she had heard
something about an old Spaniard there, who used to
cook meals for stray travellers. This was enough.
I was desperately hungry and thirsty, and we decided
38
DOWN THE PACIFIC COAST.
to try and find him. Mrs. Wilkins spoke a little
Spanish, and by dint of inquiries we found the man's
house, a little old, forlorn, deserted-looking adobe
casa.
We rapped vigorously upon the old door, and after
some minutes a small, withered old man appeared.
Mrs. Wilkins told him what we wanted, but this
ancient Delmonico declined to serve us, and said,
in Spanish, the country was "a desert''; he had
"nothing in the house"; he had "not cooked a meal
in years"; he could not; and, finally, he would not;
and he gently pushed the door to in our faces. But
we did not give it up, and Mrs. Wilkins continued
to persuade. I mustered what Spanish I knew, and
told him I would pay him any price for a cup of coffee
with fresh milk. He finally yielded, and told us to
return in one hour.
So we walked around the little deserted town. I
could think only of the breakfast we were to have in
the old man's casa. And it met and exceeded our
wildest anticipations, for, just fancy ! We were served
with a delicious bouillon, then chicken, perfectly
cooked, accompanied by some dish flavored with chile
verdcy creamy biscuit, fresh butter, and golden coffee
with milk. There were three or four women and
several officers in the party, and we had a merry
breakfast. We paid the old man generously, thanked
him warmly, and returned to the ship, fortified to
39
VANISHED ARIZONA
endure the sight of all the green ducks that came
out of the lower hold.
You must remember that the '^Newbern" was a
small and old propeller, not fitted up for passengers,
and in those days the great refrigerating plants were
unheard of. The women who go to the Philippines
on our great transports of to-day cannot realize and
will scarcely believe what we endured for lack of ice
and of good food on that never-to-be-forgotten voyage
down the Pacific coast and up the Gulf of California
in the summer of 1874.
(40)
CHAPTER V
THE SLUE
At i,ast, after a voyage of thirteen days, we came
to anchor a mile or so off Port Isabel, at the mouth
of the Colorado River. A narrow but deep slue runs
up into the desert land, on the east side of the river's
mouth, and provides a harbor of refuge for the flat-
bottomed stern-wheelers which meet the ocean steamers
at this point. Hurricanes are prevalent at this sea-
son in the Gulf of California, but we had been
fortunate in not meeting with any on the voyage.
The wind now freshened, however, and beat the waves
into angry foam, and there we lay for three days on
the "Newbern," off Port Isabel, before the sea was
calm enough for the transfer of troops and baggage to
the lighters.
This was excessively disagreeable. The wind was
like a breath from a furnace; it seemed as though
the days would never end, and the wind never stop
blowing. Jack's official diary says: "One soldier
died to-day."
Finally, on the fourth day, the wind abated, and
the transfer was begun. We boarded the river steam-
boat ''Cocopah," towing a barge loaded with soldiers,
and steamed away for the slue. I must say that we
welcomed the change with delight. Towards the end
of the afternoon the "Cocopah" put her nose to the
41
VANISHED ARIZpNA
sffore and tied up. It seemed strange not to see piers
and docks, nor even piles to tie to. Anchors were
taken ashore and the boat secured in that manner:
there being no trees of sufficient size to make fast
to.
The soldiers went into camp on shore. The heat
down in that low, flat place was intense. Another
man died that night.
What was our chagrin, the next morning, to learn
that we must go back to the ''Newbern," to carry
some freight from up-river. There was nothing to
do but stay on board and tow that dreary barge,
filled with hot, red, baked-looking ore, out to the
ship, unload, and go back up the slue. Jack's diary
records : "Aug. 23rd. Heat awful. Pringle died to-
day.'' He was the third soldier to succumb. It
seemed to me their fate was a hard one. To die,
down in that wretched place, to be rolled in a blanket
and buried on those desert shores, with nothing but
a heap of stones to mark their graves.
The adjutant of the battalion read the burial service,
and the trumpeters stepped to the edge of the graves
and sounded ''Taps," which echoed sad and melan-
choly far over those parched and arid lands. My
' eyes filled with tears, for one of the soldiers was from
our own company, and had been kind to me.
Jack said: ''You musn't cry, Mattie; it's a sol-
dier's life, and when a man enlists he must take his
chances."
42
THE SLUE
"Yes, but/' I said, "somewhere there must be a
mother or sister, or some one who cares for these poor
men, and it's all so sad to think of."
"Well, I know it is sad," he replied, soothingly,
"but listen! It is all over, and the burial party is
returning."
I listened and heard the gay strains of "The girl
I left behind me," which the trumpeters were playing
with all their might. "You see," said Jack, "it
would not do for the soldiers to be sad when one of
them dies. Why, it would demoralize the whole com-
mand. So they play these gay things to cheer them
up."
And I began to feel that tears must be out of place
at a soldier's funeral. I attended many a one after
that, but I had too much imagination, and in spite
of all my brave efforts, visions of the poor boy's
mother on some little farm in Missouri or Kansas
perhaps, or in some New England town, or possibly
in the old country, would come before me, and my
heart was filled with sadness.
The Post Hospital seemed to me a lonesome place
to die in, although the surgeon and soldier attendants
were kind to the sick men. There were no women
nurses in the army in those days.
The next day, the "Cocopah" started again and
towed a barge out to the ship. But the hot wind
sprang up and blew fiercely, and we lay off and on
all day, until it was calm enough to tow her back to
43
VANISHED ARIZONA
the slue. By that time I had about given up all hope
of getting any farther, and if the weather had only
been cooler I could have endured with equanimity the
idle life and knocking about from the ship to the
slue, and from the slue to the ship. But the heat was
unbearable. We had to unpack our trunks again and
get out heavy-soled shoes, for the zinc which covered
the decks of these river-steamers burned through the
thin slippers we had worn on the ship.
That day we had a little diversion, for we saw the
''Gila'' come down the river and up the slue, and tie
up directly alongside of us. She had on board and in
barges four companies of the Twenty-third Infantry,
who were going into the States. We exchanged
greetings and visits, and from the great joy mani-
fested by them all, I drew my conclusions as to what
lay before us, in the dry and desolate country we were
about to enter.
The women's clothes looked ridiculously old-fash-
ioned, and I wondered if I should look that way when
my time came to leave Arizona.
Little cared they, those women of the Twenty-
third, for, joy upon joys! They saw the ''Newbern"
out there in the offing, waiting to take them back to
green hills, and to cool days and nights, and to those
they had left behind, three years before.
On account of the wind, which blew again with
great violence, the ''Cocopah" could not leave the slue
that day. The officers and soldiers were desperate
44
THE SLUE
for something to do. So they tried fishing, and
caught some ''croakers/' which tasted very fresh and
good, after all the curried and doctored-up messes
we had been obliged to eat on board ship.
We spent seven days in and out of that slue.
Finally, on August the 26th, the wind subsided and
we started up river. Towards sunset we arrived at a
place called ''Old Soldier's Camp." There the
'Gila" joined us, and the command was divided be-
tween the two river-boats. We were assigned to the
"Gila," and I settled myself down with my belong-
ings, for the remainder of the journey up river.
We resigned ourselves to the dreadful heat, and at
the end of two more days the river had begun to
narrow, and we arrived at Fort Yuma, which was at
that time the post best known to, and most talked
about by army officers of any in Arizona. No one
except old campaigners knew much about any other
post in the Territory.
It was said to be the very hottest place that ever
existed, and from the time we left San Francisco we
had heard the story, oft repeated, of the poor soldier
who died at Fort Yuma, and after awhile returned to
beg for his blankets, having found the regions of
Pluto so much cooler than the place he had left. But
the fort looked pleasant to us, as we approached. It
lay on a high mesa to the left of us and there was a
little green grass where the post was built.
None of the officers knew as yet their destination,
45
VANISHED ARIZONA
and I found myself wishing it might be our good
fortune to stay at Fort Yuma. It seemed such a
friendly place.
Lieutenant Haskell, Twelfth Infantry, who was
stationed there, came down to the boat to greet us,
and brought us our letters from home. He then ex-
tended his gracious hospitality to us all, arranging
for us to come to his quarters the next day for a meal,
and dividing the party as best he could accommodate
us. It fell to our lot to go to breakfast with Major
and Mrs. Wells and Miss Wilkins.
An ambulance was sent the next morning, at nine
o'clock, to bring us up the steep and winding road,
white with heat, which led to the fort.
I can never forget the taste of the oatmeal with
fresh milk, the eggs and butter, and delicious toma-
toes, which were served to us in his latticed dining-
room.
After twenty-three days of heat and glare, and
scorching winds, and stale food. Fort Yuma and
Mr. Haskell's dining-room seemed like Paradise.
Of course it was hot; it was August, and we ex-
pected it. But the heat of those places can be much
alleviated by the surroundings. There were shower
baths, and latticed piazzas, and large ollas hanging in
the shade of them, containing cool water. Yuma was
only twenty days from San Francisco, and they were
able to get many things direct by steamer. Of course
there was no ice, and butter was kept only by in-
46
THE SLUE
genious devices of the Chinese servants; there were
but few vegetables, but what was to be had at all in
that country, was to be had at Fort Yuma.
We staid one more day, and left two companies of
the regiment there. When we departed, I felt, some-
how, as though we were saying good-bye to the world
and civilization, and as our boat clattered and tugged
away up river with its great wheel astern, I could not
help looking back longingly to old Fort Yuma.
(47)
CHAPTER VI
UP THE RIO COI.ORADO
And now began our real journey up the Colorado
River, that river unknown to me except in my early
geography lessons — that mighty and untamed river,
which is to-day unknown except to the explorer, or
the few people who have navigated its turbulent
waters. Back in memory was the picture of it on the
map; here was the reality, then, and here we were,
on the steamer "Gila,'' Captain Mellon, with the
barge full of soldiers towing on after us, starting for
Fort Mojave, some two hundred miles above.
The vague and shadowy foreboding that had flut-
tered through my mind before I left Fort Russell had
now also become a reality and crowded out every
other thought. The river, the scenery, seemed, after
all, but an illusion, and interested me but in a dreamy
sort of way.
We had staterooms, but could not remain in
them long at a time, on account of the intense heat.
I had never felt such heat, and no one else ever had
or has since. The days were interminable. We
wandered around the boat, first forward, then aft, to
find a cool spot. We hung up our canteens (covered
with flannel and dipped in water), where they would
swing in the shade, thereby obtaining water which
48
UP THE RIO COLORADO.
was a trifle cooler than the air. There was no ice,
and consequently no fresh provisions. A Chinaman
served as steward and cook, and at the ringing of a
bell we all went into a small saloon back of the pilot-
house, where the meals were served. Our party at
table on the "Gila" consisted of several unmarried
officers, and several officers with their wives, about
eight or nine in all, and we could have had a merry
time enough but for the awful heat, which destroyed
both our good looks and our tempers. The fare was
meagre, of course; fresh buscuit without butter, very
salt boiled beef, and some canned vegetables, which
were poor enough in those days. Pies made from
preserved peaches or plums generally followed this
delectable course. Chinamen, as we all know, can
make pies under conditions that would stagger most
chefs. They may have no marble pastry-slab, and the
lard may run like oil, still they can make pies that
taste good to the hungry traveller.
But that dining-room was hot ! The metal handles
of the knives were uncomfortably warm to the touch ;
and even the wooden arms of the chairs felt as if they
were slowly igniting. After a hasty meal, and a few
remarks upon the salt beef, and the general misery of
our lot, we would seek some spot which might be a
trifle cooler. A siesta was out of the question, as the
staterooms were insufferable; and so we dragged out
the weary days.
At sundown the boat put her nose up to the bank
49
VANISHED ARIZONA
and tied up i^f the night. The soldiers left the
barges and went into camp on shore, to cook their
suppers and to sleep. The banks of the river offered
no very attractive spot upon which to make a camp;
they were low, flat, and covered with underbrush and
arrow-weed, which grew thick to the water's edge. I
always found it interesting to watch the barge unload
the men at sundown.
At twilight some of the soldiers came on board and
laid our mattresses side by side on the after deck.
Pajamas and loose gowns were soon en evidence^ but
nothing mattered, as they were no electric lights to
disturb us with their glare. Rank also mattered not;
Lieutenant-Colonel Wilkins and his wife lay down to
rest, with the captains and lieutenants and their
wives, wherever their respective strikers had placed
their mattresses (for this was the good old time when
the soldiers were allowed to wait upon officers'
families).
Under these circumstances, much sleep was not to
be thought of ; the sultry heat by the river bank, and
the pungent smell of the arrow-weed which lined the
shores thickly, contributed more to stimulate than to
soothe the weary nerves. But the glare of the sun
was gone, and after awhile a stillness settled down
upon this company of Uncle Sam's servants and their
followers. (In the Army Regulations, wives are not
rated except as ''camp followers.")
But even this short respite from the glare of the
50
UP THE RIO COLORADO
sun was soon to end ; for before the crack of dawn, or,
as it seemed to us, shortly after midnight, came such a
clatter with the fires and the high-pressure engine and
the sparks, and what all they did in that wild and reck-
less land, that further rest was impossible, and we
betook ourselves with our mattresses to the staterooms^
for another attempt at sleep, which, however, meant
only failure, as the sun rose incredibly early on that
river, and we were glad to take a hasty sponge from a
basin of rather thick looking river-water, and go again
out on deck, where we could always get a cup of black
coffee from the Chinaman.
And thus began another day of intolerable glare
and heat. Conversation lagged; no topic seemed to
have any interest except the thermometer, which hung
in the coolest place on the boat; and one day when
Major Worth looked at it and pronounced it one
hundred and twenty-two in the shade, a grim despair
seized upon me, and I wondered how much more
heat human beings could endure. There was nothing
to relieve the monotony of the scenery. On each side
of us, low river banks, and nothing between those
and the horizon line. On our left was Lower * Cali-
fornia, and on our right, Arizona. Both appeared to
be deserts.
*This term is here used (as we used it at Ehrenberg) to
designate the low, fiat lands west of the river, without any
reference to Lower California proper, — the long peninsula
belonging to Mexico.
51
VANISHED ARIZONA
As the river narrowed, however, the trip began to
be enlivened by the constant danger of getting
aground on the shifting sand-bars which are so numer-
ous in this mighty river. Jack Mellon was then the
most famous pilot on the Colorado, and he was very
skilful in steering clear of the sand-bars, skimming
over them, or working his boat ofif, when once fast
upon them. The deck-hands, men of a mixed Indian
and Mexican race, stood ready with long poles, in
the bow, to jump overboard, when we struck a bar,
and by dint of pushing, and reversing the engine, the
boat would swing off.
On approaching a shallow place, they would sound
with their poles, and in a sing-song high-pitched tone
drawl out the number of feet. Sometimes their
sleepy drawling tones would suddenly cease, and cry-
ing loudly, ''No alii aguaT they would swing them-
selves over the side of the boat into the river, and
begin their strange and intricate manipulations with
the poles. Then, again, they would carry the anchor
away off and by means of great spars, and some
method too complicated for me to describe. Captain
Mellon would fairly lift the boat over the bar.
But our progress was naturally much retarded, and
sometimes we were aground an hour, sometimes a
half day or more. Captain Mellon was always cheer-
ful. River steamboating was his life, and sand-bars
were his excitement. On one occasion, I said, ^'Oh!
Captain, do you think we shall get off this bar to-
52
UP THE RIO COLORADO
day?'' 'Well, you can't tell," he said, with a
twinkle in his eye; ''one trip, I lay fifty-two days on
a bar," and then, after a short pause, "but that
don't happen very often; we sometimes lay a week,
though; there is no telling; the bars change all the
time."
Sometimes the low trees and brushwood on the
banks parted, and a young squaw would peer out at
us. This was a little diversion, and picturesque
besides. They wore very short skirts made of
stripped bark, and as they held back the branches of
the low willows, and looked at us with curiosity, they
made pictures so pretty that I have never forgotten
them. We had no kodaks then, but even if we had
had them, they could not have reproduced the fine
copper color of those bare shoulders and arms, the
soft wood colors of the short bark skirts, the gleam
of the sun upon their blue-black hair, and the
turquoise color of the wide bead-bands which encir-
cled their arms.
One morning, as I was trying to finish out a nap
in my stateroom. Jack came excitedly in and said:
"Get up, Martha, we are coming to Ehrenberg!"
Visions of castles on the Rhine, and stories of the
middle ages floated through my mind, as I sprang up,
in pleasurable anticipation of seeing an interesting
and beautiful place. Alas ! for my ignorance. I saw
but a row of low thatched hovels, perched on the edge
of the ragged looking river-bank; a road ran length-
53
VANISHED ARIZONA
wise along, and opposite the hovels I saw a store and
some more mean-looking huts of adobe.
^^Oh! Jack!" I cried, ^'and is that Ehrenberg? Who
on earth gave such a name to the wretched place?"
''Oh, some old German prospector, I suppose; but
never mind, the place is all right enough. Come!
Hurry up! We are going to stop here and land
freight. There is an officer stationed here. See those
low white walls? That is where he lives. Captain
Bernard of the Fifth Cavalry. It's quite a place;
come out and see it."
But I did not go ashore. Of all dreary, miserable-
looking settlements that one could possibly imagine,
that was the worst. An unfriendly, dirty, and Heaven-
forsaken place, inhabited by a poor class of Mexicans
and half-breeds. It was, however, an important ship-
ping station for freight which was to be sent overland
to the interior, and there was always one army officer
stationed there.
Captain Bernard came on board to see us. I did
not ask him how he liked his station ; it seemed to me
too satirical; like asking the Prisoner of Chillon, for
instance, how he liked his dungeon.
I looked over towards those low white walls, which
enclosed the Government corral and the habitation of
this officer, and thanked my stars that no such dread-
ful detail had come to my husband. I did not dream
that in less than a year this exceptionally hard fate
was to be my own.
54
UP THE RIO COLORADO
We left Ehrenberg with no regrets, and pushed on
up river.
On the third of September the boilers "foamed" so
that we had to tie up for nearly a day. This was
caused by the water being so very muddy. The Rio
Colorado deserves its name, for its swift-flowing
current sweeps by like a mass of seething red liquid,
turbulent and thick and treacherous. It was said on
the river, that those who sank beneath its surface
were never seen again, and in looking over into those
whirlpools and swirling eddies, one might well believe
this to be true.
From there on, up the river, we passed through
great canons and the scenery was grand enough ; but
one cannot enjoy scenery with the mercury ranging
from 107 to 122 in the shade. The grandeur was
quite lost upon us all, and we were suffocated by the
scorching heat radiating from those massive walls of
rocks between which we puffed and clattered along.
I must confess that the history of this great river
was quite unknown to me then. I had never read of
the early attempts made to explore it, both from above
and from its mouth, and the wonders of the ''Grand
Canon" were as yet unknown to the world. I did not
realize that, as we steamed along between those high
perpendicular walls of rock, we were really seeing
the lower end of that great chasm which now, thirty
years later, has become one of the most famous resorts
of this country and, in fact, of the world.
55
VANISHED ARIZONA
There was some mention made of Major Powell,
that daring adventurer, who, a few years previously,
had accomplished the marvellous feat of going down
the Colorado and through the Grand Canon, in a small
boat, he being the first man who had at that time ever
accomplished it, many men having lost their lives in
the attempt.
At last, on the 8th of September, we arrived at
Camp Mojave, on the right bank cf the river; a low,
square enclosure, on the low level of the flat land
near the river. It seemed an age since we had left
Yuma and twice an age since we had left the mouth
of the river. But it was only eighteen days in all, and
Captain Mellon remarked: "A quick trip!" and con-
gratulated us on the good luck we had had in not
being detained on the sandbars. "Great Heavens,''
I thought, "if that is what they call a quick trip!"
But I do not know just what I thought, for those
eighteen days on the Great Colorado in midsummer,
had burned themselves into my memory, and I made
an inward vow that nothing would ever force me
into such a situation again. I did not stop to really
think; I only felt, and my only feeling was a desire
Dellenbaugh, who was with Powell in 1869 in his second
expedition down the river in small boats, has given to
the world a most interesting account of this wonderful river
and the canons through which it cuts its tempestuous way
to the Gulf of California, in two volumes entitled **The
Romance of the Great Colorado'' and *'A Canon Voyage ".
56
UP THE RIO COLORADO
to get cool and to get out of the Territory in some
other way and at some cooler season. How futile
a wish, and how futile a vow !
We bade good-bye to our gallant river captain and
watched the great stern-wheeler as she swung out
into the stream, and, heading up river, disappeared
around a bend ; for even at that tnne this venturesome
pilot had pushed his boat farther up than any other
steam-craft had ever gone, and we heard that there
were terrific rapids and falls and unknown mysteries
above. The superstition of centuries hovered over
the ''great cut," and but few civilized beings had
looked down into its awful depths. Brave, dashing,
handsome Jack Mellon ! What would I give and what
would we all give, to see thee once more, thou Wizard
of the Great Colorado !
We turned our faces towards the Mojave desert,
and I wondered, what next?
The Post Surgeon kindly took care of us for two
days and nights, and we slept upon the broad piazzas
of his quarters.
We heard no more the crackling and fizzing of the
stern-wheeler's high-pressure engines at daylight, and
our eyes, tired with gazing at the red whirlpools of
the river, found relief in looking out upon the grey-
white flat expanse which surrounded Fort Mojave,
and mergqd itself into the desert beyond.
(57)
CHAPTER VII
the: mojave desert
Thou white and dried-up sea! so old!
So strewn with wealth, so sown with gold!
Yes, thou art old and hoary white
With time and ruin of all things,
And on thy lonesome borders Night
Sits brooding o'er with drooping wings.
—JOAQUIN MILLER.
The country had grown steadily more unfriendly
ever since leaving Fort Yuma, and the surroundings
of Camp Mojave were dreary enough.
But we took time to sort out our belongings, and
the officers arranged for transportation across the
Territory. Some had bought, in San Francisco, com-
fortable travelling-carriages for their families. They
were old campaigners ; they knew a thing or two about
Arizona; we lieutenants did not know, we had never
heard much about this part of our country. But a
comfortable large carriage, known as a Dougherty
wagon, or, in common army parlance, an ambulance,
was secured for me to travel in. This vehicle had a
large body, with two seats facing each other, and a
seat outside for the driver. The inside of the wagon
could be closed if desired by canvas sides and back
which rolled up and down, and by a curtain which
58
,^^.i«f1^''^^;?'.^^l*^^w
'Jack" Mellon, the Famous Pilot
of the Colorado River, 1875.
THE MOJAVE DESERT
dropped behind the driver's seat. So I was enabled
to have some degree of privacy, if I wished.
We repacked our mess-chest, and bought from the
Commissary at Mojave the provisions necessary for
the long journey to Fort Whipple, which was the
destination of one of the companies and the head-
quarters officers.
On the morning of September loth everything in
the post was astir with preparations for the first
march. It was now thirty- five days since we left San
Francisco, but the change from boat to land travelling
offered an agreeable diversion after the monotony of
the river. I watched with interest the loading of the
great prairie-schooners, into which went the soldiers'
boxes and the camp equipage. Outside was lashed a
good deal of the lighter stuff; I noticed a barrel of
china, which looked much like our own, lashed directly
over one wheel. Then there were the massive blue
army wagons, which were also heavily loaded; the
laundresses with their children and belongings were
placed in these.
At last the commarid moved out. It was to me a
novel sight. The wagons and schooners were each
drawn by teams of six heavy mules, while a team of
six lighter mules was put to each ambulance and
carriage. These were quite different from the
draught animals I had always seen in the Eastern
States; these Government mules being sleek, well-fed
and trained to trot as fast as the average carriage-
59
VANISHED ARIZONA
horse. The harnesses were quite smart, being trim-
med off with white ivory rings. Each mule was
"Lize" or "Fanny" or ''Kate'', and the soldiers
who handled the lines were accustomed to the work;
for work, and arduous work, it proved to be, as we
advanced into the then unknown Territory of Arizona.
The main body of the troops marched in advance;
then came th6 ambulances and carriages, followed by
the baggage-wagons and a small rear-guard. When
the troops were halted once an hour for rest, the
officers, who marched with the soldiers, would come to
the ambulances and chat awhile, until the bugle call
for "Assembly" sounded, when they would join their
commands again, the men would fall in, the call "For-
ward" was sounded, and the small-sized army train
moved on.
The first day's march was over a dreary country;
a hot wind blew, and everything was filled with dust.
I had long ago discarded my hat, as an unnecessary
and troublesome article; consequently my head was
now a mass of fine white dust, which stuck fast, of
course. I was covered from head to foot with it, and
it would not shake off, so, although our steamboat
troubles were over, our land troubles had begun.
We reached, after a few hours' travel, the desolate
place where we were to camp.
In the mean time, it had been arranged for Major
Worth, who had no family, to share our mess, and
we had secured the services of a soldier belonging to
60
THE MOJAVE DESERT
his company whose ability as a camp cook was known
to both officers.
I cannot say that Hfe in the army, as far as I had
gone, presented any very great attractions. This, our
first camp, was on the river, a Httle above Hardyville.
Good water was there, and that was all ; I had not yet
learned to appreciate that. There was not a tree nor
a shrub to give shade. The only thing I could see,
except sky and sand, was a ruined adobe enclosure,
with no roof. I sat in the ambulance until our tent
was pitched, and then Jack came to me, followed by
a six-foot soldier, and said: ''Mattie, this is Bowen,
our striker ; now I want you to tell him what he shall
cook for our supper; and — don't you think it would
be nice if you could show him how to make some of
those good New England doughnuts? I think Major
Worth might like them; and after all the awful stuff
we have had, you know," et ccetera, et ccetera. I met
the situation, after an inward struggle, and said,
weakly, ''Where are the eggs?" "Oh," said he, ''you
don't need eggs; you're on the frontier now; you
must learn to do without eggs."
Everything in me rebelled, but still I yielded. You
see I had been married only six months ; the women
at home, and in Germany also, had always shown
great deference to their husbands' wishes. But at
that moment I almost wished Major Worth and Jack
and Bowen and the mess-chest at the bottom of the
Rio Colorado. However, I nerved myself for the
6i
VANISHED ARIZONA
effort, and when Bowen had his camp-fire made, he
came and called me.
At the best, I never had much confidence in my
ability as a cook, but as a camp cook! Ah, me!
Everything seemed to swim before my eyes, and I
fancied that the other women were looking at me from
their tents. Bowen was very civil, turned back the
cover of the mess-chest and propped it up. That was
the table. Then he brought me a tin basin, and some
flour, some condensed milk, some sugar, and a rolling-
pin, and then he hung a camp-kettle with lard in it
over the fire. I stirred up a mixture in the basin,
but the humiliation of failure was spared me, for just
then, without warning, came one of those terrific sand-
storms which prevail on the deserts of Arizona, blow-
ing us all before it in its fury, and filling everything
vv/ith sand.
We all scurried to the tents; some of them had
f'lown down. There was not much shelter, but the
storm was soon over, and we stood collecting our scat-
tered senses. I saw Mrs. Wilkins at the door of her
tent. She beckoned to me; I went over there, and
she said: "Now, my dear, I am going to give you
some advice. You must not take it unkindly. I am
an old army woman and I have made many cam-
paigns with the Colonel; you have but just joined the
army. You must never try to do any cooking at the
camp-fire. The soldiers are there for that work, and
they know lots more about it than any of us do."
62
THE MOJAVE DESERT
''But, Jack," I began—
''Never mind Jack,'' said she; "he does not know
as much as I do about it; and when you reach your
post/' she added, "you can show him what you can
do in that Hne."
Bowen cleared away the sandy remains of the
doubtful dough, and prepared for us a very fair
supper. Soldiers' bacon, and coffee, and biscuits
baked in a Dutch oven.
While waiting for the sun to set, we took a short
stroll over to the adobe ruins. Inside the enclosure
lay an enormous rattlesnake, coiled. It was the first
one I had ever seen except in a cage, and I was fas-
cinated by the horror of the round, greyish-looking
heap, so near the color of the sand on which it lay.
Some soldiers came and killed it. But I noticed that
Bowen took extra pains that night, to spread buffalo
robes under our mattresses, and to place around them
a hair lariat. "Snakes won't cross over thatj' he
said, with a grin.
Bowen was a character. Originally from some farm
in Vermont, he had served some years with the
Eighth Infantry, and for a long time in the same
company under Major Worth, and had cooked for the
bachelors' mess. He was very tall, and had a good-
natured face, but he did not have much opinion of
what is known as etiquette, either military or civil ; he
seemed to consider himself a sort of protector to the
officers of Company K, and now, as well^ to the woman
63
VANISHED ARIZONA
who had joined the company. He took us all under
his wing, as it were, and although he had to be
sharply reprimanded sometimes, in a kind of language
which he seemed to expect, he was allowed more lati-
tude than most soldiers.
This was my first night under canvas in the army.
I did not like those desert places, and they grew
to have a horror for me.
At four o'clock in the morning the cook's call
sounded, the mules were fed, and the crunching and
the braying were something to awaken the heaviest
sleepers. Bowen called us. I was much upset by
the dreadful dust, which was thick upon everything
I touched. We had to hasten our toilet, as they were
striking tents and breaking camp early, in order to
reach before noon the next place where there was
water. Sitting on camp-stools, around the mess-tables,
in the open, before the break of day, we swallowed
some black coffee and ate some rather thick slices of
bacon and dry bread. The Wilkins' tent was near
ours, and I said to them, rather peevishly: "Isn't
this dust something awful?"
Miss Wilkins looked up with her sweet smile and
gentle manner and replied: ''Why, yes, Mrs. Sum-
merhayes, it is pretty bad, but you must not worry
about such a little thing as dust."
''How can I help it?" I said; "my hair, my clothes,
everything full of it, and no chance for a bath or a
change: a miserable little basin of water and "
64
THE MOJAVE DESERT
I suppose I was running on with all my grievances,
but she stopped me and said again: "Soon, now, you
will not mind it at all. Ella and I are army girls,
you know, and we do not mind anything. There's no
use in fretting about little things."
Miss Wilkins' remarks made a tremendous impres-
sion upon my mind and I began to study her
philosophy.
At break of day the command marched out, their
rifles on their shoulders, swaying along ahead of us,
in the sunlight and the heat, which continued still
to be almost unendurable. The dry white dust of
this desert country boiled and surged up and around
us in suffocating clouds.
I had my own canteen hung up in the ambulance,
but the water in it got very warm and I learned to
take but a swallow at a time, as it could not be refilled
until we reached the next spring — and there is always
some uncertainty in Arizona as to whether the spring
or basin has gone dry. So water was precious, and
we could not afford to waste a drop.
At about noon we reached a forlorn mud hut,
known as Packwood's ranch. But the place had a
bar, which was cheerful for some of the poor men,
as the two days' marches had been rather hard upon
them, being so "soft" from the long voyage. I could
never begrudge a soldier a bit of cheer after the hard
marches in Arizona, through miles of dust and burn-
ing heat, their canteens long emptied and their lips
65
k
VANISHED ARIZONA
parched and dry. I watched them often as they
marched along with their blanket-rolls, their haver-
sacks, and their rifles, and I used to wonder that they
did not complain.
About that time the greatest luxury in the entire
world seemed to me to be a glass of fresh sweet milk,
and I shall always remember Mr. Packwood's ranch,
because we had milk to drink with our supper, and
some delicious quail to eat.
Ranches in that part of Arizona meant only low
adobe dwellings occupied by prospectors or men who
kept the relays of animals for stage routes. Wretched,
forbidding-looking places they were ! Never a tree or
a bush to give shade, never a sign of comfort or
home.
Our tents were pitched near Packwood's, out in
the broiling sun. They were like ovens ; there was no
shade, no coolness anywhere; we would have gladly
slept, after the day's march, but instead we sat broil-
ing in the ambulances, and waited for the long after-
noon to wear away.
The next day dragged along in the same manner;
the command marching bravely along through dust
and heat and thirst, as Kipling's soldier sings :
''With its best foot first
And the road a-sliding past,
An' every bloomin' c ampin '-ground
Exactly like the last''.
66
THE MOJAVE DESERT
Beal's Springs did not differ from the other ranch,
except that possibly it was even more desolate. But
a German lived there, who must have had some
knowledge of cooking, for I remember that we bought
a peach pie from him and ate it with a relish. I
remember, too, that we gave him a good silver dollar
for it.
The only other incident of that day's march was
the suicide of Major Worth's pet dog 'Tete." Hav-
ing exhausted his ability to endure, this beautiful red
setter fixed his eye upon a distant range of mountains,
and ran without turning, or heeding any call, straight
as the crow flies, towards them and death. We never
saw him again; a ranchman told us he had known
of several other instances where a well-bred dog had
given up in this manner, and attempted to run for
the hills. We had a large greyhound with us, but
he did not desert.
Major Worth was much affected by the loss of his
dog, and did not join us at supper that night. We
kept a nice fat quail for him, however, and at about
nine o'clock, when all was still and dark. Jack
entered the Major's tent and said: "Come now,
Major, my wife has sent you this nice quail; don't
give up so about Pete, you know."
The Major lay upon his camp-bed, with his face
turned to the wall of his tent; he gave a deep sigh,
rolled himself over and said: ''Well, put it on the
67
VANISHED ARIZONA
table, and light the candle; Til try to eat it. Thank
your wife for me."
So the Lieutenant made a light, and lo! and behold,
the plate was there, but the quail was gone! In the
darkness, our great kangaroo hound had stolen noise-
lessly upon his master's heels, and quietly removed
the bird. The two officers were dumbfounded.
Major Worth said: ''D n my luck;" and turned
his face again to the wall of his tent.
Now Major Worth was just the dearest and gentlest
sort of a man, but he had been born and brought up
in the old army, and everyone knows that times and
customs were different then.
Men drank more and swore a good deal, and while
I do not wish my story to seem profane, yet I would
not describe army life or the officers as I knew them,
if I did not allow the latter to use an occasional
strong expression.
The incident, however, served to cheer up the
Major, though he continued to deplore the loss of his
beautiful dog.
For the next two days our route lay over the
dreariest and most desolate country. It was not only
dreary, it was positively hostile in its attitude towards
every living thing except snakes, centipedes and
spiders. They seemed to flourish in those surroundings
Sometimes either Major Worth or Jack would come
and drive along a few miles in the ambulance with
me to cheer me up, and they allowed me to abuse the
68
MOJAVE DESERT.
country to my heart's content. It seemed to do me
much good. The desert was new to me then. I had
not read Pierre Loti's wonderful book, 'Xe Desert/'
and I did not see much to admire in the desolate
waste lands through which we were travelling. I did
not dream of the power of the desert, nor that I
should ever long to see it again. But as I write, the
longing possesses me, and the pictures then indelibly
printed upon my mind, long forgotten amidst the
scenes and events of half a lifetime, unfold themselves
like a panorama before my vision and call me to come
back, to look upon them once more.
(69)
CHAPTER VIII
I^EARNING HOW TO SOI.DIER
''The grasses failed, and then a mass
Of dry red cactus ruled the land:
The sun rose right above and fell,
As falling molten from the skies.
And no winged thing was seen to pass."
—JOAQUIN MILLER.
We) made fourteen miles the next day, and went
into camp at a place called Freeze-wash, near some
old silver mines. A bare and lonesome spot, where
there was only sand to be seen, and some black,
burnt-looking rocks. From under these rocks, crept
lizards, snakes, and great tarantulas, not forgetting
the scorpion, which ran along with its tail turned up,
ready to sting anything that came in its way. The
place furnished good water, however, and that was
now the most important thing.
The next day's march was a long one. The guides
said: "Twenty-eight miles to Willow Grove Springs. '*
The command halted ten minutes every hour for
rest, but the sun poured down upon us, and I was glad
to stay in the ambulance. It was at these times that
my thoughts turned back to the East and to the blue
sea and the green fields of God's country. I looked
out at the men, who were getting pretty well fagged,
70
LEARNING HOW TO SOLDIER
and at the young officers whose uniforms were white
with dust, and Frau Weste's words about glaenzendes
Blend came to my mind. I fell to thinking: was the
army life, then, only "glittering misery," and had 1
come to participate in it?
Some of the old soldiers had given out, and had to
be put on the army wagons. I was getting to look
rather fagged and seedy, and was much annoyed at
my appearance. Not being acquainted with the
vicissitudes of the desert, I had not brought in my
travelling-case a sufficient number of thin wash-
bodices. The few I had soon became black beyond
recognition, as the dust boiled (literally) up and into
the ambulance and covered me from head to foot.
But there was no help for it, and no one was much
better off.
It was about that time that we began to see the out-
lines of a great mountain away to the left and north
of us. It seemed to grow nearer and nearer, and
fascinated our gaze.
Willow Grove Springs was reached at four o'clock,
and the small cluster of willow trees was most refresh-
ing to our tired eyes. The next day's march was
over a rolling country. We began to see grass, and
to feel that, at last, we were out of the desert. The
wonderful mountain still loomed up large and clear
on our left. I thought of the old Spanish explorers,
and wondered if they came so far as this, when they
journeyed through that part of our country three
71
VANISHED ARIZONA
hundred years before. I wondered what beautiful
and high-sounding name they might have given it.
I wondered a good deal about that bare and isolated
mountain, rising out of what seemed an endless waste
of sand. I asked the driver if he knew the name
of it : "That is Bill Williams' mountain, ma'am,'' he
replied, and relapsed into his customary silence, which
was unbroken except by an occasional remark to the
wheelers or the leaders.
I thought of the Harz Mountains, which I had so
recently tramped over, and the romantic names and
legends connected with them, and I sighed to think
such an imposing landmark as this should have such
a prosiac name. I realized that Arizona was not a
land of romance; and when Jack came to the am-
bulance, I said, "Don't you think it a pity that such
monstrous things are allowed in America, as to call
that great fine mountain 'Bill WilHams' mountain'?"
"Why no," he said; "I suppose he discovered it,,
and I dare say he had a hard enough time before he
got to it."
We camped at Port Rock, and Lieutenant Bailey
shot an antelope. It was the first game we had seen ;
our spirits revived a bit; the sight of green grass
and trees brought new life to us.
Anvil Rock and old Camp Hualapais were our next
two stopping places. We drove through groves of
oaks, cedars and pines, and the days began hope-
fully and ended pleasantly. To be sure, the roads
72
LEARNING HOW TO SOLDIER
were very rough and our bones ached after a long
day's travelling. But our tents were now pitched
under tall pine trees and looked inviting. Soldiers
have a knack of making a tent attractive.
'' Madame, the Lieutenant's compliments, and your
tent is ready."
I then alighted and found my little home awaiting
me. The tent-flaps tied open, the mattresses laid, the
blankets turned back, the camp-table with candle-stick
upon it, and a couple of camp-chairs at the door of
the tent. Surely it is good to be in the army I then
thought; and after a supper consisting of soldiers'
hot biscuit, antelope steak broiled over the coals, and
a large cup of black coffee, I went to rest, listening
to the soughing of the pines.
My mattress was spread always upon the ground,
with a buffalo robe under it and a hair lariat around
it, to keep off the snakes ; as it is said they do not like
to cross them. I found the ground more comfortable
than the camp cots which were used by some of the
officers, and most of the women.
The only Indians we had seen up to that time were
the peacefu tribes of the Yumas, Cocopahs and Mo-
javes, who lived along the Colorado. We had not yet
entered the land of the dread Apache.
The nights were now cool enough, and I never knew
sweeter rest than came to me in the midst of those
pine groves.
Our road was gradually turning southward, but
n
VANISHED ARIZONA
for some days Bill Williams was the predominating
feature of the landscape; turn whichever way we
might, still this purple mountain was before us. It
seemed to pervade the entire country, and took on
such wonderful pink colors at sunset. Bill Williams
held me in thrall, until the hills and valleys in the
vicinity of Fort Whipple shut him out from my sight.
But he seemed to have come into my life somehow,
and in spite of his name, I loved him for the com-
panionship he had given me during those long, hot,
weary and interminable days.
About the middle of September, we arrived at
American ranch, some ten miles from Fort Whipple,
which was the headquarters station. Colonel Wilkins
and his family left us, and drove on to their destina-
tion. Some officers of the Fifth Cavalry rode out to
greet us, and Lieutenant Earl Thomas asked me to
come into the post and rest a day or two at their
house, as we then had learned that K Company was
to march on to Camp Apache, in the far eastern part
of the Territory .
We were now enabled to get some fresh clothing
from our trunks, which were in the depths of the
prairie-schooners, and all the officers' wives were glad
to go into the post, where we were most kindly enter-
tained. Fort Whipple was a very gay and hospitable
post, near the town of Prescott, which was the capital
city of Arizona. The country being mountainous and
fertile, the place was very attractive, and I felt sorry
74
LEARNING HOW TO SOLDIER
that we were not to remain there. But I soon learned
that in the army, regrets were vain. I soon ceased to
ask myself whether I was sorry or glad at any change
in our stations.
On the next day the troops marched in, and camped
outside the post. The married officers were able to
join their wives, and the three days we spent there
were delightful. There was a dance given, several
informal dinners, drives into the town of Prescott,
and festivities of various kinds. General Crook com-
manded the Department of Arizona then ; he was out
on some expedition, but Mrs. Crook gave a pleasant
dinner for us. After dinner, Mrs. Crook came and
sat beside me, asked kindly about our long journey,
and added: '1 am truly sorry the General is away;
I should like for him to meet you; you are just the
sort of woman he likes." A few years afterwards I
met the General, and remembering this remark, I was
conscious of making a special effort to please. The
indifferent courtesy with which he treated me, how-
ever, led me to think that women are often mistaken
judges of their husband's tastes.
The officers' quarters at Fort Whipple were quite
commodious, and after seven weeks' continuous trav-
elling, the comforts which surrounded me at Mrs.
Thomas' home seemed like the veriest luxuries. I
was much affected by the kindness shown me by
people I had never met before, and I kept wondering
if I should ever have an opportunity to return their
75
VANISHED ARIZONA
courtesies. *'Don't worry about that, Martha," said
Jack, "your turn will come."
He proved a true prophet, for sooner or later, I
saw them all again, and was able to extend to them
the hospitality of an army home. Nevertheless, my
heart grows warm whenever I think of the people who
first welcomed me to Arizona, me a stranger in the
army, and in the great southwest as well.
At Fort Whipple we met also some people we had
known at Fort Russell, who had gone down with the
first detachment, among them Major and Mrs. Wil-
helm, who were to remain at headquarters. We bade
good-bye to the Colonel and his family, to the officers
of F, who were to stay behind, and to our kind friends
of the Fifth Cavalry.
We now made a fresh start, with Captain Ogilby
in command. Two days took us into Camp Verde,
which lies on a mesa above the river from which it
takes its name.
Captain Brayton, of the Eight Infantry, and his
wife, who were already settled at Camp Verde, re-
ceived us and took the best care of us. Mrs. Brayton
gave me a few more lessons in army house-keeping,
and I could not have had a better teacher. I told
her about Jack and the tinware; her bright eyes
snapped, and she said: "Men think they know every-
thing, but the truth is, they don't know anything;
you go right ahead and have all the tinware and other
things; all you can get, in fact; and when the time
76
LEARNING HOW TO SOLDIER
comes to move, send Jack out of the house, get a
soldier to come in and pack you up, and say nothing
about it/'
''But the weight—"
''Fiddlesticks! They all say that; now you just
not mind their talk, but take all you need, and it will
get carried along, somehow."
Still another company left our ranks, and remained
at Camp Verde. The command was now getting de-
plorably small, I thought, to enter an Indian country,
for we were now to start for Camp Apache. Several
routes were discussed, but, it being quite early in the
autumn, and the Apache Indians being just then com-
paratively quiet, they decided to march the troops
over Crook's Trail, which crossed the Mogollon range
and was considered to be shorter than any other. It
was all the same to me. I had never seen a map of
Arizona, and never heard of Crook's Trail. Maps
never interested me, and I had not read much about
life in the Territories. At that time, the history of
our savage races was a blank page to me. I had been
listening to the stories of an old civilization, and
my mind did not adjust itself readily to the new
surroundings.
(77)
CHAPTER IX
ACROSS THE MOGOI^IvONS
It was a fine afternoon in the latter part of Sep-
tember, when our small detachment, with Captain
Ogilby in command, marched out of Camp Verde.
There were two companies of soldiers, numbering
about a hundred men in all, five or six officers, Mrs.
Bailey and myself, and a couple of laundresses. I
cannot say that we were gay. Mrs. Bailey had said
good-bye to her father and mother and sister at Fort
Whipple, and although she was an army girl, she did
not seem to bear the parting very philosophically.
Her young child, nine months old, was with her, and
her husband, as stalwart and handsome an officer as
ever wore shoulder-straps. But we were facing un-
known dangers, in a far country, away from mother,
father, sister and brother — a country infested with
roving bands of the most cruel tribe ever known, who
tortured before they killed. We could not even pre-
tend to be gay.
The travelling was very difficult and rough, and
both men and animals were worn out by night. But
we were now in the mountains, the air was cool and
pleasant, and the nights so cold that we were glad to
have a small stove in our tents to dress by in the
mornings. The scenery was wild and grand; in fact,
78
ACROSS THE MOGOLLONS
beyond all that I had ever dreamed of; more than
that, it seemed so untrod, so fresh, somehow, and I
do not suppose that even now, in the day of rail-
roads and tourists, many people have had the view of
the Tonto Basin which we had one day from the top
of the Mogollon range.
I remember thinking, as we alighted from our am-
bulances and stood looking over into the Basin,
*' Surely I have never seen anything to compare with
this — but oh ! would any sane human being voluntarily
go through with what I have endured on this journey,
in order to look upon this wonderful scene?"
The roads had now become so difficult that our
wagon-train could not move as fast as the lighter
vehicles or the troops. Sometimes at a critical place
in the road, where the ascent was not only dangerous,
but doubtful, or there was, perhaps, a sharp turn, the
ambulances waited to see the wagons safely over the
pass. Each wagon had its six mules ; each ambulance
had also its quota of six.
At the foot of one of these steep places, the wagons
would halt, the teamsters would inspect the road, and
calculate the possibilities of reaching the top; then,
furiously cracking their whips, and pouring forth
volley upon volley of oaths, they would start the team.
Each mule got its share of dreadful curses. I had
never heard or conceived of any oaths like those.
They made my blood fairly curdle, and I am not
speaking figuratively. The shivers ran up and down
79
VANISHED ARIZONA
my back, and I half expected to see those teamsters
struck down by the hand of the Almighty.
For although the anathemas hurled at my innocent
head, during the impressionable years of girlhood, by
the pale and determined Congregational ministers
with gold-bowed . spectacles, who held forth in the
meeting-house of my maternal ancestry (all honor
to their sincerity), had taken little hold upon my
mind, still, the vital drop of the Puritan was in my
blood, and the fear of a personal God and His wrath
still existed, away back in the hidden recesses of
my heart.
This swearing and lashing went on until the heavily-
loaded prairie-schooner, swaying, swinging, and swerv-
ing to the edge of the cut, and back again to the
perpendicular wall of the mountain, would finally
reach the top, and pass on around the bend;, then
another would do the same. Each teamster had his
own particular variety of oaths, each mule had a
feminine name, and this brought the swearing down
to a sort of personal basis. I remonstrated with Jack,
but he said: teamsters always swore; "the mules
wouldn't even stir to go up a hill, if they weren't
sworn at like that."
By the time we had crossed the great Mogollon
mesa, I had become accustomed to those dreadful
oaths, and learned to admire the skill, persistency and
endurance shown by those rough teamsters. I actu-
ally got so far as to believe what Jack had told me
80
ACROSS THE MOGOLLONS
about the swearing being necessary, for I saw impos-
sible feats performed by the combination.
When near camp, and over the difficult places, we
drove on ahead and waited for the wagons to come
in. It was sometimes late evening before tents could
be pitched and supper cooked. And oh! to see the
poor jaded animals when the wagons reached camp!
I could forget my own discomfort and even hunger,
when I looked at their sad faces.
One night the teamsters reported that a six-mule
team had rolled down the steep side of a mountain.
I did not ask what became of the poor faithful mules ;
I do not know, to this day. In my pity and real
distress over the fate of these patient brutes, I forgot
to inquire what boxes were on the unfortunate wagon.
We began to have some shooting. Lieutenant Bailey
shot a young deer, and some wild turkeys, and we
could not complain any more of the lack of fresh food.
It did not surprise us to learn that ours was the
first wagon-train to pass over Crook's Trail. For
miles and miles the so-called road was nothing but a
clearing, and we were pitched and jerked from side to
side of the ambulance, as we struck large rocks or
tree-stumps; in some steep places, logs were chained
to the rear of the ambulance, to keep it from pitching
forward onto the backs of the mules. At such places
I got out and picked my way down the rocky declivity.
We now began to hear of the Apache Indians, whp
8l
VANISHED ARIZONA
were always out, in either large or small bands, doing
their murderous work.
One day a party of horseman tore past us at a
gallop. Some of them raised their hats to us as they
rushed past, and our officers recognized General
Crook, but we could not, in the cloud of dust, dis-
tinguish officers from scouts. All wore the flannel
shirt, handkerchief tied about the neck, and broad
campaign hat.
After supper that evening, the conversation turned
upon Indians in general, and Apaches in particular.
We camped always at a basin, or a tank, or a hole, or
a spring, or in some canon, by a creek. Always from
water to water we marched. Our camp that night
was in the midst of a primeval grove of tall pine
trees; verily, an untrodden land. We had a big
camp-fire, and sat around it until very late. There
were only five or six officers, and Mrs. Bailey and
myself.
The darkness and blackness of the place were un-
canny. We all sat looking into the fire. Somebody
said, "Injuns would not have such a big fire as that.''
''No; you bet they wouldn't," was the quick reply
of one of the officers.
Then followed a long pause ; we all sat thinking, and
gazing into the fire, which crackled and leaped into
fitful blazes.
"Our figures must make a mighty good outline
against that fire," remarked one of officers, non-
82
ACROSS THE MOGOLLONS
chalantly; "I dare say those stealthy sons of Satan
know exactly where we are at this minute/' he added.
''Yes, you bet your life they do !" answered one
of the younger men, lapsing into the frontiersman's
language, from the force of his convictions.
'Xook behind you at those trees. Jack," said Major
Worth. ''Can you see anything? No! And if there
were an Apache behind each one of them, we should
never know it."
We all turned and peered into the black darkness
which surrounded us.
Another pause followed; the silence was weird —
only the cracking of the fire was heard, and the
mournful soughing of the wind in the pines.
Suddenly, a crash! We started to our feet and
faced around.
"A dead branch," said some one.
Major Worth shrugged his shoulders, and turning
to Jack, said, in a low tone, "D d if I don't believe
I'm getting nervous," and saying "good-night," he
walked towards his tent.
No element of doubt pervaded my mind as to my
own state. The weird feeling of being up in those
remote mountain passes, with but a handful of soldiers
against the wary Apaches, the mysterious look of those
black tree-trunks, upon which flickered the uncertain
light of the camp-fire now dying, and from behind
each one of which I imagined a red devil might be
at that moment taking aim with his deadly arrow,
83
VANISHED ARIZONA
all inspired me with fear such as I had never before
known.
In the cyclone which had overtaken our good ship
in mid-Atlantic, where we lay tossing about at the
mercy of the waves for thiry-six long hours, I had
expected to' yield my body to the dark and grewsome
depths of the ocean. I had almost felt the cold arms
of Death about me; but compared to the sickening
dread of the cruel Apache, my fears then had been as
naught. Facing the inevitable at sea, I had closed my
eyes and said good-bye to Life. But in this mys-
terious darkness, every nerve, every sense, was keenly
alive with terror.
Several of that small party around the camp-fire
have gone from amongst us, but I venture to say that,
of the few who are left, not one will deny that he
shared in the vague apprehension which seized upon
us.
Midnight found us still lingering around the dead
ashes of the fire. After going to our tent. Jack saw
that I was frightened. He said: *'Don't worry,
Martha, an Apache never was known to attack in the
night,'' and after hearing many repetitions of this
assertion, upon which I made him take his oath, I
threw myself upon the bed. After our candle was
out, I said: "When do they attack?" Jack who, with
the soldiers' indifiference to danger, was already half
asleep, replied: "Just before daylight, usually, .but
do not worry, I say; there aren't any Injuns in this
84
ACROSS THE MOGOLLONS
neighborhood. Why! Didn't you meet General
Crook to-day? You ought to have some sense. If
there'd been an Injun around here he would have
cleaned him out. Now go to sleep and don't be
foolish." But I was taking my first lessons in cam-
paigning, and sleep was not so easy.
Just before dawn, as I had fallen into a light slum-
ber, the flaps of the tent burst open, and began
shaking violently to and fro. I sprang to my feet,
prepared for the worst. Jack started up: "What is
it?'' he cried.
''It must have been the wind, I think, but it fright-
ened me," I murmured. The Lieutenant fastened the
tent-flaps together, and lay down to sleep again; but
my heart beat fast, and I listened for every sound.
The day gradually dawned, and with it my fears
of the night were allayed. But ever after that. Jack's
fatal answer, ''Just before daylight," kept my eyes
wide open for hours before the dawn.
(85)
CHAPTER X
A PERIIvOUS adventure:
One i^ine afternoon, after a march of twenty-two
miles over a rocky road, and finding our provisions
low. Mr. Bailey and Jack went out to shoot wild
tui*I:( } 3. As they shouldered their guns and walked
away. Captain Ogilby called out to them, "Do not go
too far from camp.''
Jack returned at sundown with a pair of fine
turkeys, but Bailey failed to come in. However, as
they all knew him to be an experienced woodsman,
no one showed much anxiety until darkness had set-
tled over the camp. Then they began to signal, by
discharging their rifles; the officers went out in vari-
ous directions, giving ''halloos," and firing at inter-
vals, but there came no sound of the missing man.
The camp was now thoroughly alarmed. This was
too dangerous a place for a man to be wandering
around in all night, and search-parties of soldiers were
formed. Trees were burned, and the din of rifles,
constantly discharged, added to the excitement. One
party after another came in. They had scoured the
country — and not a trace of Bailey.
The young wife sat in her tent, soothing her little
child; everybody except her, gave up hope; the time
dragged on ; our hearts grew heavy ; the sky was alight
with blazing trees.
86
A PERILOUS ADVENTURE
I went into Mrs. Bailey's tent. She was calm and
altogether lovely, and said: ''Charley can't get lost,
and unless something has happened to him, he will
come in."
Ella Bailey was a brave young army woman; she
was an inspiration to the entire camp.
Finally, after hours of the keenest anxiety, a noise
of gladsome shouts rang through the trees, and in
came a party of men with the young officer on their
shoulders. His friend Craig had been untiring in
the search, and at last had heard a faint ''halloo" in
the distance, and one shot (the only cartridge poor
Bailey had left).
After going over almost impassable places, they
finally found him, lying at the bottom of a ravine.
In the black darkness of the evening, he had walked
directly over the edge of the chasm and fallen to the
bottom, dislocating his ankle.
He was some miles from camp, and had used up all
his ammunition except the one cartridge. He had
tried in vain to walk or even crawl out of the ravine,
but had finally been overcome by exhaustion and lay
there helpless, in the wild fastnesses of the mountains.
A desparate situation, indeed! Some time after-
wards, he told me how he felt, when he realized how
poor his chances were, when he saw he had only one
cartridge left and found, that he had scarce strength
to answer a "halloo," should he hear one. But soldiers
never like to talk much about such things.
(87)
CHAPTER XI
CAMP APACHK
By Th^ fourth of October we had crossed the
range, and began to see something which looked hke
roads. Our animals were fagged to a state of exhaus-
tion, but the travelling was now much easier and
there was good grazing, and after three more long
day's marches, we arrived at Camp Apache. We
were now at our journey's end, after two months'
continuous travelling, and I felt reasonably sure of
shelter and a fireside for the winter at least. I knew
that my husband's promotion was expected, but the
immediate present was filled with an interest so
absorbing, that a consideration of the future was out
of the question.
At that time (it was the year of 1874) the officers'
quarters at Camp Apache were log cabins, built near
the edge of the deep canon through which the White
Mountain River flows, before its junction with Black
River.
We were welcomed by the officers of the Fifth
Cavalry, who were stationed there. It was altogether
picturesque and attractive. In addition to the row
of log cabins, there were enormous stables and
Government buildings, and a sutler's store. We were
entertained for a day or two, and then quarters were
88
CAMP APACHE
assigned to us. The second lieutenants had rather a
poor choice, as the quarters were scarce. We were
assigned a half of a log cabin, which gave us one
room, a small square hall, and a bare shed, the
latter detached from the house, to be used for a
kitchen. The room on the other side of the hall was
occupied by the Post Surgeon, who was temporarily
absent.
Our things were unloaded and brought to this
cabin. I missed the barrel of china, and learned that
it had been on the unfortunate wagon which rolled
down the mountain-side. I had not attained that state
of mind which came to me later in my army life. I
cared then a good deal about my belongings, and the
annoyance caused by the loss of our china was quite
considerable. I knew there was none to be obtained
at Camp Apache, as most of the merchandise came
in by pack-train to that isolated place.
Mrs. Dodge, of the Twenty-third Infantry, who
was about to leave the post, heard of my predicament,
and offered me some china plates and cups, which
she thought not worth the trouble of packing (so she
said), and I was glad to accept them, and thanked
her, almost with tears in my eyes.
Bowen nailed down our one carpet over the poor
board floor (after having first sprinkled down a thick
layer of clean straw, which he brought from the
quartermaster stables). Two iron cots from the hos-
pital wen brought over, and two bed-sacks filled with
89
VANISHED ARIZONA
fresh, sweet straw, were laid upon them; over these
were laid our mattresses. Woven-wire springs were
then unheard of in that country.
We untied our folding chairs, built a fire on the
hearth, captured an old broken-legged wash-stand and
a round table from somewhere, and that was our
living-room. A pine table was found for the small
hall, which was to be our dinning-room, and some
chairs with raw-hide seats were brought from the
barracks, some shelves knocked^ up against one wall,
to serve as sideboard. Now for the kitchen !
A cooking-stove and various things were sent over
from the Q. M. store-house, and Bowen (the wonder
•of it!) drove in nails, and hung up my Fort Russell
tin-ware, and put up shelves and stood my pans in
rows, and polished the stove, and went out and stole a
table somewhere (Bowen was invaluable in that way),
polished the zinc under the stove, and lo ! and behold,
my army kitchen ! Bowen was indeed a treasure ; he
said he would like to cook for us, for ten dollars a
month. We readily accepted this offer. There were
no persons to be obtained, in these distant places, who
could do the cooking in the families of officers, so it
was customary to employ a soldier; and the soldier
often displayed remarkable ability in the way of
cooking, in some cases, in fact, more than in the way
of soldiering. They liked the little addition to their
pay, if they were of frugal mind; they had also their
own quiet room to sleep in, and I often thought the
90
CAMP APACHE
family life, offering as it did a contrast to the bare-
ness and desolation of the noisy barracks, appealed to
the domestic instinct, so strong in some men's natures.
At all events, it was always easy in those days to get
a man from the company, and they sometimes re-
mained for years with an officer's family; in some
cases attending drills and roll-calls besides.
Now came the unpacking of the chests and trunks.
In our one diminutive room, and small hall, was no
closet, there were no hooks on the bare walls, no
place to hang things or lay things, and what to do I
did not know. I was in despair; Jack came in, to
find me sitting on the edge of a chest, which was
half unpacked, the contents on the floor. I was very
mournful, and he did not see why.
^'Oh ! Jack ! Tve nowhere to put things !"
''What things?" said this impossible man.
''Why, all our things," said I, losing my temper;
"can't you see them?"
"Put them back in the chests, — and get them out as
you need them," said this son of Mars, and buckled
on his sword. "Do the best you can, Martha, I have
to go to the barracks ; be back again soon." I looked
around me, and tried to solve the problem. There
was no bureau, nothing; not a nook or corner where
a thing might be stowed. I gazed at the motley
collection of bed-linen, dust-pans, silver bottles, boot
jacks, saddles, old uniforms, full dress military hats,
sword-belts, riding-boots, cut glass, window-shades,
91
VANISHED ARIZONA
lamps, work-baskets, and books, and I gave it up in
despair. You see, I was not an army girl, and I
did not know how to manage.
There was nothing to be done, however, but to
follow Jack's advice, so I threw the boots, saddles
and equipments under the bed, and laid the other
things back in the chests, closed the lids and went
out to take a look at the post. Towards evening, a
soldier came for orders for beef, and I learned how
to manage that. I was told that we bought our meats
direct from the contractor; I had to state how much
and what cuts I wished. Another soldier came to
bring us milk, and I asked Jack who was the milkman,
and he said, blessed if he knew; I learned, after-
wards, that the soldiers roped some of the wild Texas
cows that were kept in one of the Government corrals,
and tied them securely to keep them from kicking;
then milked them, and the milk was divided up among
the officers' families, according to rank. We re-
ceived about a pint every night. I declared it was
not enough ; but I soon discovered that however much
education, position and money might count in civil
life, rank seemed to be the one and only thing in the
army, and Jack had not much of that just then.
The question of getting settled comfortably still
worried me, and after a day of two, I went over
to see what Mrs. Bailey had done. To my surprise,
I found her out playing tennis, her little boy asleep
in the baby-carriage, which they had brought all the
92
CAMP APACHE
way from San Francisco, near the court. I joined
the group, and afterwards asked her advice about
the matter. She laughed kindly, and said: "Oh!
you'll get used to it, and things will settle them-
selves. Of course it is troublesome, but you can
have shelves and such things — you'll soon learn," and
still smiling, she gave her ball a neat left-hander.
I concluded that my New England bringing up
had been too serious, and wondered if I had made a
dreadful mistake in marrying into the army, or at
least in following my husband to Arizona. I debated
the question with myself from all sides, and decided
then and there that young army wives should stay
at home with their mothers and fathers, and not go
into such wild and uncouth places. I thought my
decision irrevocable.
Before the two small deep windows in our room we^
hung some Turkey red cotton. Jack built in his spare
moments a couch for me, and gradually our small
quarters assumed an appearance of comfort. I turned
my attention a little to social matters. We dined at
Captain Montgomery's (the commanding officer's)
house; his wife was a famous Washington beauty.
He had more rank, consequently more rooms, than we
had, and their quarters were very comfortable and at-
tractive.
There was much that was new and interesting at
the post. The Indians who lived on this reservation
were the White Mountain Apaches, a fierce and cruel
93
VANISHED ARIZONA
tribe, whose depredations and atrocities had been
carried on for years, in and around, and, indeed, far
away from their mountain homes. But this tribe
was now under surveillance of the Government, and
guarded by a strong garrison of cavalry and infantry
at Camp Apache. They were divided into bands,
under Chiefs Pedro, Diablo, Patone and Cibiano;
they came into the post twice a week to be counted,
and to receive their rations of beef, sugar, beans, and
other staples, which Uncle Sam's commissary officer
issued to them.
In the absence of other amusement, the officers'
wives walked over to witness this rather solemn cere-
mony. At least, the serious expression on the faces
of the Indians, as they received their rations, gave
an air of solemnity to the proceeding.
Large stakes were driven into the ground; at each
stake, sat or stood the leader of a band ; a sort of
father to his people; then the rest of them stretched
out in several long lines, young bucks and old ones,
squaws and pappooses, the families together, about
seventeen hundred souls in all. I used to walk up
and down between the lines, with the other women,
and the squaws looked at our clothes and chuckled,
and made some of their inarticulate remarks to each
other. The bucks looked admiringly at the white
women, especially at the cavalry beauty, Mrs. Mont-
gomery, although I thought that Chief Diablo cast
a special eye at our young Mrs. Bailey, of the infantry.
94
CAMP APACHE
Diablo was a handsome fellow. I was especially
impressed by his extraordinary good looks.
This tribe was quiet at that time, only a few
renegades escaping into the hills on their wild adven-
tures: but I never felt any confidence in them and
was, on the whole, rather afraid of them. The squaws
were shy, and seldom came near the officers' quarters.
Some of the younger girls were extremely pretty ; they
had delicate hands, and small feet encased in well-
shaped moccasins. They wore short skirts made of
stripped bark, which hung gracefully about their bare
knees and supple limbs, and usually a sort of low-
necked camisa, made neatly of coarse, unbleached
muslin, with a band around the neck and arms, and,
in cold weather a pretty blanket was wrapped around
their shoulders and fastened at the breast in front. In
summer the blanket was replaced by a square of
bright calico. Their coarse, black hair hung in long
braids in front over each shoulder, and nearly all of
them wore an even bang or fringe over the forehead.
Of course hats were unheard of. The Apaches, both
men and women, had not then departed from the cus-
toms of their ancestors, and still retained the extra-
ordinary beauty and picturesqueness of their aborigi-
nal dress. They wore sometimes a line buckskin upper
garment, and if of high standing in the tribe, neck-
laces of elks teeth.
The young lieutenants sometimes tried to make up
to the prettiest ones, and offered them trinkets,
95
VANISHED ARIZONA
pretty boxes of soap, beads, and small mirrors (so
dear to the heart of the Indian girl), but the young
maids were coy enough; it seemed to me they cared
more for men of their own race.
Once or twice, I saw older squaws with horribly
disfigured faces. I supposed it was the result of
some ravaging disease, but I learned that it was the
custom of this tribe, to cut off the noses of those
women who were unfaithful to their lords. Poor
creatures, they had my pity, for they were only chil-
dren of Nature, after all, living close to the earth,
close to the pulse of their mother. But this sort of
punishment seemed to be the expression of the cruel
and revengeful nature of the Apache.
(96)
CHAPTER XII
1,1^1: AMONGST the: APACHES
BowEN PROVED to be a fairly good cook, and I
ventured to ask people to dinner in our little hall
dining-room, a veritable box of a place. One day,
feeling particularly ambitious to have my dinner a
success, I made a bold attempt at oyster patties. With
the confidence of youth and inexperience, I made the
pastry, and it was a success ; I took a can of Baltimore
oysters, and did them up in a fashion that astonished
myself, and when, after the soup, each guest was
served with a hot oyster patty, one of the cavalry
officers fairly gasped. "Oyster patty, if I'm alive!
Where on earth — Bless my stars ! And this at Camp
Apache !"
"And by Holy Jerusalem ! they are good, too," ex-
claimed Captain Reilly, and turning to Bowen, he
said: "Bowen, did you make these?"
Bowen straightened himself up to his six foot two,
clapped his heels together, and came to "attention,''
looked straight to the front, and replied: "Yes, sir."
I thought I heard Captain Reilly say in an under-
tone to his neighbor, "The hell he did," but I was
not sure.
At that season, we got excellent wild turkeys there,
and good Southdown mutton, and one could not com-
plain of such living.
97
VANISHED ARIZONA
But I could never get accustomed to the wretched
small space of one room and a hall; for the kilchen,
being detached, could scarcely be counted in. I had
been born and brought up in a spacious house, with
plenty of bedrooms, closets, and an immense old-time
garret. The forlorn makeshifts for closets, and the
absence of all conveniences, annoyed me and added
much to the difficulties of my situation. Added to
this, I soon discovered that my husband had a pen-
chant for buying and collecting things which seemed
utterly worthless to me, and only added to the num-
ber of articles to be handled and packed away. I
begged him to refrain, and to remember that he was
married, and that we had not the money to spend
in such ways. He really did try to improve, and
denied himself the taking of many an alluring share
in raffles for old saddles, pistols, guns, and cow-boy's
stuff, which were always being held at the sutler's
store.
But an auction of condemned hospital stores was
too much for him, and he came in triumphantly one
day, bringing a box of antiquated dentist's instru-
ments in his hand.
*'Good gracious !" I cried, ' Vhat can you ever do
with those forceps?"
"Oh! they are splendid," he said, "and they will
come in mighty handy some time."
I saw that he loved tools and instruments, and I
reflected, why not? There are lots of things I have
98
LIFE AMONGST THE APACHES
a passion for, and love, just as he loves those things,
and I shall never say any more about it. ''Only," I
added, aloud, "do not expect me to pack up such
trash when we come to move; you will have to look
out for it yourself."
So with that spiteful remark from me, the episode
of the forceps was ended, for the time at least.
As the winter came on, the isolation of the place
had a rather depressing effect upon us all. The
officers were engaged in their various duties: drill,
courts-martial, instruction, and other military occupa-
tions. They found some diversion at "the store,"
where the ranchmen assembled and told frontier sto-
ries and played exciting games of poker. Jack's duties
as commissary officer kept him much away from me,
and I was very lonely.
The mail was brought in twice a week by a soldier
on horseback. When he failed to come in at the usual
time, much anxiety was manifested, and I learned
that only a short time before, one of the mail-carriers
had been killed by Indians and the mail destroyed.
I did not wonder that on mail-day everybody came out
in front of the quarters and asked: "Is the mail-
carrier in ?" And nothing much was done or thought
of on that day, until we saw him come jogging in,
the mail-bag tied behind his saddle. Our letters were
from two to three weeks old. The eastern mail came
via Santa Fe to the terminus of the railroad, and
then by stage; for in 1874, the railroads did not
99
VANISHED ARIZONA
extend very far into the Soutliwest. At a certain
point on tlie old New Mexicx) road, our man met the
San Carlos carrier, and received the mail for Apache.
"I do not understand," I said, *iiow any soldier
can be found to take such a dangerous detail,"
"Why so?" said Jack. "They like it."
"I should think that when they got into those
canons and narrow defiles, they would think of the
horrible fate of their predecessor," said I.
"Perhaps they do," he answered; **but a soldier is
always glad to get a detail that gives him a cliange
from the routine of post life,"
I was getting to learn about the indomitable pluck
of our soldiers. They did not seem to be afraid of
anything. At Camp Apache my opinion of the Amer-
ican soldier was formed, and it has never changed.
In the long march across the Territory, they had
cared for my wants and perfonned uncomplainingly
for me ser\nce^ usually rendered by women. Those
were before the days of lineal promotion. Officers
remained with their regiments for many years, A
feeling of regimental prestige held officers and men
together, I began to share that feeling, I knew the
names of the men in the company, and not one but
was ready to do a service for the "Lieutenant's wife,'*
"K" had long been a bachelor company; and now a
young wc»fnan had joined it, I was a person to be
pampered and cared for, and they knew* besides that
I was not long in the army,
lOO
LIFE AMONGST THE APACHES
• During that winter I received many a wild turkey
and other nice things for the table, from the men
of the company. I learned to know and to thoroughly
respect the enlisted man of the American army.
And now into the varied kaleidoscope of my army
life stepped the Indian Agent. And of all unkempt,
unshorn, disagreeable-looking personages who had
ever stepped foot into our quarters, this was the
worst.
"Heaven save us from a Government which ap-
points such men as that to watch over and deal with
Indians,'* cried I, as he left the house. "Is it pos-
sible that his position here demands social recogni-
tion ?*' I added.
"Hush!" said the second lieutenant of K company.
"It's the Interior Department that appoints the
Indian Agents, and besides," he added, "it's not good
taste on your part, Martha, to abuse the Government
which gives us our bread and butter."
"Well, you can say what you like, and preach policy
all you wish, no Government on earth can compel me
to associate with such men as those!" With that as-
sertion, I left the room, to prevent farther argument.
And I will here add that in my experience on the
frontier, which extended over a long period, it was
never my good fortune to meet with an Indian Agent
who impressed me as being the right sort of a man
to deal with those children of nature, for Indians are
like children, and their intuitions are keen. They
lOI
VANISHED ARIZONA
know and appreciate honesty and fair dealing, and
they know a gentleman when they meet one.
The winter came on apace, but the weather was
mild and pleasant. One day some officers came in
and said we must go over to the '^Ravine'' that
evening, where the Indians were going to have a
rare sort of a dance.
There was no one to say to me : *'Do not go," and,
as we welcomed any little excitement which would
relieve the monotony of our lives, we cast aside all
doubts of the advisability of my going. So, after
dinner, we joined the others, and sallied forth into
the darkness of an Arizona night. We crossed the
large parade-ground, and picked our way over a rough
and pathless country, lighted only by the stars above.
Arriving at the edge of the ravine, what a scene
was before us ! We looked down into a natural amphi-
theatre, in which blazed great fires; hordes of wild
Apaches darted about, while others sat on logs beat-
ing their tomtoms.
I was afraid, and held back, but the rest of the
party descended into the ravine, and, leaning on a
good strong arm, I followed. We all sat down on the
great trunk of a fallen tree, and soon the dancers
came into the arena.
They were entirely naked, except for the loin-cloth ;
their bodies were painted, and from their elbows and
knees stood out bunches of feathers, giving them the
appearance of huge flying creatures; jingling things
1 02
LIFE AMONGST THE APACHES
were attached to their necks and arms. Upon their
heads were large frames, made to resemble the branch-
ing horns of an elk, and as they danced, and bowed
their heads, the horns lent them the appearance of
some unknown animal, and added greatly to their
height. Their feathers waved, their jingles shook,
and their painted bodies twisted and turned in the
light of the great fire, which roared and leaped on
high. At one moment they were birds, at another
animals, at the next they were demons.
The noise of the tomtoms and the harsh shouts of
the Indians grew wilder and wilder. It was weird
and terrifying. Then came a pause; the arena was
cleared, and with much solemnity two wicked-looking
creatures came out and performed a sort of shadow
dance, brandishing knives as they glided through the
intricate figures.
It was a fascinating but unearthly scene, and the
setting completed the illusion. Fright deprived me
of the power of thought, but in a sort of subconscious
way I felt that Orpheus must have witnessed just
such mad revels when he went down into Pluto's re-
gions. Suddenly the shouts became warwhoops, the
demons brandished their knives madly, and nodded
their branching horns ; the tomtoms were beaten with
a dreadful din, and terror seized my heart. What if
they be treacherous, and had lured our small party
down into this ravine for an ambush! The thing
could well be, I thought. I saw uneasiness in the
103
VANISHED ARIZONA
faces of the other women, and by mutual consent we
got up and slowly took our departure. I barely
had strength to climb up the steep side of the hollow.
I was thankful to escape from its horrors.
Scarce three months after that some of the same
band of Indians fired into the garrison and fled to the
mountains. I remarked to Jack, that I thought we
were very imprudent to go to see that dance, and he
said he supposed we were. But I had never regarded
life in such a light way as he seemed to.
Women usually like to talk over their trials and
their wonderful adventures, and that is why I am
writing this, I suppose. Men simply will not talk
about such things.
The cavalry beauty seemed to look at this frontier
life philosophically — what she really thought about it,
I never knew. Mrs. Bailey was so much occupied by
the care of her young child and various out-door
amusements, that she did not, apparently, think much
about things that happened around us. At all events,
she never seemed inclined to talk about them. There
was no one else to talk to; the soil was strange, and
the atmosphere a foreign one to me ; life did not seem
to be taken seriously out there, as it was back in New
England, where they always loved to sit down and
talk things over. I was downright lonesome for my
mother and sisters.
I could not go out very much at that time, so I
occupied myself a good deal with needle-work.
104
LIFE AMONGST TH^ APACHES
One evening we heard firing across the canon. Jack
caught up his sword, buckhng on his belt as he went
out. "Injuns fighting on the other side of the river,"
some soldier reported. Finding that it did not con-
cern us, Jack said, "Come out into the back yard,
Martha, and look over the stockade, and I think you
can see across the river.'' So I hurried out to the
stockade, but Jack, seeing that I was not tall enough,
picked up an empty box that stood under the window
of the room belonging to the Doctor, when, thud!
fell something out onto the ground, and rolled away.
I started involuntarily. It was dark in the yard. I
stood stock still. "What was that?" I whispered.
"Nothing but an old Edam cheese," said this true-
hearted soldier of mine. I knew it was not a cheese,
but said no more. I stood up on the box, watched the
firing like a man, and went quietly back into the
quarters. After retiring, I said, "You might just as
well tell me now, you will have to sooner or later,
what was in the box — it had a dreadful sound, as it
rolled away on the ground."
"Well," said he, "if you must know, it was an
Injun's head that the Doctor had saved, to take to
Washington with him. It had a sort of a malformed
skull or jaw-bone or something. But he left it behind
— I guess it got a leetle to old for him to carry," he
laughed. "Somebody told me there was a head in
the yard, but I forgot all about it. Lucky thing you
didn't see it, wasn't it? I suppose you'd been scared
105
VANISHED ARIZONA
— well, I must tell the fatigue party to-morrow to
take it away. Now don't let me forget it," and this
soldier of many battles fell into the peaceful slumber
which comes to those who know not fear.
The next day I overheard him telling Major Worth
what had happened, and adding that he would roast
that Doctor if he ever came back. I was seeing the
rugged side of life, indeed, and getting accustomed
to shocks.
Now the cavalry beauty gave a dinner. It was
lovely; but in the midst of it, we perceived a sort of
confusion of moccasined footsteps outside the dining-
room. My nerves were, by this time, always on the
alert. I glanced through the large door opening out
into the hall, and saw a group of Indian scouts ; they
laid a coffee-sack down by the corner fire-place, near
the front door. The commanding officer left the table
hastily; the portiere was drawn.
I had heard tales of atrocious cruelties committed
by a band of Indians who had escaped from the
reservation and were ravaging the country around.
I had heard how they maimed poor sheep and cut off
the legs of cattle at the first joint, leaving them to die;
how they tortured women, and burned their husbands
and children before their eyes ; I had heard also that
the Indian scouts were out after them, with orders to
bring them in, dead or alive.
The next day I learned that the ringleader's head
was in the bag that I had seen, and that the others
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Captain William T. Worth, Brevet-Major, U. S. A.
Afterwards Brigadier-General.
LIFE AMONGST THE APACHES
had surrendered and returned. The scouts were
Apaches in the pay of the Government, and I always
heard that, as long as they were serving as scouts,
they showed themselves loyal and would hunt down
their nearest relative.
Major Worth got tired of the monotony of a
bachelor's life at Camp Apache and decided to give
a dance in his quarters, and invite the chiefs. I think
the other officers did not wholly approve of it, al-
though they felt friendly enough towards them, as
long as they were not causing disturbances. But tc
meet the savage Apache on a basis of social equality,
in an officer's quarters, and to dance in a quadrille
with him! Well, the limit of all things had been
reached !
However, Major Worth, who was actually suffering
from the ennui of frontier life in winter, and in time
of peace, determined to carry out his project, so he
had his quarters, which were quite spacious, cleared
and decorated with evergreen boughs. From his com-
pany, he secured some men who could play the banjo
and guitar, and all the officers and their wives, and
the chiefs with their harems, came to this novel fete.
A quadrille was formed, in which the chiefs danced
opposite the officers. The squaws sat around, as they
were too shy to dance. These chiefs were painted,
and wore only their necklaces and the customary loin-
cloth, throwing their blankets about their shoulders
107
VANISHED ARIZONA
when they had finished dancing. I noticed again
Chief Diablo's great good looks.
Conversation was carried on principally by signs
and nods, and through the interpreter (a white man
named Cooley). Besides, the officers had picked up
many short phrases of the harsh and gutteral Apache
tongue.
Diablo was charmed with the young, handsome wife
of one of the officers, and asked her husband how
many ponies he would take for her, and Pedro asked
Major Worth, if all those white squaws belonged to
him.
The party passed off pleasantly enough, and was
not especially subversive to discipline, although I
believe it was not repeated.
Afterwards, long afterwards, when we were sta-
tioned at David's Island, New York Harbor, and
Major Worth was no longer a bachelor, but a dignified
married man and had gained his star in the Spanish
War, we used to meet occasionally down by the barge
office or taking a Penster-promenade on Broadway,
and we would always stand awhile and chat over the
old days at Camp Apache in '74. Never mind how
pressing our mutual engagements were, we could
never forego the pleasure of talking over those wild
days and contrasting them with our then present sur-
roundings. ''Shall you ever forget my party?'' he
said, the last time we met.
(108)
CHAPTER XIII
A NE:w recruit
In January our little boy arrived, to share our
fate and to gladden our hearts. As he was the first
child born to an officer's family in Camp Apache,
there was the greatest excitement. All the sheep-
ranchers and cattlemen for miles around came into
the post. The beneficent canteen, with its soldiers'
and officers' club-rooms did not exist then. So they
all gathered at the sutler's store, to celebrate events
with a round of drinks. They wanted to shake hands
with and congratulate the new father, after their
fashion, upon the advent of the blond-haired baby.
Their great hearts went out to him, and they vied with
each other in doing the handsome thing by him, in a
manner according to their lights, and their ideas of
wishing well to a man ; a manner, sometimes, alas !
disastrous in its results to the man ! However, by this
time, I was getting used to all sides of frontier life.
I had no time to be lonely now, for I had no nurse,
and the only person who was able to render me service
was a laundress of the Fifth Cavalry, who came for
about two hours each day, to give the baby his bath
and to arrange things about the bed. I begged her to
stay with me, but, of course, I knew it was impossible,
i So here I was, inexperienced and helpless, alone in
109
VANISHED ARIZONA
bed, with an infant a few days old. Dr. Loring, our
excellent Post Surgeon, was both kind and skillful,
but he was in poor health and expecting each day to
be ordered to another station. My husband was
obliged to be at the Commissary Office all day, issuing
rations to troops and scouts, and attending to the duties
of his position.
But, realizing in a measure the utter helplessness of
my situation, he sent a soldier up to lead a wire cord
through the thick wall at the head of my bed and
out through the small yard into the kitchen. To this
they attached a big cow-bell, so, by making some con-
siderable effort to reach up and pull this wire, I could
summon Bowen, that is, if Bowen happened to be
there. But Bowen seemed always to be out at drill or
over at the company quarters, and frequently my
bell brought no reponse. When he did come, however,
he was just as kind and just as awkward as it was
possible for a great big six-foot farmer-soldier to be.
But I grew weaker and weaker with trying to be
strong, and one day when Jack came in and found
both the baby and myself crying, he said, man-like,
''What's the matter?" I said, ''I must have some one
to take care of me, or we shall both die."
He seemed to realize that the situation was desper-
ate, and mounted men were sent out immediately in
all directions to find a woman.
At last, a Mexican girl was found in a wood-
chopper's camp, and was brought to me. She was
no
A NEW RECRUIT
quite young and very ignorant and stupid, and spoke
nothing but a sort of Mexican "lingo/' and did not
understand a word of English. But I felt that my
life was saved; and Bowen fixed up a place on the
couch for her to sleep, and Jack went over to the
unoccupied room on the other side of the cabin and
took possession of the absent doctor's bed.
I begged Jack to hunt up a Spanish dictionary, and
fortunately one was found at the sutler's store, which,
doubtless the sutler or his predecessor had brought
into the country years before.
The girl did not know anything. I do not think
she had ever been inside a casa before. She had
washed herself in mountain streams, and did not
know what basins and sponges were for. So it was
of no use to point to the objects I wanted.
I propped myself up in bed and studied the dic-
tionary, and, having some idea of the pronunciation
of Latin languages, I essayed to call for warm water
and various other necessary articles needed around a
sick bed. Sometimes I succeeded in getting an idea
through her impervious brain^ but more often she
would stand dazed and immovable and I would let
the dictionary drop from my tired hands and fall
back upon the pillow in a sweat of exhaustion. Then
Bowen would be called in, and with the help of some
perfunctory language and gestures on his part, this
silent creature of the mountains would seem to wake
up and try to understand.
Ill
VANISHED ARIZONA
And so I worried through those dreadful days —
and the nights ! Ah ! we had better not describe them.
The poor wild thing slept the sleep of death and could
not hear my loudest calls nor desperate shouts.
So Jack attached a cord to her pillow, and I would
tug and tug at that and pull the pillow from under her
head. It was of no avail. She slept peacefully on, and
it seemed to me, as I lay there staring at her, that not
even Gabriel's trump would ever arouse her.
In desperation I would creep out of bed and wait
upon myself and then confess to Jack and the Doctor
next day.
Well, we had to let the creature go, for she was of
no use, and the Spanish dictionary was laid aside.
I struggled along, fighting against odds ; how I ever
got well at all is a wonder, when I think of all the
sanitary precautions taken now-a-days with young
mothers and babies. The Doctor was ordered away
and another one came. I had no advice or help from
any one. Calomel or quinine are the only medicines
I remember taking myself or giving to my child.
But to go back a little. The seventh day after the
birth of the baby, a delegation of several squaws,
wives of chiefs, came to pay me a formal visit. They
brought me some finely woven baskets, and a beauti-
ful pappoose-basket or cradle, such as they carry their
own babies in. This was made of the lightest wood,
and covered with the finest skin of fawn, tanned with
birch bark by their own hands, and embroidered in
112
A NEW RECRUIT
blue beads ; it was their best work. I admired it, and
tried to express to them my thanks. These squaws
took my baby (he was lying beside me on the bed),
then, cooing and chuckling, they looked about the
room, until they found a small pillow, which they
laid into the basket-cradle, then put my baby in, drew
the flaps together, and laced him into it; then stood
it up, and laid it down, and laughed again in their
gentle manner, and finally soothed him to sleep. I
was quite touched by the friendliness of it all. They
laid the cradle on the table and departed. Jack went
out to bring Major Worth in, to see the pretty sight,
and as the two entered the room. Jack pointed to the
pappoose-basket.
Major Worth tip-toed forward, and gazed into the
cradle; he did not speak for some time; then, in his
inimitable way, and half under his breath, he said,
slowly, "Well, I'll be d— d!" This was all, but
when he turned towards the bedside, and came and
shook my hand, his eyes shone with a gentle and
tender look.
And so was the new recruit introduced to the
Captain of Company K.
And now there must be a bath-tub for the baby.
The sutler rummaged his entire place, to find some-
thing that might do. At last, he sent me a freshly
scoured tub, that looked as if it might, at no very
remote date, have contained salt mackerel marked
''A One." So then, every morning at nine o'clock,
113
VANISHED ARIZONA
our little half-window was black with the heads of
the curious squaws and bucks, trying to get a glimpse
of the fair baby's bath. A wonderful performance,
it appeared to them.
Once a week this room, which was now a nursery
combined with bedroom and living-room, was over-
hauled by the stalwart Bowen. The baby was put
to sleep and laced securely into the pappoose-basket.
He was then carried into the kitchen, laid on the
dresser, and I sat by with a book or needle-work
watching him, until Bowen had finished the room.
On one of these occasions, I noticed a ledger lying
upon one of the shelves. I looked into it, and imagine
my astonishment, when I read: *^Aunt Hepsey's
Muffins," ''Sarah's Indian Pudding," and on another
page, "Hatty's Lemon Tarts," "Aunt Susan's Method
of Cooking a Leg of Mutton," and "Josie Well's
Pressed Calf Liver." Here were my own, my very
own family recipes, copied into Bowen's ledger, in
large illiterate characters; and on the fly-leaf,
"Charles Bowen's Receipt Book." I burst into a
good hearty laugh, almost the first one I had enjoyed
since I arrived at Camp Apache.
The long-expected promotion to a first lieutenancy
came at about this time. Jack was assigned to a
company which was stationed at Camp MacDowell, but
his departure for the new post was delayed until the
spring should be more advanced and I should be able
to undertake the long, rough trip with our young child.
114
A NEW RECRUIT
The second week in April, my baby just nine weeks
old, we began to pack up. I had gained a little in
experience, to be sure, but I had lost my health and
strength. I knew nothing of the care of a young
infant, and depended entirely upon the advice of the
Post Surgeon, who happened at that time to be a
young man, much better versed in the sawing off
of soldiers' legs than in the treatment of young
mothers and babies.
The packing up was done under difficulties, and
with much help from our faithful Bowen. It was
arranged for Mrs. Bailey, who was to spend the sum-
mer with her parents at Fort Whipple, to make the
trip at the same time, as our road to Camp MacDowell
took us through Fort Whipple. There were provided
two ambulances with six mules each, two baggage-
wagons, an escort of six calvarymen fully armed, and
a guide. Lieutenant Bailey was to accompany his
wife on the trip.
I was genuinely sorry to part with Major Worth,
but in the excitement and fatigue of breaking up our
home, I had little time to think of my feelings. My
young child absorbed all my time. Alas! for the
ignorance of young women, thrust by circumstances
into such a situation! I had miscalculated my
strength, for I had never known illness in my life,
and there was no one to tell me any better. I reck-
oned upon my superbly healthy nature to bring me
115
VANISHED ARIZONA
through. In fact, I did not think much about it; I
simply got ready and went, as soldiers do.
I heard them say that we were not to cross the
MogoUon range, but were to go to the north of it,
ford the Colorado Chiquito at Sunset Crossing, and
so on to Camp Verde and Whipple Barracks by the
Stoneman's Lake road. It sounded poetic and pretty.
Colorado Chiquito, Sunset Crossing, and Stoneman's
Lake road! I thought to myself, they were prettier
than any of the names I had heard in Arizona.
(116)
CHAPTER XIV
A MEMORABI^K JOURNEY
How broken plunged the steep descent!
How barren! Desolate and rent
By earthquake shock, the land lay dead,
Like some proud king in old-time slain.
An ugly skeleton, it gleamed
In burning sands. The fiery rain
Of fierce volcanoes here had sown
Its ashes. Burnt and black and seamed
With thunder-strokes and strown ^
With cinders. Yea, so overthrown,
That wilder men than we had said.
On seeing this, with gathered breath,
''We come on the confines of death! ^'
—JOAQUIN MILLER.
Six good cavalrymen galloped along by our side,
on the morning of April 24th, 1875, as with two
ambulances, two army wagons, and a Mexican guide,
we drove out of Camp Apache at a brisk trot.
The drivers were all armed, and spare rifles hung
inside the ambulances. I wore a small derringer,
with a narrow belt filled with cartridges. An incon-
gruous sight, methinks now, it must have been. A
young mother, pale and thin, a child of scarce three
months in her arms, and a pistol belt around her
waist !
I scarcely looked back at Camp Apache. We had a
long day's march before us, and we looked ahead.
Towards night we made camp at Cooley's ranch, and
117
VANISHED ARIZONA
slept inside, on the floor. Cooley was interpreter and
scout, and although he was a white man, he had
married a young Indian girl, the daughter of one of
the chiefs and was known as a squaw man. There
seemed to be two Indian girls at his ranch ; they were
both tidy and good-looking, and they prepared us a
most appetizing supper.
The ranch had spaces for windows, covered with
thin unbleached muslin (or manta, as it is always
called out there), glass windows being then too great
a luxury in that remote place. There were some par-
titions inside the ranch, but no doors ; and, of course,
no floors except adobe. Several half-breed children,
nearly naked, stood and gazed at us as we prepared
for rest. This was interesting and picturesque from
many standpoints perhaps, but it did not tend to make
me sleepy. I lay gazing into the fire which was
smouldering in the corner, and finally I said, in a
whisper, '7^^^? which girl do you think is Cooley's
wife?"
*'I don't know," answered this cross and tired man ;
and then added, "both of 'em, I guess."
Now this was too awful, but I knew he did not
intend for me to ask any more questions. I had a
difficult time, in those days, reconciling what I saw
with what I had been taught was right, and I had to
sort over my ideas and deep-rooted prejudices a good
many times.
ii8
A MEMORABLE JOURNEY
The two pretty squaws prepared a nice breakfast
for us, and we set out, quite refreshed, to travel over
the malapais (as the great lava-beds in that part
of the country are called). There was no trace of a
road. A few hours of this grinding and crunching
over crushed lava wearied us all, and the animals
found it hard pulling, although the country was level.
We crossed Silver Creek without difficulty, and ar-
rived at Stinson's ranch, after traveling twenty-five
miles, mostly malapais. Do not for a moment
think of these ranches as farms. Some of them were
deserted sheep ranches, and had only adobe walls
standing in ruins. But the camp must have a name,
and on the old maps of Arizona these names are still
to be found. Of course, on the new railroad maps,
they are absent. They were generally near a spring
or a creek, consequently were chosen as camps.
Mrs. Bailey had her year-old boy, Howard, with her.
We began to experience the utmost inconvenience from
the lack of warm water and other things so necessary
to the health and comfort of children. But we tried
to make light of it all, and the two Lieutenants tried,
in a man's way, to help us out. We declared we must
have some clean towels for the next day, so we tried
to rinse out, in the cold, hard water of the well, those
which we had with us, and, as it was now nightfall
and there was no fire inside this apparently deserted
ranch, the two Lieutenants stood and held the wet
towels before the camp-fire until they were dry.
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VANISHED ARIZONA
Mrs. Bailey and I, too tired to move, sat and
watched them and had each our own thoughts. She
was an army girl and perhaps had seen such things
before, but it was a situation that did not seem quite
in keeping with my ideas of the fitness of things in
general, and with the uniform in particular. The
uniform, associated in my mind with brilliant func-
tions, guard-mount, parades and full-dress weddings
— the uniform, in fact, that I adored. As I sat,
gazing at them, they both turned around, and, realiz-
ing how almost ludicrous they looked, they began to
laugh. Whereupon we all four laughed and Jack
said: "Nice work for United States officers! hey,
Bailey?''
"It might be worse," sighed the handsome, blond-
haired Bailey.
Thirty miles the next day, over a good road, brought
us to Walker's ranch, on the site of old Camp Supply.
This ranch was habitable in a way, and the owner
said we might use the bedrooms; but the wild-cats
about the place were so numerous and so troublesome
in the night, that we could not sleep. I have men-
tioned the absence of windows in these ranches; we
were now to experience the great inconvenience result-
ing therefrom, for the low open spaces furnished
great opportunity for the cats. In at one opening,
and out at another they flew, first across the Bailey's
bed, then over ours. The dogs caught the spirit of
the chase, and added their noise to that of the cats.
1 20
A MEMORABLE JOURNEY
Both babies began to cry, and then up got Bailey
and threw his heavy campaign boots at the cats, with
some fitting remarks. A momentary silence reigned,
and we tried again to sleep. Back came the cats, and
then came Jack's turn with boots and travelling
satchels. It was all of no avail, and we resigned our-
selves. Cruelly tired, here we were, we two women,
compelled to sit on hard boxes or the edge of a bed, to
quiet our poor babies, all through that night, at that
old sheep-ranch. Like the wretched emigrant, differ-
ing only from her inasmuch as she, never having
known comfort perhaps, cannot realize her misery.
The two Lieutenants slipped on their blouses, and
sat looking helplessly at us, waging war on the cats
at intervals. And so the dawn found us, our nerves
at a tension, and our strength gone — a poor prepara-
tion for the trying day which was to follow.
We were able to buy a couple of sheep there, to take
with us for supplies, and some antelope meat. We
could not indulge in foolish scruples, but I tried not
to look when they tied the live sheep and threw them
into one of the wagons.
Quite early in the day, we met a man who said he
had been fired upon by some Indians at Sanford's
Pass. We thought perhaps he had been scared by
some stray shot, and we did not pay much attention
to his story.
Soon after, however, we passed a sort of old adobe
ruin, out of which crept two bare-headed Mexicans,
121
VANISHED ARIZONA
so badly frightened that their dark faces were palHd;
their hair seemed standing on end, and they looked
stark mad with fear. They talked wildly to the guide,
and gesticulated, pointing in the direction of the
Pass. They had been fired at, and their ponies taken
by some roving Apaches. They had been in hiding
for over a day, and were hungry and miserable. We
gave them food and drink. They implored us, by the
Holy Virgin, not to go through the Pass.
What was to be done? The officers took counsel;
the men looked to their arms. It was decided to go
through. Jack examined his revolver, and saw that
my pistol was loaded. I was instructed minutely
what to do, in case we were attacked.
For miles we strained our eyes, looking in the direc-
tion whence these men had come.
At last, in mid-afternoon, we approached the Pass,
a narrow defile winding down between high hills from
this table-land to the plain below. To say that we
feared an ambush, would not perhaps convey a very
clear idea of how / felt on entering the Pass.
There was not a word spoken. I obeyed orders,
and lay down in the bottom of the ambulance ; I took
my derringer out of the holster and cocked it. I
looked at my little boy lying helpless there beside me,
and at his delicate temples, lined with thin blue
veins, and wondered if I could follow out the instruc-
tions I had received: for Jack had said, after the
decision was made, to go through the Pass, "Now,
122
A MEMORABLE JOURNEY
Mattie, I don't think for a minute that there are any
Injuns in that Pass, and you must not be afraid.
We have got to go through it any way ; but" — he hesi-
tated,— ''we may be mistaken; there may be a few
of them in there, and they'll have a mighty good
chance to get in a shot or two. And now listen : if Tm
hit, you'll know what to do. You have your der-
ringer; and when you see that there is no help for it,
if they get away with the whole outfit, why, there's
only one thing to be done. Don't let them get the
baby, for they will carry you both ofif and — well, you
know the squaws are much more cruel than the bucks.
Don't let them get either of you alive. Now" — to
the driver — "go on."
Jack was a man of few words, and seldom spoke
much in times like that.
So I lay very quiet in the bottom of the ambulance.
I realized that we were in great danger. My thoughts
flew back to the East, and I saw, as in a flash, my
father and mother, sisters and brother ; I think I tried
to say a short prayer for them, and that they might
never know the worst. I fixed my eyes upon my
husband's face. There he sat, rifle in hand, his
features motionless, his eyes keenly watching out from
one side of the ambulance, while a stalwart cavalry-
man, carbine in hand, watched the other side of the
narrow defile. The minutes seemed like hours.
The driver kept his animals steady, and we rattled
along.
123
VANISHED ARIZONA
At last, as I perceived the steep slope of the road, I
looked out, and saw that the Pass was widening out,
and we must be nearing the end of it. "Keep still,''
said Jack, without moving a feature. My heart
seemed then to stop beating, and I dared not move
again, until I heard him say, ''Thank God, we're out
of it ! Get up, Mattie ! See the river yonder ? We'll
cross that to-night, and then we'll be out of their God
d d country!"
This was Jack's way of working oflf his excitement,
and I did not mind it. I knew he was not afraid of
Apaches for himself, but for his wife and child. And
if I had been a man, I should have said just as much
and perhaps more.
We were now down in a flat country, and low alkali
plains lay between us and the river. My nerves
gradually recovered from the tension in which they
had been held; the driver stopped his team for a
moment, the other ambulance drove up alongside of
us, and Ella Bailey and I looked at each other; we
did not talk any, but I believe we cried just a little.
Then Mr. Bailey and Jack (thinking we were giving
way, I suppose) pulled out their big flasks, and we
had to take a cup of good whiskey, weakened up with
a little water from our canteens, which had been filled
at Walker's ranch in the morning. Great Heavens!
I thought, was it this morning that we left Walker's
ranch, or was it a year ago? So much had I lived
through in a few hours.
(124)
CHAPTER XV
li^ORDING THE IvlTTW COWRADO
At a bend in the road the Mexican guide galloped
up near the ambulance, and pointing off to the west-
ward with a graceful gesture, said: ''Colorado
Chiquito! Colorado Chiquito!" And, sure enough,
there in the afternoon sun lay the narrow winding
river, its surface as smooth as glass, and its banks as if
covered with snow.
We drove straight for the ford, known as Sunset
Crossing. The guide was sure he knew the place.
But the river was high, and I could not see how
anybody could cross it without a boat. The Mexican
rode his pony in once or twice; shook his head, and
said in Spanish, "there was much quicksand. The
old ford had changed much since he saw it." He
galloped excitedly to and fro, along the bank of the
river, always returning to the same place, and declar-
ing ''it was the ford; there was no other; he knew
it well."
But the wagons not having yet arrived, it was de-
cided not to attempt crossing until morning, when
we could get a fresh start.
The sun was gradually sinking in the west, but the
heat down in that alkali river-bottom even at that
early season of the year was most uncomfortable. I
125
VANISHED ARIZONA
was worn out with fright and fatigue; my poor child
cried piteously and incessantly. Nothing was of any
avail to soothe him. After the tents were pitched and
the camp-fires made, some warm water was brought,
and I tried to wash away some of the dust from him,
but the alkali water only irritated his delicate skin,
and his head, where it had lain on my arm, was in-
flamed by the constant rubbing. It began to break
out in ugly blisters ; I was in despair. We were about
as wretchedly off as two human beings could be, and
live, it seemed to me. The disappointment at not get-
ting across the river, combined with the fear that the
Indians were still in the neighborhood, added to my
nervousness and produced an exhaustion which, under
other circumstances, would have meant collapse.
The mournful and demoniacal cries of the coyotes
filled the night ; they seemed to come close to the tent,
and their number seemed to be legion. I lay with
eyes wide open, watching for the day to come, and
resolving each minute that if I ever escaped alive
from that lonely river-bottom with its burning alkali,
and its millions of howling coyotes, I would never,
never risk being placed in such a situation again.
At dawn everybody got up and dressed. I looked
in my small hand-mirror, and it seemed to me my hair
had turned a greyish color, and while it was not
exactly white, the warm chestnut tinge never came
back into it, after that day and night of terror. My
eyes looked back at me large and hollow from the
126
FORDING THE LITTLE COLORADO
small glass, and I was in that state when it is easy to
imagine the look of Death in one's own face. I think
sometimes it comes, after we have thought ourselves
near the borders. And I surely had been close to
them the day before.
If perchance any of my readers have followed this
narrative so far, and there be among them possibly
any men, young or old, I would say to such ones:
''Desist! For what I am going to tell about in this
chapter, and possibly another, concerns nobody but
women, and my story will now, for awhile, not con-
cern itself with the Eighth Foot, nor the army, nor
the War Department, nor the Interior Department,
nor the strategic value of Sunset Crossing, which may
now be a railroad station, for all I know. It is simply
a story of my journey from the far bank of the Little
Colorado to Fort Whipple, and then on, by a change
of orders, over mountains and valleys, cactus plains
and desert lands, to the banks of the Great Colorado.
My attitude towards the places I travelled through
was naturally influenced by the fact that I had a
young baby in my arms the entire way, and that I
was not able to endure hardship at that time. For
usually, be it remembered, at that period of a child's
life, both mother and infant are not out of the hands
of the doctor and trained nurse, to say nothing of the
assistance so gladly rendered by those near and deair.
127
VANISHED ARIZONA
The morning of the 28th of April dawned shortly
after midnight, as mornings in Arizona generally
do at that season, and after a hasty camp breakfast,
and a good deal of reconnoitring on the part of the
officers, who did not seem to be exactly satisfied about
the Mexican's knowledge of the ford, they told him to
push his pony in, and cross if he could.
He managed to pick his way across and back, after
a good deal of floundering, and we decided to try the
ford. First they hitched up ten mules to one of the
heavily loaded baggage-wagons, the teamster cracked
his whip, and in they went. But the quicksand
frightened the leaders, and they lost their courage.
Now when a mule loses courage, in the water, he puts
his head down and is done for. The leaders disap-
peared entirely, then the next two and finally the
whole ten of them were gone, irrevocably, as I thought.
But like a flash, the officers shouted: "Cut away
those mules ! Jump in there !" and amid other ex-
pletives the men plunged in, and feeling around under
the water cut the poor animals loose and they began
to crawl out on the other bank. I drew a long breath,
for I thought the ten mules were drowned.
The guide picked his way over again to the other
side and caught them up, and then I began to
wonder how on earth we should ever get across.
There lay the heavy army wagon, deep mired in
the middle of the stream, and what did I see? Our
army chests, floating away down the river. I cried
128
FORDING THE LITTLE COLORADO
out: "Oh! do save our chests!" ^'They're all right,
we'll get them presently/' said Jack. It seemed a long
time to me, before the soldiers could get them to the
bank, which they did, with the aid of stout ropes. All
our worldly goods were in those chests, and I knew
they were soaked wet and probably ruined ; but, after
all, what did it matter, in the face of the serious
problem which confronted us?
In the meantime, some of the men had floated the
other boxes and trunks out of the wagon back to the
shore, and were busy taking the huge vehicle apart.
Any one who knows the size of an army wagon will
realize that this was hard work, especially as the
wagon was mired, and nearly submerged. But the
men worked desperately, and at last succeeded in
getting every part of it back onto the dry land.
Somebody stirred up the camp-fire and put the
kettle on, and Mrs. Bailey and I mixed up a smoking
strong hot toddy for those brave fellows, who were by
this time well exhausted. Then they set to work to
make a boat, by drawing a large canvas under the
body of the wagon, and fastening it securely. For
this Lieutenant of mine had been a sailor-man and
knew well how to meet emergencies.
One or two of the soldiers had now forded the
stream on horseback, and taken over a heavy rope,
which was made fast to our improvised boat. I was
acquainted with all kinds of boats, from a catamaran
to a full-rigged ship, but never a craft like this had
129
VANISHED ARIZONA
I seen. Over the sides we clambered, however, and
were ferried across the treacherous and glassy waters
of the Little Colorado. All the baggage and the two
ambulances were ferried over, and the other wagon
was unloaded and drawn over by means of ropes.
This proceeding took all day, and of course we could
get no farther, and were again obliged to camp in that
most uncomfortable river-bottom. But we felt safer
on that side. I looked at the smooth surface of the
river, and its alkali shores, and the picture became
indelibly impressed upon my memory. The unpleas-
ant reality destroyed any poetic associations which
might otherwise have clung to the name of Sunset
Crossing in my ever vivid imagination.
After the tents were pitched, and the camp snugged
up, Mr. Bailey produced some champagne and we
wished each other joy, that we had made the dan-
gerous crossing and escaped the perils of Sanford's
Pass. I am afraid the champagne was not as cold
as might have been desired, but the bottle had been
wrapped in a wet blanket, and cooled a little in that
way, and we drank it with zest, from a mess-cup.
(130)
CHAPTER XVI
STONEMAN'S I.AKE
The road began now to ascend, and after twenty
miles' travelling we reached a place called Updyke's
Tanks. It was a nice place, with plenty of wood and
grass. The next day we camped at Jay Coxe's Tanks.
It was a hard day's march, and I was tired out when
we arrived there. The ambulance was simply jerked
over those miles of fearful rocks; one could not say
driven or dragged over, for we were pitched from rock
to rock the entire distance.
Stoneman's Lake Road was famous, as I after-
wards heard. Perhaps it was just as well for me that
I did not know about it in advance.
The sure-footed mules picked their way over these
sharp-edged rocks. There was not a moment's res-
pite. We asked a soldier to help with holding the
baby, for my arms gave out entirely, and were as if
paralyzed. The jolting threw us all by turns against
the sides of the ambulance (which was not padded),
and we all got some rather bad bruises. We finally
bethought ourselves of the pappoose basket, which
we had brought along in the ambulance, having at the
last moment no other place to put it. So a halt was
called, we placed the tired baby in this semi-cradle,
laced the sides snugly over him, and were thus enabled
131
VANISHED ARIZONA
to carry him over those dreadful roads without
danger.
He did not cry much, but the dust made him
thirsty. I could not give him nourishment without
stopping the entire train of wagons, on account of
the constant pitching of the ambulance; delay was
not advisable or expedient, so my poor little son had
to endure with the rest of us. The big Alsatian
cavalryman held the cradle easily in his strong arms,
and so the long miles were travelled, one by one.
At noon of this day we made a refreshing halt, built
a fire and took some luncheon. We found a shady,
grassy spot, upon which the blankets were spread,
and we stretched ourselves out upon them and rested.
But we were still some miles from water, so after a
short respite we were compelled to push on. We had
been getting steadily higher since leaving Sunset
Crossing, and now it began to be cold and looked like
snow. Mrs. Bailey and I found it very trying to meet
these changes of temperature. A good place for the
camp was found at Coxe's Tanks, trenches were dug
around the tents, and the earth banked up to keep us
warm. The cool air, our great fatigue, and the
comparative absence of danger combined to give us a
heavenly night's rest.
Towards sunset of the next day, which was May
Day, our cavalcade reached Stoneman's Lake. We
had had another rough march, and had reached the
limit of endurance, or thought we had, when we
132
STONEMAN'S LAKE
emerged from a mountain pass and drew rein upon the
high green mesa overlooking Stoneman's Lake, a beau-
tiful blue sheet of water lying there away below us.
It was good to our tired eyes, which had gazed upon
nothing but burnt rocks and alkali plains for so many
days. Our camp was beautiful beyond description,
and lay near the edge of the mesa, whence we could
look down upon the lovely lake. It was a complete
surprise to us, as points of scenery were not much
known or talked about then in Arizona. Ponds and
lakes were unheard of. They did not seem to exist in
that drear land of arid wastes. We never heard of
water except that of the Colorado or the Gila or the
tanks and basins, and irrigation ditches of the settlers.
But here was a real Italian lake, a lake as blue as the
skies above us. We feasted our eyes and our very
souls upon it.
Bailey and the guide shot some wild turkeys, and
as we had already eaten all the mutton we had along,
the ragout of turkey made by the soldier-cook for our
supper tasted better to us tired and hungry travellers,
perhaps, than a canvasback at Delmonico's tastes to
the weary lounger or the over-worked financier.
In the course of the day, we had passed a sort of
sign-board, with the rudely written inscription,
''Camp Starvation," and we had heard from Mr.
Bailey the story of the tragic misfortunes at this very
place of the well-known Hitchcock family of Arizona.
'1 he road was lined with dry bones, and skulls of oxen,
133
VANISHED ARIZONA
white and bleached in the sun, lying on the bare rocks.
Indeed, at every stage of the road we had seen evi-
dences of hard travel, exhausted cattle, anxious team-
sters, hunger and thirst, despair, starvation, and death.
However, Stoneman's Lake remains a joy in the
memory, and far and away the most beautiful spot
I ever saw in Arizona. But unless the approaches to
it are made easier, tourists will never gaze upon it.
In the distance we saw the **divide," over which
we must pass in order to reach Camp Verde, which
was to be our first stopping place, and we looked
joyfully towards the next day's march, which we
expected would bring us there.
We thought the worst was over and, before re-
tiring to our tents for the night, we walked over to
the edge of the high mesa and, in the gathering
shadows of twilight, looked down into the depths of
that beautiful lake, knowing that probably we should
never see it again.
And indeed, in all the years I spent in Arizona
afterward, I never even heard of the lake again.
I wonder now, did it really exist or was it an
illusion, a dream, or the mirage which appears to the
desert traveller, to satisfy him and lure him on, to
quiet his imagination, and to save his senses from
utter extinction ?
In the morning the camp was all astir for an early
move. We had no time to look back : we were starting
134
STONEMAN'S LAKE
for a long day's march, across the ''divide/' and into
Camp Verde.
But we soon found that the road (if road it could
be called) was worse than any we had encountered.
The ambulance was pitched and jerked from rock to
rock and we were thumped against the iron frame
work in a most dangerous manner. So we got out and
picked our way over the great sharp boulders.
The Alsatian soldier carried the baby, who lay se-
curely in the pappoose cradle.
One of the cavalry escort suggested my taking his
horse, but I did not feel strong enough to think
of mounting a horse, so great was my discouragement
and so exhausted was my vitality. Oh! if girls only
knew about these things I thought! For just a little
knowledge of the care of an infant and its needs, its
nourishment and its habits, might have saved both
mother and child from such utter collapse.
Little by little we gave up hope of reaching Verde
that day. At four o'clock we crossed the "divide,"
and clattered down a road so near the edge of a
precipice that I was frightened beyond everything:
my senses nearly left me. Down and around, this
way and that, near the edge, then back again, swaying,
swerving, pitching, the gravel clattering over the
precipice, the six mules trotting their fastest, we
reached the bottom and the driver pulled up his team.
"Beaver Springs !" said he, impressively, loosening
up the brakes.
VANISHED ARIZONA
As Jack lifted me out of the ambulance, I said:
"Why didn't you tell me?'' pointing back to the steep
road. "Oh," said he, "I thought it was better for
you not to know ; people get scared about such things,
when they know about them before hand."
"But," I remarked, "such a break-neck pace!"
Then, to the driver, "Smith, how could you drive
down that place at such a rate and frighten me so?"
"Had to, ma'am, or we'd a'gone over the edge."
I had been brought up in a flat country down near
the sea, and I did not know the dangers of mountain
travelling, nor the difficulties attending the piloting
of a six-mule team down a road like that. From this
time on, however, Smith rose in my estimation. I
seemed also to be realizing that the Southwest was a
great country and that there was much to learn about.
Life out there was beginning to interest me.
Camp Verde lay sixteen miles farther on; no one
knew if the road were good or bad. I declared I
could not travel another mile, even if they all went
on and left me to the wolves and the darkness of
Beaver Springs.
We looked to our provisions and took account of
stock. There was not enough for the two families.
We had no flour and no bread ; there was only a small
piece of bacon, six potatoes, some condensed milk, and
some chocolate. The Baileys decided to go on; for
Mrs. Bailey was to meet her sister at Verde and her
parents at Whipple. We said good-bye, and their
136
STONEMAN'S LAKE
ambulance rolled away. Our tent was pitched and
the baby was laid on the bed, asleep from pure
exhaustion.
The dread darkness of night descended upon us, and
the strange odors of the bottom-lands arose, mingling
with the delicious smoky smell of the camp-fire.
By the light of the blazing mesquite wood, we now
divided what provisions we had, into two portions:
one for supper, and one for breakfast. A very light
meal we had that evening, and I arose from the mess-
table unsatisfied and hungry.
Jack and I sat down by the camp-fire, musing over
the hard times we were having, when suddenly I
heard a terrified cry from my little son. We rushed
to the tent, lighted a candle, and oh! horror upon
horrors ! his head and face were covered with large
black ants ; he was wailing helplessly, and beating the
air with his tiny arms.
*'My God!" cried Jack, ''we're camped over an
ant-hill !"
I seized the child, and brushing off the ants as I
fled, brought him out to the fire, where by its light I
succeeded in getting rid of them all. But the horror
of it! Can any mother brought up in God's country
with kind nurses and loved ones to minister to her
child, for a moment imagine how I felt when I saw
those hideous, three-bodied, long-legged black ants
crawling over my baby's face? After a lapse of
years, I cannot recall that moment without a shudder.
137
VANISHED ARIZONA
The soldiers at last found a place which seemed to
be free from ant-hills, and our tent was again pitched,
but only to find that the venomous things swarmed
over us as soon as we lay down to rest.
And so, after the fashion of the Missouri emigrant,
we climbed into the ambulance and lay down upon
our blankets in the bottom of it, and tried to believe
we were comfortable.
My long, hard journey of the preceding autumn,
covering a period of two months; my trying experi-
ences during the winter at Camp Apache ; the sudden
break-up and the packing ; the lack of assistance from
a nurse; the terrors of the journey; the sympathy for
my child, who suffered from many ailments and prin-
cipally from lack of nourishment, added to the pro-
found fatigue I felt, had reduced my strength to a
minimum. I wonder that I lived, but something sus-
tained me, and when we reached Camp Verde the
next day, and drew up before Lieutenant O'Connell's
quarters, and saw Mrs. O'Connell's kind face beam-
ing to welcome us, I felt that here was relief at last.
The tall Alsatian handed the pappoose cradle to
Mrs. O'Connell.
"Gracious goodness! what is this?" cried the be-
wildered woman; ''surely it cannot be your baby!
You haven't turned entirely Indian, have you,
amongst those wild Apaches?"
I felt sorry I had not taken him out of the basket
before we arrived. I did not realize the impression it
138
STONEMAN'S LAKE
would make at Camp Verde. After all, they did not
know anything about our life at Apache, or our rough
travels to get back from there. Here were lace-
curtained windows, well-dressed women, smart uni-
forms, and, in fact, civilization, compared with what
we had left.
The women of the post gathered around the broad
piazza, to see the wonder. But when they saw the
poor little wan face, the blue eyes which looked sadly
out at them from this rude cradle, the linen bandages
covering the back of the head, they did not laugh
any more, but took him and ministered to him, as only
kind women can minister to a sick baby.
There was not much rest, however, for we had to
sort and rearrange our things, and dress ourselves
properly. (Oh! the luxury of a room and a tub,
after that journey!) Jack put on his best uniform,
and there was no end of visiting, in spite of the heat,
which was considerable even at that early date in
May. The day there would have been pleasant
enough but for my wretched condition.
The next morning we set out for Fort Whipple,
making a long day's march, and arriving late in the
evening. The wife of the Quartermaster, a total
stranger to me, received us, and before we had time
to exchange the usual social platitudes, she gave one
look at the baby, and put an end to any such attempts.
"You have a sick child ; give him to me ;'' then I told
her some things, and she said: '1 wonder he is alive.''
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Then she took him under her charge and declared we
should not leave her house until he was well again.
She understood all about nursing, and day by day,
under her good care, and Doctor Henry Lippincott's
skilful treatment, I saw my baby brought back to life
again. Can I ever forget Mrs. Aldrich's blessed
kindness ?
Up to then, I had taken no interest in Camp
MacDowell, where was stationed the company into
which my husband was promoted. I knew it was
somewhere in the southern part of the Territory, and
isolated. The present was enough. I was meeting
my old Fort Russell friends, and under Doctor
Lippincott's good care I was getting back a measure
of strength. Camp MacDowell was not yet a reality
to me.
We met again Colonel Wilkins and Mrs. Wilkins
and Carrie, and Mrs. Wilkins thanked me for bringing
her daughter alive out of those wilds. Poor girl;
'twas but a few months when we heard of her death,
at the birth of her second child. I have always
thought her death was caused by the long hard
journey from Apache to Whipple, for Nature never
intended women to go through what we went through,
on that memorable journey by Stoneman's Lake.
There I met again Captain Porter, and I asked him
if he had progressed any in his courtship, and he,
being very much embarrassed, said he did not know,
140
STONEMAN'S LAKE
but if patient waiting was of any avail, he believed
he might win his bride.
After we had been at Whipple a few days, Jack
came in and remarked casually to Lieutenant Aldrich,
''Well, I heard Bernard has asked to be relieved from
Ehrenberg."
"What!" I said, ''the lonely man down there on
the river — the prisoner of Chillon — the silent one?
Well, they are going to relieve him, of course?"
"Why, yes," said Jack, falteringly, "if they can
get anyone to take his place."
"Can't they order some one?" I inquired.
"Of course they can," he replied, and then, turning
towards the window, he ventured: "The fact is.
Martha, IVe been offered it, and am thinking it over."
(The real truth was, that he had applied for it,
thinking it possessed great advantages over Camp
MacDowell.)
"What! do I hear aright? Have your senses left
you? Are you crazy? Are you going to take me to
that awful place? Why, Jack, I should die there!"
"Now, Martha, be reasonable; listen to me, and if
you really decide against it, Til throw up the detail.
But don't you see, we shall be right on the river, the
boat comes up every fortnight or so, you can jump
aboard and go up to San Francisco." (Oh, how
alluring that sounded to my ears!) "Why, it's no
trouble to get out of Arizona from Ehrenberg. Then,
too, I shall be independent, and can do just as I
141
VANISHED ARIZONA
like, and when I like/' et ccetera, et ccetera. "Oh,
you'll be making the greatest mistake, if you decide
against it. As for MacDowell, it's a hell of a place,
down there in the South; and you never will be able
to go back East with the baby, if we once get settled
down there. Why, it's a good fifteen days from the
river."
And so he piled up the arguments in favor of
Ehrenberg, saying finally, ''You need not stop a day
there. If the boat happens to be up, you can jump
right aboard and start at once down river."
All the discomforts of the voyage on the "New-
bern," and the memory of those long days spent on
the river steamer in August had paled before my
recent experiences. I flew, in imagination, to the
deck of the "Gila," and to good Captain Mellon, who
would take me and my child out of that wretched
Territory.
"Yes, yes, let us go then," I cried; for here came
in my inexperience. I thought I was choosing the
lesser evil, and I knew that Jack believed it to be so,
and also that he had set his heart upon Ehrenberg,
for reasons known only to the understanding of a
military man.
So it was decided to take the Ehrenberg detail.
(142)
CHAPTER XVII
THE COIvORADO DESERT
Some serpents slid from out the grass
That grew in tufts by shattered stone,
Then hid below some broken mass
Of ruins older than the East,
That Time had eaten, as a bone
Is eaten by some savage beast.
Great dull-eyed rattlesnakes — they lay
All loathsome, yellow-skinned, and slept
Coiled tight as pine knots in the sun.
With flat heads through the centre run;
Then struck out sharp, then rattling crept
Flat-bellied down the dusty way.
—JOAQUIN MILLEE.
At the end of a week, we started forth for Ehren-
berg. Our escort was now sent back to Camp Apache,
and the Baileys remained at Fort Whipple, so our
outfit consisted of one ambulance and one army wagon.
One or two soldiers went along, to help with the teams
and the camp.
We travelled two days over a semi-civilized coun-
try, and found quite comfortable ranches where we
spent the nights. The greatest luxury was fresh
milk, and we enjoyed that at these ranches in Skull
Valley. They kept American cows, and supplied
Whipple Barracks with milk and butter. We drank,
143
VANISHED ARIZONA
and drank, and drank again, and carried a jugful to
our bedside. The third day brought us to CuUen's
ranch, at the edge of the desert. Mrs. CuUen was
a Mexican woman and had a little boy named Daniel ;
she cooked us a delicious supper of stewed chicken,
and fried eggs, and good bread, and then she put our
boy to bed in Daniel's crib. I felt so grateful to her ;
and with a return of physical comfort, I began to
think that life, after all, might be worth the living.
Hopefully and cheerfully the next morning we
entered the vast Colorado desert. This was verily the
desert, more like the desert which our imagination
pictures, than the one we had crossed in September
from Mojave. It seemed so white, so bare, so endless,
and so still; irreclaimable, eternal, like Death itself.
The stillness was appalling. We saw great numbers
of lizards darting about like lightning; they were
nearly as white as the sand itself, and sat up on their
hind legs and looked at us with their pretty, beady
black eyes. It 'seemed very far off from everywhere
and everybody, this desert — but I knew there was a
camp somewhere awaiting us, and our mules trotted
patiently on. Towards noon they began to raise their
heads and sniff the air ; they knew that water was
near. They quickened their pace, and we soon drew
up before a large wooden structure. There were no
trees nor grass around it. A Mexican worked the
machinery with the aid of a mule, and water was
bought for our twelve animals, at so much per head.
144
THE COLORADO DESERT
The place was called Mesquite Wells; the man dwelt
alone in his desolation, with no living being except
his mule for company. How could he endure it! I
was not able, even faintly, to comprehend it; I had
not lived long enough. He occupied a small hut, and
there he staid, year in and year out, selling water to
the passing traveller ; and I fancy that travellers were
not so frequent at Mesquite Wells a quarter of a
century ago.
The thought of that hermit and his dreary sur-
roundings filled my mind for a long time after we
drove away, and it was only when we halted and a
soldier got down to kill a great rattlesnake near the
ambulance, that my thoughts were diverted. The
man brought the rattles to us and the new toy served
to amuse my little son.
At night we arrived at Desert Station. There was
a good ranch there, kept by Hunt and Dudley,
Englishmen, I believe. I did not see them, but I
wondered who they were and why they staid in such
a place. They were absent at the time; perhaps they
had mines or something of the sort to look after. One
is always imagining things about people who live in
such extraordinary places. At all events, whatever
Messrs. Hunt and Dudley were doing down there,
their ranch was clean and attractive, which was more
than could be said of the place where we stopped the
next night, a place called Tyson's Wells. We slept in
our tent that night, for of all places on the earth a
H5
VANISHED ARIZONA
poorly kept ranch in Arizona is the most melancholy
and uninviting. It reeks of everything unclean, mor-
ally and physically. Owen Wister has described such
a place in his delightful story, where the young tender-
foot dances for the amusement of the old habitues.
One more day's travel across the desert brought us
to our El Dorado.
(146)
CHAPTER XVIII
EHRBNBERG ON THE COIvORADO
Under the burning mid-day sun of Arizona, on
May i6th, our six good mules, with the long whip
cracking about their ears, and the ambulance rattling
merrily along, brought us into the village of Ehren-
berg. There was one street, so called, which ran
along on the river bank, and then a few cross streets
straggling back into the desert, with here and there
a low adobe casa. The Government house stood not
far from the river, and as we drove up to the entrance
the same blank white walls stared at me. It did not
look so much like a prison, after all, I thought.
Captain Bernard, the man whom I had pitied, stood at
the doorway, to greet us, and after we were inside the
house he had some biscuits and wine brought; and
then the change of stations was talked of, and he said
to me, "Now, please make yourself at home. The
house is yours; my things are virtually packed up,
and I leave in a day or two. There is a soldier here
who can stay with you ; he has been able to attend to
my simple wants. I eat only twice a day; and here
is Charley, my Indian, who fetches the water from
the river and does the chores. I dine generally at
sundown."
A shadow fell across the sunlight in the doorway;
VANISHED ARIZONA
I looked around and there stood ''Charley," who had
come in with the noiseless step of the moccasined
foot. I saw before me a handsome naked Cocopah
Indian, who wore a belt and a gee-string. He seemed
to feel at home and began to help with the bags and
various paraphernalia of ambulance travellers. He
looked to be about twenty-four years old. His face
was smiling and friendly and I knew I should like
him.
The house was a one-story adobe. It formed two
sides of a hollow square; the other two sides were a
high wall, and the Government freight-house re-
spectively. The courtyard was partly shaded by a
ramdda and partly open to the hot sun. There was
a chicken-yard in one corner of the inclosed square,
and in the centre stood a rickety old pump, which
indicated some sort of a well. Not a green leaf or
tree or blade of grass in sight. Nothing but white
sand, as far as one could see, in all directions.
Inside the house there were bare white walls, ceil-
ings covered with manta, and sagging, as they always
do; small windows set in deep embrasures, and adobe
floors. Small and inconvenient rooms, opening one
into another around two sides of the square. A sort
of low veranda protected by lattice screens, made from
a species of slim cactus, called ocotilla, woven together,
and bound with raw-hide, ran around a part of the
house.
Our dinner was enlivened by some good Cocomonga
148
EHRENBERG ON THE COLORADO
wine. I tried to ascertain something about the source
of provisions, but evidently the soldier had done the
foraging, and Captain Bernard admitted that it was
difficult, adding always that he did not require much,
''it was so warm," et ccctera, et ccetera. The next
morning I took the reins, nominally, but told the sol-
dier to go ahead and do just as he had always done.
I selected a small room for the baby's bath, the all
important function of the day. The Indian brought
me a large tub (the same sort of a half of a vinegar
barrel we had used at Apache for ourselves), set it
down in the middle of the floor, and brought water
from a barrel which stood in the corral. A low box
was placed for me to sit on. This was a bachelor
establishment, and there was no place but the floor to
lay things on; but what with the splashing and the
leaking and the dripping, the floor turned to mud
and the white clothes and towels were covered
with it, and I myself was a sight to behold. The
Indian stood smiling at my plight. He spoke only
a pigeon English, but said, "too much-ee wet."
I was in despair; things began to look hopeless
again to me. I thought ''surely these Mexicans must
know how to manage with these floors." Fisher, the
steamboat agent, came in, and I asked him if he could
not find me a nurse. He said he would try, and went
out to see what could be done.
He finally brought in a rather forlorn looking
Mexican woman leading a little child (whose father
149
VANISHED ARIZONA
was not known), and she said she would come to us
for quinze pesos a month. I consulted with Fisher,
and he said she was a pretty good sort, and that we
could not afford to be too particular down in that
country. And so she came; and although she was
indolent, and forever smoking cigarettes, she did care
for the baby, and fanned him when he slept, and
proved a blessing to me.
And now came the unpacking of our boxes, which
had floated down the Colorado Chiquito. The fine
damask, brought from Germany for my linen chest,
was a mass of mildew ; and when the books came to
light, I could have wept to see the pretty editions of
Schiller, Goethe, and Lessing, which I had bought
in Hanover, fall out of their bindings; the latter,
warped out of all shape, and some of them unrecog-
nizable. I did the best I could, however, not to show
too much concern, and gathered the pages carefully
together, to dry them in the sun.
They were my pride, my best beloved possessions,
the links that bound me to the happy days in old
Hanover.
I went to Fisher for everything — a large, well-built
American, and a kind good man. Mrs. Fisher could
not endure the life at Ehrenberg, so she lived in San
Francisco, he told me. There were several other white
men in the place, and two large stores where every-
thing was kept that people in such countries buy.
These merchants made enormous profits, and their
150
PQ
EHRENBERG ON THE COLORADO
families lived in luxury in San Francisco.
The rest of the population consisted of a very
poor class of Mexicans, Cocopah, Yuma and Mojave
Indians, and half-breeds.
The duties of the army officer stationed here con-
sisted principally in receiving and shipping the enor-
mous quantity of Government freight which was
landed by the river steamers. It was shipped by
wagon trains across the Territory, and at all times
the work carried large responsibilities with it.
I soon realized that however much the present
incumbent might like the situation, it was no fit place
for a woman.
The station at Ehrenberg was what we call, in the
army, ^'detached service." I realized that we had
left the army for the time being; that we had cut
loose from a garrison ; that we were in a place where
good food could not be procured, and where there were
practically no servants to be had. That there was
not a woman to speak to, or to go to for advice or
help, and, worst of all, that there was no doctor in the
place. Besides all this, my clothes were all ruined
by lying wet for a fortnight in the boxes, and I had
practically nothing to wear. I did not then know
what useless things clothes were in Ehrenberg.
The situation appeared rather serious; the weather
had grown intensely hot, and it was decided that the
only thing for me to do was to go to San Francisco
for the summer.
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So one day we heard the whistle of the "Gila"
going up; and when she came down river, I was all
ready to go on board, with Patrocina and Jesusita,*
and my own child, who was yet but five months old.
I bade farewell to the man on detached service, and we
headed down river. We seemed to go down very
rapidly, although the trip lasted several days. Patro-
cina took to her bed with neuralgia (or nostalgia) ;
her little devil of a child screamed the entire days and
nights through, to the utter discomfiture of the few
other passengers. A young lieutenant and his wife
and an army surgeon, who had come from one of the
posts in the interior, were among the number, and
they seemed to think that / could help it (though they
did not say so).
Finally the doctor said that if / did not throw
Jesusita overboard, he would; why didn't I ''wring
the neck of its worthless Mexican of a mother?" and
so on, until I really grew very nervous and unhappy,
thinking what I should do after we got on board the
ocean steamer. I, a victim of seasickness, with this
unlucky woman and her child on my hands, in addi-
tion to my own ! No ; I made up my mind to go back
to Ehrenberg, but I said nothing.
I did not dare to let Doctor Clark know of my
decision, for I knew he would try to dissuade me;
^Diminutive of Jesus, a very common name ainongst the
Mexicans. Pronounced Hay-soo-s6-ta.
152
EHRENBERG ON THE COLORADO
but when we reached the mouth of the river, and
they began to transfer the passengers to the ocean
steamer which lay in the offing, I quietly sat down
upon my trunk and told them I was going back to
Ehrenberg. Captain Mellon grinned ; the others were
speechless ; they tried persuasion, but saw it was use-
less ; and then they said good-bye to me, and our stern-
wheeler headed about and started for up river.
Ehrenberg had become truly my old man of the
sea; I could not get rid of it. There I must go, and
there I must stay, until circumstances and the Fates
were more propitious for my departure.
(153)
CHAPTER XIX
SUMMER AT EHRENBERG
The week we spent going up the Colorado in
June was not as uncomfortable as the time spent on
the river in August of the previous year. Every-
thing is relative, I discovered, and I was happy in
going back to stay with the First Lieutenant of C
Company, and share his fortunes awhile longer.
Patrocina recovered, as soon as she found we were
to return to Ehrenberg. I wondered how anybody
could be so homesick for such a God-forsaken place.
I asked her if she had ever seen a tree, or green
grass (for I could talk with her quite easily now).
She shook her mournful head. "But don't you want
to see trees and grass and flowers?"
Another sad shake of the head was the only reply.
Such people, such natures, and such lives, were
incomprehensible to me then. I could not look at
things except from my own standpoint.
She took her child upon her knee, and lighted a
cigarette; I took mine upon my knee, and gazed at
the river banks: they were now old friends: I had
gazed at them many times before; how much I had
experienced, and how much had happened since I first
saw them! Could it be that I should ever come to
154
SUMMER AT EHRENBERG
love them, and the pungent smell of the arrow-weed
which covered them to the water's edge?
The huge mosquitoes swarmed over us in the nights
from those thick clumps of arrow-weed and willow,
and the nets with which Captain Mellon provided us
did not afiford much protection.
The June heat was bad enough, though not quite
so stifling as the August heat. I was becoming accus-
tomed to climates, and had learned to endure dis-
comfort. The salt beef and the Chinaman's peach
pies were no longer offensive to me. Indeed, I had a
good appetite for them, though they were not exactly
the sort of food prescribed by the modern doctor, for
a young mother. Of course, milk, eggs, and all fresh
food were not to be had on the river boats. Ice
was still a thing unknown on the Colorado.
When, after a week, the ''Gila" pushed her nose
up to the bank at Ehrenberg, there stood the Quarter-
master. He jumped aboard, and did not seem in the
least surprised to see me. ''I knew you'd come
back," said he. I laughed, of course, and we both
laughed.
"I hadn't the courage to go on," I replied.
''Oh, well, we can make things comfortable here
and get through the summer some way," he said.
"I'll build some rooms on, and a kitchen, and we
can surely get along. It's the healthiest place in the
world for children, they tell me."
So after a hearty handshake with Captain Mellon,
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VANISHED ARIZONA
who had taken such good care of me on my week's
voyage up river, I being almost the only passenger,
I put my foot once more on the shores of old Ehr en-
berg, and we wended our way towards the blank
white walls of the Government house. I was glad to
be back, and content to wait.
So work was begun immediately on the kitchen.
My first stipulation was, that the new rooms were to
have wooden floors; for, although the Cocopah Charley
kept the adobe floors in perfect condition, by sprink-
ling them down and sweeping them out every morn-
ing, they were quite impossible, especially where it
concerned white dresses and children, and the little
sharp rocks in them seemed to be so tiring to the feet.
Life as we Americans live it was difficult in Ehren-
berg. I often said : *'Oh ! if we could only live as the
Mexicans live, how easy it would be!" For they
had their fire built between some stones piled up in
their yard, a piece of sheet iron laid over the top:
this was the cooking-stove. A pot of coffee was made
in the morning early, and the family sat on the low
porch and drank it, and ate a biscuit. Then a kettle
of frijoles^ was put over to boil. These were boiled
slowly for some hours, then lard and salt were added,
and they simmered down until they were deliciously
fit to eat, and had a thick red gravy.
Then the young matron, or daughter of the house,
^Mexican brown bean.
156
o
H
O
§
00
SUMMER AT EHRENBERG
would mix the peculiar paste of flour and salt and
water, for tortillas, a species of unleavened bread.
These tortillas were patted out until they were as
large as a dinner plate, and very thin; then thrown
onto the hot sheet-iron, where they baked. Each
one of the family then got a tortilla, the spoonful of
beans was laid upon it, and so they managed without
the paraphernalia of silver and china and napery.
How I envied them the simplicity of their lives!
Besides, the tortillas were delicious to eat, and as for
the frijoles, they were beyond anything I had ever
eaten in the shape of beans. I took lessons in the
making of tortillas. A woman was paid to come and
teach me; but I never mastered the art. It is in the
blood of the Mexican, and a girl begins at a very early
age to make the tortilla. It is the most graceful thing
to see a pretty Mexican toss the wafer-like disc over
her bare arm, and pat it out until transparent.
This was their supper ; for, like nearly all people in
the tropics, they ate only twice a day. Their fare
was varied sometimes by a little carni seca, pounded
up and stewed with chile verde or chile Colorado.
Now if you could hear the soft, exquisite, afifection-
ate drawl with which the Mexican woman says chile
verde you could perhaps come to realize what an
important part the delicious green pepper plays in
the cookery of these countries. They do not use it in
its raw state, but generally roast it whole, stripping off
the thin skin and throwing away the seeds, leaving
VANISHED ARIZONA
only the pulp, which acquires a fine flavor by having
been roasted or toasted over the hot coals.
The women were scrupulously clean and modest,
and always wore, when in their casa, a low-necked
and short-sleeved white linen camisa, fitting neatly,
with bands around neck and arms. Over this they
wore a calico skirt ; always white stockings and black
slippers. When they ventured out, the younger
women put on muslin gowns, and carried parasols.
The older women wore a linen towel thrown over
their heads, or, in cool weather, the black riboso. I
often cried : *'Oh ! if I could only dress as the Mexi-
cans do ! Their necks and arms do look so cool
and clean."
I have always been sorry I did not adopt their
fashion of house apparel. Instead of that, I yielded
to the prejudices of my conservative partner, and
sweltered during the day in high-necked and long-
sleeved white dresses, kept up the table in American
fashion, ate American food in so far as we could get
it, and all at the expense of strength ; for our soldier
cooks, who were loaned us by Captain Ernest from
his company at Fort Yuma, were constantly being
changed, and I was often left with the Indian and
the indolent Patrocina. At those times, how I wished
I had no silver, no table linen, no china, and could
revert to the primitive customs of my neighbors!
There was no market, but occasionally a Mexican
killed a steer, and we bought enough for one meal;
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SUMMER AT EHRENBERG
but having no ice, and no place away from the
terrific heat, the meat was hung out under the ramdda
with a piece of netting over it, until the first heat had
passed out of it, and then it was cooked.
The Mexican, after selling what meat he could, cut
the rest into thin strips and hung it up on ropes to
dry in the sun. It dried hard and brittle, in its
natural state, so pure is the air on that wonderful
river bank. They called this carni seca, and the
Americans called it ''jerked beef."
Patrocina often prepared me a dish of this, when
I was unable to taste the fresh meat. She would
pound it fine with a heavy pestle, and then put it to
simmer, seasoning it with the green or red pepper. It
was most savory. There was no butter at all during
the hot months, but our hens laid a few eggs, and the
Quartermaster was allowed to keep a small lot of
commissary stores, from which we drew our supplies
of flour, ham, and canned things. We were often
without milk for weeks at a time, for the cows crossed
the river to graze, and sometimes could not get back
until the river fell again, and they could pick their
way back across the shifting sand bars.
The Indian brought the water every morning in
buckets from the river. It looked like melted choco-
late. He filled the barrels, and when it had settled
clear, the ollas were filled, and thus the drinking water
was a trifle cooler than the air. One day it seemed
unusually cool, so I said: "Let us see by the ther-
VANISHED ARIZONA
mometer how cool the water really is/' We found
the temperature of the water to be 86 degrees; but
that, with the air at 122 in the shade, seemed quite
refreshing to drink.
I did not see any white people at all except Fisher,
Abe Frank (the mail contractor), and one or two of
the younger merchants. If I wanted anything, I
went to Fisher. He always could solve the difficulty.
He procured for me an excellent middle-aged laun-
dress, who came and brought the linen herself, and,
bowing to the floor, said always, ''Buenos dias, Sen-
oritaT dwelling on the latter word, as a gentle
compliment to a younger woman, and then, ''Mucho
calor este dia/' in her low, drawling voice.
Like the others, she was spotlessly clean, modest
and gentle. I asked her what on earth they did
about bathing, for I had found the tub baths with
the muddy water so disagreeable. She told me the
women bathed in the river at daybreak, and asked
me if I would hke to go with them.
I was only too glad to avail myself of her invita-
tion, and so, like Pharoah's daughter of old, I went
with my gentle handmaiden every morning to the
river bank, and, wading in about knee-deep in the
thick red waters, we sat down and let the swift cur-
rent flow by us. We dared not go deeper; we could
feel the round stones grinding against each other as
they were carried down, and we were all afraid. It
was difficult to keep one's foothold, and Capt. Md-
160
SUMMER AT EHRENBERG
Ion's words were ever ringing in my ears, "He who
disappears below the surface of the Colorado is never
seen again." But we joined hands and ventured like
children and played like children in these red waters
and after all, it was much nicer than a tub of muddy
water indoors.
A clump of low mesquite trees at the top of the
bank afforded sufficient protection at that hour; we
rubbed dry, slipped on a loose gown, and wended our
way home. What a contrast to the limpid, bracing
salt waters of my own beloved shores !
When I thought of them, I was seized with a
longing which consumed me and made my heart sick ;
and I thought of these poor people, who had never
known anything in their lives but those desert places,
and that muddy red water, and wondered what they
would do, how they would act, if transported into
some beautiful forest, or to the cool bright shores
where clear blue waters invite to a plunge.
Whenever the river-boat came up, we were sure to
have guests, for many officers went into the Territory
via Ehrenberg. Sometimes the "transportation" was
awaiting them; at other times, they were obliged to
wait at Ehrenberg until it arrived. They usually
lived on the boat, as we had no extra rooms, but I
generally asked them to luncheon or supper (for any-
thing that could be called a dinner was out of the
question).
This caused me some anxiety, as there was nothing
i6i
VANISHED ARIZONA
to be had; but I remembered the hospitality I had
received, and thought of what they had been obliged
to eat on the voyage, and I always asked them to
share what we could provide, however simple it might
be.
At such times we heard all the news from Wash-
ington and the States, and all about the fashions, and
they, in their turn, asked me all sorts of questions
about Ehrenberg and how I managed to endure the
life. They were always astonished when the Cocopah
Indian waited on them at table, for he wore nothing
but his gee-string, and although it was an every-day
matter to us, it rather took their breath away.
But "Charley" appealed to my aesthetic sense in
every way. Tall, and well-made, with clean-cut limbs
and features, fine smooth copper-colored skin, hand-
some face, heavy black hair done up in pompadour
fashion and plastered with Colorado mud, which was
baked white by the sun, a small feather at the crown
of his head, wide turquoise bead bracelets upon his
upper arm, and a knife at his waist — this was my
Charley, my half-tame Cocopah, my man about the
place, my butler in fact, for Charley understood how
to open a bottle of Cocomonga gracefully, and to keep
the glasses filled.
Charley also wheeled the baby out along the river
banks, for we had had a fine ''perambulator'' sent
down from San Francisco. It was an incongruous
sight, to be sure, and one must laugh to think of it.
162
SUMMER AT EHRENBERG
The Ehrenberg babies did not have carriages, and
the village flocked to see it. There sat the fair-haired,
six-months-old boy, with but one linen garment on, no
cap, no stockings — and this wild man of the desert,
his knife gleaming at his waist, and his gee-string
floating out behind, wheeling and pushing the carriage
along the sandy roads.
But this came to an end ; for one day Fisher rushed
in, breathless, and said: "Well! here is your baby!
I was just in time, for that Injun of yours left the
carriage in the middle of the street, to look in at the
store window, and a herd of wild cattle came tearing
down ! I grabbed the carriage to the sidewalk^ cussed
the Injun out, and here's the child! It's no use,'' he
added, "you can't trust those Injuns out of sight."
The heat was terrific. Our cots were placed in the
open part of the corral (as our courtyard was always
called). It was a desolate-looking place; on one side,
the high adobe wall; on another, the freight-house;
and on the other two, our apartments. Our kitchen
and the two other rooms were now completed. The
kitchen had no windows, only open spaces to admit the
air and light, and we were often startled in the
night by the noise of thieves in the house, rummaging
for food.
At such times, our soldier-cook would rush into the
corral with his rifle, the Lieutenant would jump up
and seize his shotgun, which always stood near by,
163
VANISHED ARIZONA
and together they would roam through the house.
But the thieving Indians could jump out of the win-
dows as easily as they jumped in, and the excitement
would soon be over.
The violent sand-storms which prevail in those
deserts, sometimes came up in the night, without
warning; then we rushed half suffocated and blinded
into the house, and as soon as we had closed the
windows it had passed on, leaving a deep layer of
sand on everything in the room, and on our perspiring
bodies.
Then came the work, next day, for the Indian had
to carry everything out of doors ; and one storm was
so bad that he had to use a shovel to remove the sand
from the floors. The desert literally blew into the
house.
And now we saw a singular phenomenon. In the
late afternoon of each day, a hot steam would collect
over the face of the river, then slowly rise, and float-
ing over the length and breadth of this wretched
hamlet of Ehrenberg, descend upon and envelop us.
Thus we wilted and perspired, and had one part of
the vapor bath without its bracing concomitant of
the cool shower. In a half hour it was gone, but
always left me prostrate; then Jack gave me milk
punch, if milk was at hand, or sherry and egg, or
something to bring me up to normal again. We got
to dread the steam so; it was the climax of the long
hot day and was peculiar to that part of the river.
164
SUMMER AT EHRENBERG
The paraphernalia by the side of our cots at night
consisted of a pitcher of cold tea, a lantern, matches,
a revolver, and a shotgun. Enormous yellow cats, which
lived in and around the freight-house, darted to and
fro inside and outside the house, along the ceiling-
beams, emitting loud cries, and that alone was enough
to prevent sleep. In the old part of the house, some
of the partitions did not run up to the roof, but were
left open (for ventilation, I suppose), thus making a
fine play-ground for cats and rats, which darted along,
squeaking, meowing and clattering all the night
through. An uncanny feeling of insecurity was ever
with me. What with the accumulated effect of the
day's heat, what with the thieving Indians, the sand-
storms and the cats, our nights by no means gave us
the refreshment needed by our worn-out systems. By
the latter part of the summer, I was so exhausted by
the heat and the various difficulties of living, that I
had become a mere shadow of my former self.
Men and children seem to thrive in those climates,
but it is death to women, as I had often heard.
It was in the late summer that the boat arrived
one day bringing a large number of staff officers and
their wives, head clerks, and ''general service" men
for Fort Whipple. They had all been stationed in
Washington for a number of years, having had what
is known in the army as ''gilt-edged" details. I threw
a linen towel over my head, and went to the boat
to call on them, and, remembering my voyage from
165
VANISHED ARIZONA
San Francisco the year before, prepared to sympa-
thize with them. But they had met their fate with
resignation; knowing they should find a good chmate
and a pleasant post up in the mountains, and as they
had no young children with them, they were disposed
to make merry over their discomforts.
We asked them to come to our quarters for supper,
and to come early, as any place was cooler than the
boat, lying down there in the melting sun, and
nothing to look upon but those hot zinc-covered decks
or the ragged river banks, with their uninviting huts
scattered along the edge.
The surroundings somehow did not fit these people.
Now Mrs. Montgomery at Camp Apache seemed to
have adapted herself to the rude setting of a log
cabin in the mountains, but these were Staflf people
and they had enjoyed for years the civilized side of
army life; now they were determined to rough it,
but they did not know how to begin.
The beautiful wife of the Adjutant-General was
mourning over some freckles which had come to
adorn her dazzling complexion, and she had put on
a large hat with a veil. Was there ever anything so
incongruous as a hat and veil in Ehrenberg! For a
long time I had not seen a woman in a hat; the
Mexicans all wore a linen towel over their heads.
But her beauty was startling, and, after all, I
thought, a woman so handsome must try to live up
to her reputation.
i66
SUMMER AT EHRENBERG
Now for some weeks Jack had been investigating
the sulphur well, which was beneath the old pump in
our corral. He had had a long wooden bath-tub built,
and I watched it with a lazy interest, and observed
his glee as he found a longshoreman or roustabout
who could caulk it. The shape was exactly like a
coffin (but men have no imaginations), and when I
told him how it made me feel to look at it, he said:
''Oh ! you are always thinking of gloomy things. It's
a fine tub, and we are mighty lucky to find that
man to caulk it. Tm going to set it up in the little
square room, and lead th^ sulphur water into it, and
it will be splendid, and just think," he added, "what
it will do for rheumatism!"
Now Jack had served in the Twentieth Massachu-
setts Volunteers during the Civil War, and the
swamps of the Chickahominy had brought him into
close acquaintance with that dread disease.
As for myself, rheumatism was about the only ail-
ment I did not have at that time, and I suppose I
did not really sympathize with him. But this ener-
getic and indomitable man mended the pump, with
Fisher's help, and led the water into the house, laid a
floor, set up the tub in the little square room, and
behold, our sulphur bath!
After much persuasion, I tried the bath. The water
flowed thick and inky black into the tub; of course
the odor was beyond description, and the effect upon
me was not such that I was ever willing to try it again.
167
VANISHED ARIZONA
Jack beamed, "How do you like it, Martha?" said
he. "Isn't it fine? Why people travel hundreds of
miles to get a bath like that!"
I had my own opinion, but I did not wish to dampen
his enthusiasm. Still, in order to protect myself in
the future, I had to tell him I thought I should
ordinarily prefer the river.
"Well," he said, "there are those who will be
thankful to have a bath in that water; / am going to
use it every day."
I remonstrated : "How do you know what is in that
inky water — and how do you dare to use it?"
"Oh, Fisher says it's all right; people here used
to drink it years ago, but they have not done so
lately, because the pump was broken down."
The Washington people seemed glad to pay us the
visit. Jack's eyes danced with true generosity and
glee. He marked his victim ; and, selecting the Staff
beauty and the Paymaster's wife, he expatiated on
the wonderful properties of his sulphur bath.
"Why, yes, the sooner the better," said Mrs. Mar-
tin. "I'd give everything I have in this world, and
all my chances for the next, to get a tub bath!"
"It will be so refreshing just before supper," said
Mrs. Maynadier, who was more conservative.
So the Indian, who had put on his dark blue waist-
band (or sash), made from flannel, ravelled out and
twisted into strands of yarn, and which showed the
supple muscles of his clean-cut thighs, and who had
i68
SUMMER AT EHRENBERG
done up an extra high pompadour in white clay, and
burnished his knife, which gleamed at his waist,
ushered these Washington women into a small apart-
ment adjoining the bath-room, and turned on the
inky stream into the sarcophagus.
The Staff beauty looked at the black pool, and
shuddered. "Do you use it?" said she.
"Occasionally," I equivocated.
"Does it hurt the complexion?" she ventured.
"Jack thinks it excellent for that," I replied.
And then I left them, directing Charley to wait, and
prepare the bath for the second victim.
By and by the beauty came out. "Where is your
mirror?" cried she (for our appointments were
primitive, and mirrors did not grow on bushes at
Ehrenberg) ; "I fancy I look queer," she added, and,
in truth, she did; for our water of the Styx did not
seem to affiliate with the chemical properties of the
numerous cosmetics used by her, more or less, all her
life, but especially on the voyage, and her face had
taken on a queer color, with peculiar spots here and
there.
Fortunately my mirrors were neither large nor true,
and she never really saw how she looked, but when
she came back into the living-room, she laughed
and said to Jack: "What kind of water did you say
that was? I never saw any just like it."
"Oh! you have probably never been much to the
169
VANISHED ARIZONA
sulphur springs," said he, with his most superior and
crushing manner.
'Terhaps not," she repHed, "but I thought I
knew something about it ; why, my entire body turned
such a queer color."
"Oh! it always does that," said this optimistic
soldier man, "and that shows it is doing good."
The Paymaster's wife joined us later. I think she
had profited by the beauty's experience, for she said
but little.
The Quartermaster was happy; and what if his
wife did not believe in that uncanny stream which
flowed somewhere from out the infernal regions, un-
derlying that wretched hamlet, he had succeeded in
being a benefactor to two travellers at least !
We had a merry supper: cold ham, chicken, and
fresh biscuit, a plenty of good Cocomonga wine, sweet
milk, which to be sure turned to curds as it stood on
the table, some sort of preserves from a tin, and
good coffee. I gave them the best to be had in the
desert — and at all events it was a change from the
chinaman's salt beef and peach pies, and they saw
fresh table linen and shining silver, and accepted our
simple hospitality in the spirit in which we gave it.
Alice Martin was much amused over Charley; and
Charley could do nothing but gaze on her lovely
features. "Why on earth don't you put some clothes
on him?" laughed she, in her delightful way.
I explained to her that the Indian's fashion of
170
O
SUMMER AT EHRENBERG
wearing white men's clothes was not pleasing to the
eye, and told her that she must cultivate her aesthetic
sense, and in a short time she would be able to admire
these copper-colored creatures of Nature as much as
I did.
But I fear that a life spent mostly in a large city
had cast fetters around her imagination, and that
the life at Fort Whipple afterwards savored too
much of civilization to loosen the bonds of her soul.
I saw her many times again, but she never recovered
from her amazement at Charley's lack of apparel, and
she never forgot the sulphur bath.
(171)
CHAPTER XX
MY DI^r^IVERER
Onk day, in the early autumn, as the ^'Gila"
touched at Ehrenberg, on her way down river, Cap-
tain Mellon called Jack on to the boat, and, pointing
to a young woman, who was about to go ashore, said :
''Now, there's a girl I think will do for your wife.
She imagines she has bronchial troubles, and some
doctor has ordered her to Tucson. She comes from
up North somewhere. Her money has given out, and
she thinks I am going to leave her here. Of course,
you know I would not do that; I can take her on
down to Yuma, but I thought your wife might like
to have her, so I've told her she could not travel on
this boat any farther without she could pay her fare.
Speak to her: she looks to me like a nice sort of a
girl."
In the meantime, the young woman had gone ashore
and was sitting upon her trunk, gazing hopelessly
about. Jack approached, offered her a home and
good wages, and brought her to me.
I could have hugged her for very joy, but I re-
strained myself and advised her to stay with us for
awhile, saying the Ehrenberg climate was quite as
good as that of Tucson.
172
MY DELIVERER
She remarked quietly: ''You do not look as if it
agreed with you very well, ma'am."
Then I told her of my young child, and my hard
journeys, and she decided to stay until she could earn
enough to reach Tucson.
And so Ellen became a member of our Ehrenberg
family. She was a fine, strong girl, and a very good
cook, and seemed to be in perfect health. She said,
however, that she had had an obstinate cough which
nothing would reach, and that was why she came to
Arizona. From that time, things went more smoothly.
Some yeast was procured from the Mexican bake-
shop, and Ellen baked bread and other things, which
seemed like the greatest luxuries to us. We sent
the soldier back to his company at Fort Yuma, and
began to live with a degree of comfort.
I looked at Ellen as my deliverer, and regarded her
coming as a special providence, the kind I had heard
about all my life in New England, but had never
much believed in.
After a few weeks, Ellen was one evening seized
with a dreadful toothache, which grew so severe that
she declared she could not endure it another hour:
she must have the tooth out. ''Was there a dentist in
the place?"
I looked at Jack: he looked at me: Ellen groaned
with pain.
"Why, yes ! of course there is," said this man for
"^71
VANISHED ARIZONA
emergencies; ''Fisher takes out teeth, he told me so
the other day."
Now I did not beHeve that Fisher knew any more
about extracting teeth than I did myself, but I
breathed a prayer to the Recording Angel, and said
naught.
"ril go get Fisher,'' said Jack.
Now Fisher was the steamboat agent. He stood
six feet in his stockings, had a powerful physique
and a determined eye. Men in those countries had
to be determined; for if they once lost their nerve,
Heaven save them. Fisher had handsome black eyes.
When they came in, I said: ''Can you attend to
this business, Mr. Fisher?"
"I think so," he replied, quietly. "The Quarter-
master says he has some forceps."
I gasped. Jack, who had left the room, now ap-
peared, a box of instruments in his hand, his eyes
shining with joy and triumph.
Fisher took the box, and scanned it. "I guess
they'll do," said he.
So we placed Ellen in a chair, a stiff barrack chair,
with a raw-hide seat, and no arms.
It was evening.
"Mattie, you must hold the candle," said Jack.
"I'll hold Ellen, and, Fisher, you pull the tooth."
So I lighted the candle, and held it, while Ellen
tried, by its flickering light, to show Fisher the tooth
that ached.
174
MY DELIVERER
Fisher looked again at the box of instruments.
"Why," said he, "these are lower jaw rollers, the
kind used a hundred years ago; and her tooth is an
upper jaw."
"Never mind," answered the I^ieutenant, "the in-
struments are all right. Fisher, you can get the tooth
out, that's all you want, isn't it?"
The Lieutenant was impatient; and besides he did
not wish any slur cast upon his precious instruments.
So Fisher took up the forceps, and clattered around
amongst Ellen's sound white teeth. His hand shook,
great beads of perspiration gathered on his face, and
I perceived a very strong odor of Cocomonga wine.
He had evidently braced for the occasion.
It was, however, too late to protest. He fastened
onto a molar, and with the lion's strength which lay
in his gigantic frame, he wrenched it out.
Ellen put up her hand and felt the place. "My
God! you've pulled the wrong tooth!" cried she, and
so he had.
I seized a jug of red wine which stood near by, and
poured out a gobletful, which she drank. The blood
came freely from her mouth, and I feared something
dreadful had happened.
Fisher declared she had shown him the wrong
tooth, and was perfectly willing to try again. I could
not witness the second attempt, so I put the candle
down and fled.
The stout-hearted and confiding girl allowed the
175
VANISHED ARIZONA
second trial, and between the steamboat agent, the
Lieutenant, and the red wine, the aching molar was
finally extracted.
This was a serious and painful occurrence. It did
not cause any of us to laugh, at the time. I am sure
that Ellen, at least, never saw the comical side of it.
When it was all over, I thanked Fisher, and Jack
beamed upon me with: "You see, Mattie, my case of
instruments did come in handy, after all."
Encouraged by success, he applied for a pannier of
medicines, and the Ehrenberg citizens soon regarded
him as a healer. At a certain hour in the morning,
the sick ones came to his office, and he dispensed
simple drugs to them and was enabled to do much
good. He seemed to have a sort of intuitive knowl-
edge about medicines and performed some miraculous
cures, but acquired little or no facility in the use of
the language.
I was often called in as interpreter, and with the
help of the sign language, and the little I knew of
Spanish, we managed to get an idea of the ailments of
these poor people.
And so our life flowed on in that desolate spot, by
the banks of the Great Colorado.
I rarely went outside the enclosure, except for my
bath in the river at daylight, or for some urgent
matter. The one street along the river was hot and
sandy and neglected. One had not only to wade
through the sand, but to step over the dried heads
-^76
J J » ' ' »
P pa
(Hi W
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Mmm ^
I
MY DELIVERER
or horns or bones of animals left there to whiten
where they died, or thrown out, possibly, when some
one killed a sheep or beef. Nothing decayed there,
but dried and baked hard in that wonderful air and
sun.
Then, the groups of Indains, squaws and half-
breeds loafing around the village and the store ! One
never felt sure what one was to meet, and although
by this time I tolerated about everything that I had
been taught to think wicked or immoral, still, in
Ehrenberg, the limit was reached, in the sights I saw
on the village streets, too bold and too rude to be
described in these pages.
The few white men there led respectable lives
enough for that country. The standard was not high,
and when I thought of the dreary years they had
already spent there without their families, and the
years they must look forward to remaining there, I
was willing to reserve my judgement.
(177)
CHAPTER XXI
WINTER IN EHRENBERG
We asked my sister, Mrs. Penniman, to come out
and spend the winter with us, and to bring her son,
who was in most delicate health. It was said that the
climate of Ehrenberg would have a magical effect
upon all diseases of the lungs or throat. So, to save
her boy, my sister made the long and arduous trip
out from New England, arriving in Ehrenberg in
October.
What a joy to see her, and to initiate her into the
ways of our life in Arizona! Everything was new,
everything was a wonder to her and to my nephew.
At first, he seemed to gain perceptibly, and we had
great hopes of his recovery.
It was now cool enough to sleep indoors, and we be-
gan to know what it was to have a good night's rest.
But no sooner had we gotten one part of our life
comfortably arranged, before another part seemed to
fall out of adjustment. Accidents and climatic con-
ditions kept my mind in a perpetual state of unrest.
Our dining-room door opened through two small
rooms into the kitchen, and one day, as I sat at the
table, waiting for Jack to come in to supper, I heard
a strange sort of crashing noise. Looking towards
the kitchen, through the vista of open dporw^y-*^, I
WINTER IN EHRENBERG
saw Ellen rush to the door which led to the courtyard.
She turned a livid white, threw up her hands, and
cried, "Great God ! the Captain !" She was transfixed
with horror.
I jflew to the door, and saw that the pump had
collapsed and gone down into the deep sulphur well.
In a second. Jack's head and hands appeared at the
edge; he seemed to be caught in the debris of rotten
timber. Before I could get to him, he had scrambled
half way out. "Don't come near this place," he cried,
"it's all caving in!"
And so it seemed ; for, as he worked himself up and
out, the entire structure feel in, and half the corral
with it, as it looked to me.
Jack escaped what might have been an unlucky bath
in his sulphur well, and we all recovered our com-
posure as best we could.
Surely, if life was dull at Ehrenberg, it could not
be called exactly monotonous. We were not obliged
to seek our excitement outside; we had plenty of it,
such as it was, within our walls.
My confidence in Ehrenberg, however, as a salu-
brious dwelling-place, was being gradually and liter-
ally undermined. I began to be distrustful of the very
ground beneath my feet. Ellen felt the same way,
evidently, although we did not talk much about it.
She probably longed also for some of her own kind;
and when, one morning, we went into the dining-room
for breakfast, Ellen stood, hat on, bag in hand, at th^
179
VANISHED ARIZONA
door. Dreading to meet my chagrin, she said : ''Good-
bye, Captain ; good-bye, missis, you've been very kind
to me. Fm leaving on the stage for Tucson — where
I first started for, you know."
And she tripped out and climbed up into the dusty,
rickety vehicle called "the stage." I had felt so
safe about Ellen, as I did not know that any stage line
ran through the place.
And now I was in a fine plight! I took a sun-
shade, and ran over to Fisher's house. ''Mr. Fisher,
what shall I do? Ellen has gone to Tucson !"
Fisher bethought himself, and we went out together
in the village. Not a woman to be found who would
come to cook for us ! There was only one thing to do.
The Quartermaster was allowed a soldier, to assist in
the Government work. I asked him if he understood
cooking ; he said he had never done any, but he would
try, if I would show him how.
This proved a hopeless task, and I finally gave it up.
Jack dispatched an Indian runner to Fort Yuma,
ninety miles or more down river, begging Captain
Ernest to send us a soldier-cook on the next boat.
This was a long time to wait; the inconveniences
were intolerable: there were our four selves, Patro-
cina and Jesusita, the soldier-clerk and the Indian, to
be provided for: Patrocina prepared carni seca with
peppers, a little boy came around with cuajada, a
delicious sweet curd cheese, and I tried my hand at
bread, following out Ellen's instructions.
i8o
WINTER IN EHRENBERG
How often I said to my husband. ''If we must live
in this wretched place, let's give up civilization and
live as the Mexicans do! They are the only happy
beings around here.
''Look at them, as you pass along the street! At
nearly any hour in the day you can see them, sitting
under their ramada, their backs propped against the
wall of their casa, calmly smoking cigarettes and
gazing at nothing, with a look of ineffable contentment
upon their features ! They surely have solved the
problem of Hfe!''
But we seemed never to be able to free ourselves
from the fetters of civilization, and so I struggled on.
One evening after dusk, I went into the kitchen,
opened the kitchen closet door to take out some
dish, when clatter! bang! down fell the bread-pan,
and a shower of other tin ware, and before I could
fairly get my breath, out jumped two young squaws
and without deigning to glance at me they darted
across the kitchen and leaped out the window like
two frightened fawn.
They had on nothing but their birthday clothes
and as I was somewhat startled at the sight of them,
I stood transfixed, my eyes gazing at the open space
through which they had flownc
Charley, the Indian, was in the corral, filling the
ollaSj and, hearing the commotion, came in and saw
just the disappearing heels of the two squaws.
I said, very sternly: "Charley, how came those
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squaws in my closet?" He looked very much ashamed
and said: ''Oh, me tell you: bad man go to kill
'em; I hide 'em."
"Well," said I, "do not hide any more girls in
this casa! You savez that?"
He bowed his head in asquiescence.
I afterwards learned that one of the girls was
his sister.
The weather was now fairly comfortable, and in
the evenings we sat under the ramada, in front of the
house, and watched the beautiful pink glow which
spread over the entire heavens and illuminated the
distant mountains of Lower California. I have never
seen anything like that wonderful color, which spread
itself over sky, river and desert. For an hour, one
could have believed oneself in a magician's realm.
At about this time, the sad-eyed Patrocina found it
expedient to withdraw into the green valleys of Lower
California, to recuperate for a few months. With
the impish Jesusita in her arms, she bade me a
mournful good-bye. Worthless as she was from the
standpoint of civilized morals, I was attached to her
and felt sorry to part with her.
Then I took a Mexican woman from Chihuahua.
Now the Chihuahuans hold their heads high, and it
was rather with awe that I greeted the tall middle-
aged Chihuahuan lady who came to be our little son's
nurse. Her name was Angela. "Angel of light," I
thought, how fortunate I am to get her!
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WINTER IN EHRENBERG •
After a few weeks, Fisher observed that the whole
village was eating Ferris ham, an unusual delicacy
in Ehrenberg, and that the Goldwaters' had sold
none. So he suggested that our commissary store-
house be looked to; and it was found that a dozen
hams or so had been withdrawn from their canvas
covers, the covers stuffed with straw, and hung back
in place. Verily the Chihuahuan was adding to her
pin-money in a most unworthy fashion, and she had
to go. After that, I was left without a nurse. My
little son was now about nine months old.
Milk began to be more plentiful at this season, and,
with my sister's advice and help, I decided to make
the one great change in a baby's life — i.e., to take him
from his mother. Modern methods were unknown
then, and we had neither of us any experience in
these matters and there was no doctor in the place.
The result was, that both the baby and myself
were painfully and desparately ill and not knowing
which way to turn for aid, when, by a lucky turn of
Fortune's wheel, our good, dear Doctor Henry
Lippincott came through Ehrenberg on his way out
to the States. Once more he took care of us, and
it is to him that I believe I owe my life.
Captain Ernest sent us a cook from Yuma, and
soon some officers came for the duck-shooting. There
were thousands of ducks around the various lagoons
in the neighborhood, and the sport was rare. We had
all the ducks we co^M eat .
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Then came an earthquake, which tore and rent the
baked earth apart. The ground shivered, the windows
rattled, the birds fell close to the ground and could
not fly, the stove-pipes fell to the floor, the thick walls
cracked and finally, the earth rocked to and fro like
some huge thing trying to get its balance.
It was in the afternoon. My sister and I were sit-
ting with our needle- work in the living-room. Little
Harry was on the floor, occupied with some toys. I
was paralyzed with fear ; my sister did not move. We
sat gazing at each other, scarce daring to breathe,
expecting every instant the heavy walls to crumble
about our heads. The earth rocked and rocked, and
rocked again, then swayed and swayed and finally was
still. My sister caught Harry in her arms, and then
Jack and Willie came breathlessly in. "Did you feel
it?" said Jack.
"Did we feel it !" said I, scornfully.
Sarah was silent, and I looked so reproachfully at
Jack, that he dropped his light tone, and said: "It
was pretty awful. We were in the Goldwaters' store,
when suddenly it grew dark and the lamps above
our heads began to rattle and swing, and we all
rushed out into the middle of the street and stood,
rather dazed, for we scarcely knew what had hap-
pened; then we hurried home. But it's all over
now."
"I do not believe it," said I ; "we shall have more" ;
and, in fact, we did have two light shocks in the
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WINTER IN EHRENBERG
night, but no more followed, and the next morning,
we recovered, in a measure, from our fright and went
out to see the great fissures in that treacherous crust
of earth upon which Ehrenberg was built.
I grew afraid, after that, and the idea that the
earth would eventually open and engulf us all took
possession of my mind.
My health, already weakened by shocks and severe
strains, gave way entirely. I, who had gloried in
the most perfect health, and had a constitution of iron,
became an emaciated invalid.
From my window, one evening at sundown, I saw a
weird procession moving slowly along towards the
outskirts of the village. It must be a funeral, thought
I, and it flashed across my mind that I had never
seen the burying-ground.
A man with a rude cross led the procession. Then
came some Mexicans with violins and guitars. After
the musicians, came the body of the deceased, wrapped
in a white cloth, borne on a bier by friends, and fol-
lowed by the little band of weeping women, with
black ribosos folded about their heads. They did not
use coffins at Ehrenberg, because they had none, I
suppose.
The next day I asked Jack to walk to the grave-yard
with me. He postponed it from day to day, but I in-
sisted upon going. At last, he took me to see it.
There was no enclosure, but the bare, sloping, sandy
place was sprinkled with graves, marked by heaps of
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stones, and in some instances by rude crosses of wood,
some of which had been wrenched from their upright
position by the fierce sand-storms. There was not a
blade of grass, a tree, or a flower. I walked about
among these graves, and close beside some of them I
saw deep holes and whitnened bones. I was quite
ignorant or unthinking, and asked what the holes
were.
''It is where the coyotes and wolves come in the
nights," said Jack.
My heart sickened as I thought of these horrors,
and I wondered if Ehrenberg held anything in store
for me worse than what I had already seen. We
turned away from this unhallowed grave-yard and
walked to our quarters. I had never known much
about ''nerves," but I began to see spectres in the
night, and those ghastly graves with their coyote-holes
were ever before me. The place was but a stone's
throw from us, and the uneasy spirits from these
desecrated graves began to haunt me. I could not sit
alone on the porch at night, for they peered
through the lattice, and mocked at me, and beckoned.
Some had no heads, some no arms, but they pointed
or nodded towards the grewsome burying-ground :
"You'll be with us soon, you'll be with us soon."
(186)
CHAPTER XXII
RETURN TO THE STATES
I dream of the east wind^s tonic,
Of the breakers' stormy roar,
And the peace of the inner harbor
With the long low Shimmo shore.
* * * * *
I long for the buoy-belPs tolling
When the north wind brings from afar
The smooth, green, shining billows.
To be churned into foam on the bar.
Oh! for the sea-gulls' screaming
As they swoop so bold and free!
Oh! for the fragrant commons,
And the glorious open sea! —
For the restful great contentment.
For the joy that is never known
Till past the jetty and Brant Point Light
The Islander comes to his own!
—MARY E. STARBUCK.
"I MUST send you out. I see that you cannot stand
it here another month," said Jack one day; and so
he bundled us onto the boat in the early spring, and
took us down the river to meet the ocean steamer.
There was no question about it this time, and I well
knew it.
I left my sister and her son in Ehrenberg, and I
never saw my nephew again. A month later, his state
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VANISHED ARIZONA
of health became so alarming that my sister took him
to San Francisco. He survived the long voyage, but
died there a few weeks later at the home of my cousin.
At Fort Yuma we telegraphed all over the country
for a nurse, but no money would tempt those Mexican
women to face an ocean voyage. Jack put me on
board the old *'Newbern'' in charge of the Captain,
waited to see our vessel under way, then waved good-
bye from the deck of the ''Gila," and turned his face
towards his post and duty. I met the situation as
best I could, and as I have already described a voyage
on this old craft, I shall not again enter into details.
There was no stewardess on board, and all arrange-
ments were of the crudest description. Both my child
and I were seasick all the way, and the voyage lasted
sixteen days. Our misery was very great.
The passengers were few in number, only a couple
of Mexican miners who had been prospecting, an
irritable old Mexican woman, and a German doctor,
who was agreeable but elusive.
The old Mexican woman sat on the deck all day,
with her back against the stateroom door; she was a
picturesque and indolent figure.
There was no diversion, no variety; my little boy
required constant care and watching. The days
seemed endless. Everbody bought great bunches of
green bananas at the ports in Mexico, where we stop-
ped for passengers.
The old woman was irritable, and one day when
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RETURN TO THE STATES
she saw the agreeable German doctor pulHng bananas
from the bunch which she had hung in the sun to
ripen, she got up muttering ''Carramba/' and shaking
her fist in his face. He appeased her wrath by offer-
ing her, in the most fluent Spanish, some from his
own bunch when they should be ripe.
Such were my surroundings on the old "Newbern.''
The German doctor was interesting, and I loved to talk
with him, on days when I was not seasick, and to
read the letters which he had received from his
family, who were living on their Rittergut (or landed
estates) in Prussia.
He amused me by tales of his life at a wretched
little mining village somewhere about fifty miles from
Ehrenberg, and I was always wondering how he came
to have lived there.
He had the keenest sense of humor, and as I listened
to the tales of his adventures and miraculous escapes
from death at the hands of these desperate folk, I
looked in his large laughing blue eyes and tried to
solve the mystery.
For that he was of noble birth and of ancient
family there was no doubt. There were the letters,
there was the crest, and here was the offshoot of the
family. I made up my mind that he was a ne'er-do-
weel and a rolling stone. He was elusive, and, beyond
his adventures, told me nothing of himself. It was
some time after my arrival in San Francisco that I
learned more about him.
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VANISHED ARIZONA
Now, after we rounded Cape St. Lucas, we were
caught in the long heavy swell of the Pacific Ocean,
and it was only at intervals that my little boy and I
could leave our stateroom. The doctor often held
him while I ran below to get something to eat,
and I can never forget his kindness; and if, as I
afterward heard in San Francisco, he really had
entered the ''Gate of a hundred sorrows," it would
perhaps best explain his elusiveness, his general con-
dition, and his sometimes dazed expression.
A gentle and kindly spirit, met by chance, known
through the propinquity of a sixteen days' voyage,
and never forgotten.
Everything comes to an end, however interminable
it may seem, and at last the sharp and jagged outlines
of the coast began to grow softer and we approached
the Golden Gate.
The old ''Newbern," with nothing in her but bal-
last, rolled and lurched along, through the bright
green waters of the outer bar. I stood leaning
against the great mast, steadying myself as best I
could, and the tears rolled down my face ; for I saw
the friendly green hills, and before me lay the glorious
bay of San Francisco. I had left behind me the des-
erts, the black rocks, the burning sun, the snakes, the
scorpions, the centipedes, the Indians and the Ehren-
berg graveyard; and so the tears flowed, and I did
not try to v3top them; they were tears of joy.
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RETURN TO THE STATES
The custom officers wanted to confiscate the great
bundles of Mexican cigarettes they found in my trunk,
but ''No/' I told them, ''they were for my own use.''
They raised their eyebrows, gave me one look, and
put them back into the trunk.
My beloved California relatives met us, and took
care of us for a fortnight, and when I entered a Pull-
man car for a nine days' journey to my old home, it
seemed like the most luxurious comfort, although I
had a fourteen-months-old child in my arms, and
no nurse. So does everything in this life go by com-
parison.
Arriving in Boston, my sister Harriet met me at
the train, and as she took little Harry from my arms
she cried : "Where did you get that sunbonnet ? Now
the baby can't wear that in Boston !"
Of course we were both thinking hard of all that
had happened to me since we parted, on the morning
after my wedding, two years before, and we were so
overcome with the joy of meeting, diat if it had not
been for the baby's white sunbonnet, I do not know
what kind of a scene we might have made. That
saved the situation, and after a few days of rest and
necessary shopping, we started for our old home in
Nantucket. Such a welcome as the baby and I had
from my mother and father and all old friends !
But I saw sadness in their faces, and I heard it in
their voices, for no one thought I could possibly live.
I felt, however, sure it was not too late, I knew the
VANISHED ARIZONA
East wind's tonic would not fail me, its own child.
Stories of our experiences and misfortunes were
eagerly listened to, by the family, and betwixt sighs
and laughter they declared they were going to fill
some boxes which should contain everything necessary
for comfort in those distant places. So one room in
our old house was set apart for this ; great boxes were
brought, and day by day various articles, useful, orna-
mental, and comfortable, and precious heirlooms of
silver and glass, were packed away in them. It was
the year of 1876, the year of the great Centennial, at
Philadelphia. Everybody went, but it had no attrac-
tions for me. I was happy enough, enjoying the
health-giving air and the comforts of an Eastern
home. I wondered that I had ever complained about
anything there, or wished to leave that blissful spot.
The poorest person in that place by the sea had
more to be thankful for, in my opinion, than the
richest people in Arizona. I felt as if I must cry
it out from the house-tops. My heart was thankful
every minute of the day and night, for every breath
of soft air that I breathed, for every bit of fresh fish
that I ate, for fresh vegetables, and for butter — for
gardens, for trees, for flowers, for the good firm earth
beneath my feet. I wrote the man on detached service
that I should never return to Ehrenberg.
After eight months, in which my health was wholly
restored, I heard the good news that Captain Corliss
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RETURN TO THE STATES
had applied for his first Heutenant, and I decided to
join him at once at Camp MacDowell.
Although I had not wholly forgotten that Camp
MacDowell had been called by very bad names dur-
ing our stay at Fort Whipple, at the time that Jack de-
cided on the Ehrenberg detail, I determined to brave it,
in all its unattractiveness, isolation and heat, for I
knew there was a garrison and a Doctor there, and
a few officers' families, I knew supplies were to be
obtained and the ordinary comforts of a far-off post.
Then too, in my summer in the East I had discovered
that I was really a soldier's wife and I must go back
to it all. To the army with its glitter and its misery,
to the post with its discomforts, to the soldiers, to the
drills, to the bugle-calls, to the monotony, to the heat
of Southern Arizona, to the uniform and the stalwart
Captains and gay Lieutenants who wore it, I felt the
call and I must go.
(193)
CHAPTER XXIII
BACK TO ARIZONA
The I.AST nails were driven in the precious boxes,
and I started overland in November with my little son,
now nearly two years old.
"Overland" in those days meant nine days from
New York to San Francisco. Arriving in Chicago, I
found it impossible to secure a section on the Pull-
man car so was obliged to content myself with a lower
berth. I did not allow myself to be disappointed.
On entering the section, I saw an enormous pair of
queer cow hide shoes, the very queerest shoes I had
ever seen, lying on the floor, with a much used travel-
ling bag. I speculated a good deal on the shoes, but
did not see the owner of them until several hours later,
when a short thick-set German with sandy close-cut
beard entered and saluted me politely. "You are notic-
ing my shoes perhaps Madame?"
"Yes" I said, involuntarily answering him in German.
His face shone with pleasure and he explained to
me that they were made in Russia and he always
wore them when travelling. "What have we," I
thought, "an anarchist?"
But with the inexperience and fearlessness of youth,
I entered into a most delightful conversation in Ger-
man with him. I found him rather an extraordinarily
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BACK TO ARIZONA
well educated gentleman and he said he lived in
Nevada, but had been over to Vienna to place his little
boy at a military school, **as,'' he said, ''there is no-
thing like a uniform to give a boy self-respect." He
said his wife had died several months before. I con-
gratulated myself that the occupant of the upper berth
was at least a gentleman.
The next day, as we sat opposite each other chatting,
always in German, he paused, and fixing his eyes
rather steadily upon me he remarked: ''Do you think
I put on mourning when my wife died? no indeed, I
put on white kid gloves and had a fiddler and danced
at the grave. All this mourning that people have is
utter nonsense."
I was amazed at the turn his conversation had taken
and sat quite still, not knowing just what to say or
to do.
After awhile, he looked at me steadily, and said,
very deferentially, "Madame, the spirit of my dead
wife is looking at me from out your eyes."
By this time I realized that the man was a maniac,
and I had always heard that one must agree with
crazy people, so I nodded, and that seemed to satisfy
him, and bye and bye after some minutes which
seemed like hours to me, he went off to the smoking
room.
The tension was broken and I appealed to a very
nice looking woman who happened to be going to some
place in Nevada near which this Doctor lived, and
195
VANISHED ARIZONA
she said, when I told her his name, ''Why, yes, I heard
of him before I left home, he lives in Silver City, and
at the death of his wife, he went hopelessly insane,
but," she added, ''he is harmless, I believe."
This was a nice fix, to be sure, and I staid over in
her section all day, and late that night the Doctor
arrived at the junction where he was to take another
train. So I slept in peace, after a considerable agita-
tion.
There is nothing like experience to teach a young
woman how to travel alone.
In San Francisco I learned that I could now go
as far as Los Angeles by rail, thence by steamer to San
Diego, and so on by stage to Fort Yuma, where my
husband was to meet me with an ambulance and a
wagon.
I was enchanted with the idea of avoiding the long
sea-trip down the Pacific coast, but sent my boxes
down by the Steamer "Montana," sister ship of the
old "Newbern," and after a few days' rest in San
Francisco, set forth by rail for Los Angeles. At San
Pedro, the port of Los Angeles, we embarked for
San Diego. It was a heavenly night. I sat on deck
enjoying the calm sea, and listening to the romantic
story of Lieutenant Philip Reade, then stationed at
San Diego. He was telling the story himself, and I
had never read or heard of anything so mysterious
or so tragic.
Then, too, aside from the story, Mr. Reade was a
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BACK TO ARIZONA
very good-looking and chivalrous young army officer.
He was returning to his station in San Diego, and we
had this pleasant opportunity to renew what had been
a very slight acquaintance.
The calm waters of the Pacific, with their long and
gentle swell, the pale light of the full moon, our
steamer gliding so quietly along, the soft air of the
California coast, the absence of noisy travellers, these
made a fit setting for the story of his early love and
marriage, and the tragic mystery which surrounded
the death of his young bride.
All the romance which lived and will ever live in
me was awake to the story, and the hours passed all
too quickly.
But a cry from my little boy in the near-by deck
stateroom recalled me to the realities of life and I
said good-night, having spent one of the most delight-
ful evenings I ever remember.
Mr. Reade wears now a star on his shoulder, and
well earned it is, too. I wonder if he has forgotten
how he helped to bind up my little boy's finger which
had been broken in an accident on the train from San
Francisco to Los Angeles? or how he procured a
surgeon for me on our arrival there, and got a com-
fortable room for us at the hotel? or how he took us
to drive (with an older lady for a chaperon), or how
he kindly cared for us until we were safely on the
boat that evening? If I had ever thought chivalry
dead, I learned then that I had been mistaken.
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VANISHED ARIZONA
San Diego charmed me, as we steamed, the next
morning, into its shining bay. But as our boat was
two hours late and the stage-coach was waiting, I had
to decHne Mr. Reade's enchanting offers to drive us
around the beautiful place, to show me the fine
beaches, and his quarters, and all other points of in-
terest in this old town of Southern California.
Arizona, not San Diego, was my destination, so we
took a hasty breakfast at the hotel and boarded the
stage, which, filled with passengers, was waiting before
the door.
The driver waited for no ceremonies, muttered some-
thing about being late, cracked his whip, and away
we went. I tried to stow myself and my little boy
and my belongings away comfortably, but the road
was rough and the coach swayed, and I gave it up.
There were passengers on top of the coach, and passen-
gers inside the coach. One woman who was totally
deaf, and some miners and blacksmiths, and a few
other men, the flotsam and jetsam of the Western
countries, who come from no one knoweth whence, and
who go, no one knoweth whither, who have no trade
or profession and are sometimes even without a name.
They seemed to want to be kind to me. Harry
got very stage-sick and gave us much trouble, and
they all helped me to hold him. Night came. I do
not remember that we made any stops at all; if we
did, I have forgotten them. The night on that stage-
coach can be better imagined than described. I do
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BACK TO ARIZONA
not know of any adjectives that I could apply to it.
Just before dawn, we stopped to change horses and
driver, and as the day began to break, we felt our-
selves going down somewhere at a terrific speed.
The great Concord coach slipped and slid and
swayed on its huge springs as we rounded the curves.
The road was narrow and appeared to be cut out of
solid rock, which seemed to be as smooth as soapstone ;
the four horses were put to their speed, and down
and around and away we went. I drew in my breath
as I looked out and over into the abyss on my left.
Death and destruction seemed to be the end awaiting
us all. Everybody was limp, when we reached the
bottom — that is, I was limp, and I suppose the others
were. The stage-driver knew I was frightened, be-
cause I sat still and looked white and he came and
lifted me out. He lived in a small cabin at the
bottom of the mountain; I talked with him some.
"The fact is," he said, "we are an hour late this
morning; we always make it a point to 'do it' before
dawn, so the passengers can't see anything; they are
almost sure to get stampeded if we come down by
daylight.''
I mentioned this road afterwards in San Francisco,
and learned that it was a famous road, cut out of the
side of a solid mountain of rock ; long talked of, long
desired, and finally built, at great expense, by the
state and the county together; that they always had
the same man to drive over it, and that they never did
199
VANISHED ARIZONA
it by daylight. I did not inquire if there had ever
been any accidents. I seemed to have learned all I
wanted to know about it.
After a little rest and a breakfast at a sort of road-
house, a relay of horses was taken, and we travelled
one more day over a flat country, to the end of the
stage-route. Jack was to meet me. Already from
the stage I had espied the post ambulance and two
blue uniforms. Out jumped Major Ernest and Jack.
I remember thinking how straight and how well they
looked. I had forgotten really how army men did
look, I had been so long away.
And now we were to go to Fort Yuma and stay
with the Wells' until my boxes, which had been
sent around by water on the steamer ''Montana,"
should arrive. I had only the usual thirty pounds
allowance of luggage with me on the stage, and it was
made up entirely of my boy's clothing, and an evening
dress I had worn on the last night of my stay in San
Francisco.
Fort Yuma was delightful at this season (Decem-
ber), and after four or five days spent most enjoyably,
we crossed over one morning on the old rope ferry-
boat to Yuma City, to inquire at the big country store
there of news from the Gulf. There was no bridge
then over the Colorado.
The merchant called Jack to one side and said some-
thing to him in a low tone. I was sure it concerned
the steamer, and I said: "what it is?"
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BACK TO ARIZONA
Then they told me that news had just been received
from below, that the ^'Montana" had been burned
to the water's edge in Guaymas harbor, and every-
thing on board destroyed; the passengers had been
saved with much difficulty, as the disaster occurred
in the night.
I had lost all the clothes I had in the world — and
my precious boxes were gone. I scarcely knew how
to meet the calamity.
Jack said: "Don't mind, Mattie; Fm so thankful
you and the boy were not on board the ship ; the things
are nothing, no account at all."
''But," said I, ''you do not understand. I have no
clothes except what I have on, and a party dress. Oh !
what shall I do ?" I cried.
The merchant was very sympathetic and kind, and
Major Wells said, "Let's go home and tell Fanny;
maybe she can suggest something."
I turned toward the counter, and bought some sew-
ing materials, realizing that outside of my toilet
articles and my party dress all my personal belong-
ings were swept away. I was in a country where
there were no dressmakers, and no shops ; I was, for
the time being, a pauper, as far as clothing was
concerned.
When I got back to Mrs. Wells I broke down
entirely ; she put her arms around me and said : "I've
heard all about it; I know just how you must feel;
20I
VANISHED ARIZONA
now come in my room, and we'll see what can be
done."
She laid out enough clothing to last me until I
could get some things from the East, and gave me a
grey and white percale dress with a basque, and a
border, and although it was all very much too large
for me, it sufficed to relieve my immediate distress.
Letters were dispatched to the East, in various
directions, for every sort and description of clothing,
but it was at least two months before any of it ap-
peared, and I felt like an object of charity for a long
time. Then, too, I had anticipated the fitting up of
our quarters with all the pretty cretonnes and other
things I had brought from home. And now the
contents of those boxes were no more ! The memory
of the visit was all that was left to me. It was very
hard to bear.
Preparations for our journey to Camp MacDowell
were at last completed. The route to our new post
lay along the valley of the Gila River, following it up
from its mouth, where it empties into the Colorado,
eastwards towards the southern middle portion of
Arizona.
(202)
CHAPTER XXIV
UP THE VAI,I,EY OF THE) GlIvA
The December sun was shining brightly down, as
only the Arizona sun can shine at high noon in winter,
when we crossed the Colorado on the primitive ferry-
boat drawn by ropes, clambered up into the great
thorough-brace wagon (or ambulance) with its dusty
white canvas covers all rolled up at the sides, said
good-bye to our kind hosts of Fort Yuma, and started,
rattling along the sandy main street of Yuma City,
for old Camp MacDowell.
Our big blue army wagon, which had been provided
for my boxes and trunks, rumbling along behind us,
empty except for the camp equipage.
But it all seemed so good to me: I was happy to
see the soldiers again, the drivers and teamsters, and
even the sleek Government mules. The old blue
uniforms made my heart glad. Every sound was
familiar, even the rattling of the harness with its
ivory rings and the harsh sound of the heavy brakes
reinforced with old leather soles.
Even the country looked attractive, smiling under
the December sun. I wondered if I had really grown
to love the desert. I had read somewhere that people
did. But I was not paying much attention in those
days to the analysis of my feelings. I did not stop to
203
VANISHED ARIZONA
question the subtle fascination which I felt steal over
me as we rolled along the smooth hard roads that
followed the windings of the Gila River. I was back
again in the army; I had cast my lot with a soldier,
and where he was, was home to me.
In Nantucket, no one thought much about the army.
The uniform of the regulars was never seen there.
The profession of arms was scarcely known or heard
of. Few people manifested any interest in the life
of the Far West. I had, while there, felt out of
touch with my oldest friends. Only my darling old
uncle, a brave old whaling captain, had said: "Mattie,
I am much interested in all you have written us about
Arizona; come right down below and show me on
the dining-room map just where you went."
Gladly I followed him down the stairs, and he took
his pencil out and began to trace. After he had
crossed the Mississippi, there did not seem to be any-
thing but blank country, and I could not find Arizona,
and it was written in large letters across the entire
half of this antique map, ''Unexplored."
"True enough," he laughed. "I must buy me a
new map."
But he drew his pencil around Cape Horn and up
the Pacific coast, and I described to him the voyages
I had made on the old "Newbern," and his face was
aglow with memories.
"Yes," he said, "in 1826, we put into San Fran-
cisco harbor and sent our boats up to San Jose for
204
UP THE VALLEY OF THE GILA
water and we took goats from some of those islands,
too. Oh! I know the coast well enough. We were
on our way to the Ar'tic Ocean then, after right
whales.''
But, as a rule, people there seemed to have little
interest in the army and it had made me feel as one
apart.
Gila City was our first camp; not exactly a city, to
be sure, at that time, whatever it may be now. We
were greeted by the sight of a few old adobe houses,
and the usual saloon. I had ceased, however, to dwell
upon such trifles as names. Even ''Filibuster,'' the
name of our next camp, elicited no remark from me.
The weather was fine beyond description. Each
day, at noon, we got out of the ambulance, and sat
down on the warm white sand, by a little clump of
mesquite, and ate our luncheon. Coveys of quail
flew up and we shot them, thereby insuring a good
supper.
The mules trotted along contentedly on the smooth
white road, which followed the south bank of the
Gila River. Myriads of lizards ran out and looked at
us. ''Hello, here you are again," they seemed to say.
The Gila Valley in December was quite a different
thing from the Mojave desert in September; and
although there was not much to see, in that low, flat
country, yet we three were joyous and happy.
Good health again was mine, the travelling was
205
VANISHED ARIZONA
ideal, there were no discomforts, and I experienced
no terrors in this part of Arizona.
Each morning, when the tent was struck, and I
sat on the camp-stool by the little heap of ashes,
which was all that remained of what had been so
pleasant a home for an afternoon and a night, a
little lonesome feeling crept over me, at the thought of
leaving the place. So strong is the instinct and love
of home in some people, that the little tendrils shoot
out in a day and weave themselves around a spot
which has given them shelter. Such as those are
not born to be nomads.
Camps were made at Stanwix, Oatman's Flat, and
Gila Bend. There we left the river, which makes a
mighty loop at this point, and struck across the plains
to Maricopa Wells. The last day's march took us
across the Gila River, over the Maricopa desert, and
brought us to the Salt River. We forded it at sun-
down, rested our animals a half hour or so, and
drove through the MacDowell canon in the dark of
the evening, nine miles more to the post. A day's
march of forty-five miles. (A relay of mules had
been sent to meet us at the Salt River, but by some
oversight, we had missed it.)
Jack had told me of the curious cholla cactus, which
is said to nod at the approach of human beings, and
to deposit its barbed needles at their feet. Also I
had heard stories of this deep, dark canon and things
that had happened there.
206
o » •» • • •)
J ' •* » 1 a > i
Suwarro, Giant Cactus. Near Camp MacDowell, Arizona, 1877.
f * *• ,« «
UP THE VALLEY OF THE GILA
Fort MacDowell was in Maricopa County, Arizona,
on the Verde River, seventy miles or so south of
Camp Verde; the roving bands of Indians, escaping
from Camp Apache and the San Carlos reservation,
which lay far to the east and southeast, often found
secure hiding places in the fastnesses of the Super-
stition Mountains and other ranges, which lay between
old Camp MacDowell and these reservations.
Hence, a company of cavalry and one of infantry
were stationed at Camp MacDowell, and the officers
and men of this small command were kept busy,
scouting, and driving the renegades from out of this
part of the country back to their reservations. It
was by no means an idle post, as I found after I got
there ; the life at Camp MacDowell meant hard work,
exposure and fatigue for this small body of men.
As we wound our way through this deep, dark
canon, after crossing the Salt River, I remembered
the things I had heard, of ambush and murder. Our
animals were too tired to go out of a walk, the night
fell in black shadows down between those high
mountain walls, the chollas, which are a pale sage-
green color in the day-time, took on a ghastly hue.
They were dotted here and there along the road, and
on the steep mountain-sides. They grew nearly as
tall as a man, and on each branch were great excres-
cences which looked like people's heads, in the vague
light which fell upon them.
207
VANISHED ARIZONA
They nodded to us, and it made me shudder; they
seemed to be something human.
The soldiers were not partial to MacDowell canon;
they knew too much about the place; and we all
breathed a sigh of relief when we emerged from this
dark uncanny road and saw the lights of the post,
lying low, long, flat, around a square.
(208)
CHAPTER XXV
OI.D CAMP MACDOWKI.I.
We were expected, evidently, for as we drove along
the road in front of the officers' quarters they all
came out to meet us, and we received a great welcome.
Captain Corliss of C company welcomed us to the
post and to his company, and said he hoped I should
like MacDowell better than I did Ehrenberg. Now
Ehrenberg seemed years agone, and I could laugh at
the mention of it.
Supper was awaiting us at Captain Corliss's, and
Mrs. Kendall, wife of Lieutenant Kendall, Sixth
Cavalry, had, in Jack's absence, put the finishing
touches to our quarters. So I went at once to a
comfortable home, and life in the army began again
for me.
How good everything seemed! There was Doctor
Clark, whom I had met first at Ehrenberg, and who
wanted to throw Patrocina and Jesusita into the
Colorado. I was so glad to find him there; he was
such a good doctor, and we never had a moment's
anxiety, as long as he staid at Camp MacDowell. Our
confidence in him was unbounded.
It was easy enough to obtain a man from the com-
pany. There were then no hateful laws forbidding
soldiers to work in officers' families; no dreaded in-
209
VANISHED ARIZONA
specters, who put the flat question, "Do you employ
a soldier for menial labor?"
Captain Corliss gave me an old man by the name
of Smith, and he was glad to come and stay with us
and do what simple cooking we required. One of the
laundresses let me have her daughter for nursery-
maid, and our small establishment at Camp MacDowell
moved on smoothly, if not with elegance.
The officers' quarters were a long, low line of
adobe buildings with no space between them; the
houses were separated only by thick walls. In front,
the windows looked out over the parade ground. In
the rear, they opened out on a road which ran along
the whole length, and on the other side of which lay
another row of long, low buildings which were the
kitchens, each set of quarters having its own.
We occupied the quarters at the end of the row,
and a large bay window looked out over a rather
desolate plain, and across to the large and well-kept
hospital. As all my draperies and pretty cretonnes
had been burnt up on the ill-fated ship, I had nothing
but bare white shades at the windows, and the rooms
looked desolate enough. But a long divan was soon
built, and some coarse yellow cotton bought at John
Smith's (the sutler's) store, to cover it. My pretty
rugs and mats were also gone, and there was only
the old ingrain carpet from Fort Russell. The floors
were adobe, and some men from the company came
and laid down old canvas, then the carpet, and drove
210
*•* »3»»>»
Our Quarters at Old Camp MacDowell, Arizona, 1877.
OLD CAMP MACDOWELL
in great spikes around the edge, to hold it down.
The floors of the bedroom and dining-room were cov-
ered with canvas in the same manner. Our furnish-
ings were very scanty and I felt very mournful about
the loss of the boxes. We could not claim restitution,
as the steamship company had been courteous enough
to take the boxes down free of charge.
John Smith, the post trader (the name ''sutler" fell
into disuse about now), kept a large store, but nothing
that I could use to beautify my quarters with, — and
our losses had been so heavy that we really could not
afford to send back East for more things. My new
white dresses came, and were suitable enough for the
winter climate of MacDowell. But I missed the
thousand and one accessories of a woman's wardrobe,
the accumulation of years, the comfortable things
which money could not buy, especially at that distance.
I had never learned how to make dresses or to fit
garments, and, although I knew how to sew, my
accomplishments ran more in the line of outdoor
sports.
But Mrs. Kendall, whose experience in frontier life
had made her self-reliant, lent me some patterns,
and I bought some of John Smith's calico and went to
work to make gowns suited to the hot weather. This
was in 1877, and every one will remember that the
ready-made house-gowns were not to be had in those
days in the excellence and profusion in which they
can to-day be found, in all parts of the country.
211
k
VANISHED ARIZONA
Now Mrs. Kendall was a tall, fine woman, much
larger than I, but I used her patterns without altera-
tions, and the result was something like a bag. They
were freshly laundried and cool, however, and I did
not place so much importance on the lines of them,
as the young women of the present time do. To-day,
the poorest farmer's wife in the wilds of Arkansas or
Alaska can wear better fitting gowns than I wore then.
But my riding habits, of which I had several kinds,
to suit warm and cold countries, had been left in
Jack's care at Ehrenberg, and as long as these fitted
well, it did not so much matter about the gowns.
Captain Chaffee, who commanded the company of
the Sixth Cavalry stationed there, was away on leave,
but Mr. Kendall, his first lieutenant, consented for
me to exercise "Cochise," Captain Chaflfee's Indian
pony, and I had a royal time.
Cavalry officers usually hate riding: that is, riding
for pleasure; for they are in the saddle so much,
for dead earnest work; but a young officer, a second
lieutenant, not long out from the Academy, liked to
ride, and we had many pleasant riding parties. Mr.
Dravo and I rode one day to the Mormon settlement,
seventeen miles away, on some business with the
bishop, and a Mormon woman gave us a lunch of fried
salt pork, potatoes, bread, and milk. How good it
tasted, after our long ride ! and how we laughed about
it all, and jollied, after the fashion of young people,
all the way back to the post! Mr. Dravo had also
212
OLD CAMP MACDOWELL
lost all his things on the "Montana," and we sympa-
thized greatly with each other. He, however, had
sent an order home to Pennsylvania, duplicating all
the contents of his boxes. I told him I could not
duplicate mine, if I sent a thousand orders East.
When, after some months, his boxes came, he
brought me in a package, done up in tissue paper and
tied with ribbon: "Mother sends you these; she
wrote that I was not to open them; I think she felt
sorry for you, when I wrote her you had lost all your
clothing. I suppose,'' he added, mustering his West
Point French to the front, and handing me the pack-
age, "it is what you ladies call 'lingerie.' "
I hope I blushed, and I think I did, for I was not
so very old, and I was touched by this sweet remem-
brance from the dear mother back in Pittsburgh. And
so many lovely things happened all the time; every-
body was so kind to me. Mrs. Kendall and her young
sister, Kate Taylor, Mrs. John Smith and I, were the
only women that winter at Camp MacDowell. After-
wards, Captain Corliss brought a bride to the post,
and a new doctor took Doctor Clark's place.
There v/ere interminable scouts, which took both
cavalry and infantry out of the post. We heard a
great deal about "chasing Injuns" in the Superstition
Mountains, and once a lieutenant of infantry went
out to chase an escaping Indian Agent.
Old Smith, my cook, was not very satisfactory; he
drank a good deal, and I got very tired of the trouble
213
VANISHED ARIZONA
he caused me. It was before the days of the canteen,
and soldiers could get all the whiskey they wanted
at the trader's store ; and, it being generally the brand
that was known in the army as ''Forty rod,'' they got
very drunk on it sometimes. I never had it in my
heart to blame them much, poor fellows, for every
human beings wants and needs some sort of recreation
and jovial excitement.
Captain Corliss said to Jack one day, in my pres-
ence, ''I had a fine batch of recruits come in this
morning."
"That's lovely," said I; ''what kind of men are
they? Any good cooks amongst them?" (for I was
getting very tired of Smith).
Captain Corliss smiled a grim smile. "What do
you think the United States Government enlists men
for?" said he; "do you think I want my company
to be made up of dish-washers?"
He was really quite angry with me, and I con-
cluded that I had been too abrupt, in my eagerness
for another man, and that my ideas on the subject
were becoming warped. I decided that I must be
more diplomatic in the future, in my dealings with
the Captain of C company.
The next day, when we went to breakfast, whom
did we find in the dining-room but Bowen! Our old
Bowen of the long march across the Territory! Of
Camp Apache and K company ! He had his white
214
3 » ') 5
Bowen, our Faithful Soldier-Cook,
OLD CAMP MACDOWELL
apron on, his hair rolled back in his most fetching
style, and was putting the coffee on the table.
"But, Bowen," said I, ''where — how on earth — did
you — how did you know we — what does it mean?"
Bowen saluted the First Lieutenant of C company,
and said: ''Well, sir, the fact is, my time was out,
and I thought I would quit. I went to San Fran-
cisco and worked in a miners' restaurant'' (here he
hesitated), "but I didn't hke it, and I tried some-
thing else, and lost all my money, and I got tired of
the town, so I thought I'd take on again, and as I
knowed ye's were in C company now, I thought I'd
come to MacDowell, and I came over here this morn-
ing and told old Smith he'd better quit; this was my
job, and here I am, and I hope ye're all well — and the
little boy?"
Here was loyalty indeed, and here was Bowen the
Immortal, back again!
And now things ran smoothly once more. Roasts
of beef and haunches of venison, ducks and other
good things we had through the winter.
It was cool enough to wear white cotton dresses, but
nothing heavier. It never rained, and the climate
was superb, although it was always hot in the sun.
We had heard that it was very hot here; in fact,
people called MacDowell by very bad names. As the
spring came on, we began to realize that the epithets
applied to it might be quite appropriate.
215
VANISHED ARIZONA
In front of our quarters was a ramada,^ supported
by rude poles of the cottonwood tree. Then came the
sidewalk, and the acequia (ditch), then a row of
young cottonwood trees, then the parade ground.
Through the acequia ran the clear water that supplied
the post, and under the shade of the ramadas, hung
the large ollas from which we dipped the drinking
water, for as yet, of course, ice was not even dreamed
of in the far plains of MacDowell. The heat became
intense, as the summer approached. To sleep inside
the house was impossible, and we soon followed the
example of the cavalry, who had their beds out on the
parade ground.
Two iron cots, therefore, were brought from the
hospital, and placed side by side in front of our
quarters, beyond the acequia and the cottonwood trees,
in fact, out in the open space of the parade ground.
Upon these were laid some mattresses and sheets, and
after "taps" had sounded, and lights were out, we
retired to rest. Near the cots stood Harry's crib.
We had not thought about the ants, however, and they
swarmed over our beds, driving us into the house.
The next morning Bowen placed a tin can of water
under each point of contact; and as each cot had eight
legs, and the crib had four, twenty cans were neces-
sary. He had not taken the trouble to remove the
labels, and the pictures of red tomatoes glared at us
*A sort of rude awning made of brush and supported by
cottonwood i>oles.
2l6
OLD CAMP MACDOWELL
in the hot sun through the day; they did not look
poetic, but our old enemies, the ants, were outwitted.
There was another species of tiny insect, however,
which seemed to drop from the little cotton-wood
trees which grew at the edge of the aceqicia, and
myriads of them descended and crawled all over us,
so we had to have our beds moved still farther out
on to the open space of the parade ground.
And now we were fortified against all the veno-
mous creeping things and we looked forward to bliss-
ful nights of rest.
We did not look along the line, when we retired to
our cots, but if we had, we should have seen shadowy
figures, laden with pillows, flying from the houses to
the cots or vice versa. It was certainly a novel
experience.
With but a sheet for a covering, there we lay,
looking up at the starry heavens. I watched the
Great Bear go around, and other constellations and
seemed to come into close touch with Nature and the
mysterious night. But the melancholy solemnity of
my communings was much affected by the howling of
the coyotes, which seemed sometimes to be so near
that I jumped to the side of the crib, to see if my
little boy was being carried off. The good sweet
slumber which I craved never came to me in those
weird Arizona nights under the stars.
At about midnight, a sort of dewy coolness would
come down from the sky, and we could then sleep a
217
VANISHED ARIZONA
little; but the sun rose incredibly early in that
southern country, and by the crack of dawn sheeted
figures were to be seen darting back into the quarters,
to try for another nap. The nap rarely came to
any of us, for the heat of the houses never passed
off, day or night, at that season. After an early
breakfast, the long day began again.
The question of what to eat came to be a serious
one. We experimented with all sorts of tinned foods,
and tried to produce some variety from them, but it
was all rather tiresome. We almost dreaded the visits
of the Paymaster and the Inspector at that season, as
we never had anything in the house to give them.
One hot night, at about ten o'clock, we heard the
rattle of wheels, and an ambulance drew up at our
door. Out jumped Colonel Biddle, Inspector Gen-
eral, from Fort Whipple. *What shall I give him
to eat, poor hungry man?" I thought. I looked in
the wire-covered safe, which hung outside the kitchen,
and discovered half a beefsteak-pie. The gallant
Colonel declared that if there was one thing above all
others that he liked, it was cold beefsteak-pie. Lieu-
tenant Thomas of the Fifth Cavalry echoed his senti-
ments, and with a bottle of Cocomonga, which was
always kept cooling somewhere, they had a merry
supper.
These visits broke the monotony of our life at Camp
MacDowell. We heard of the gay doings up at Fort
Whipple, and of the lovely climate there.
218
OLD CAMP MACDOWELL
Mr. Thomas said he could not understand why we
wore such hags of dresses. I told him spitefully that
if the women of Fort Whipple would come down to
MacDowell to spend the summer, they would soon
be able to explain it to him. I began to feel em-
barrassed at the fit of my house-gowns. After a
few days spent with us, however, the mercury rang-
ing from 104 to 120 degrees in the shade, he ceased
to comment upon our dresses or our customs.
I had a glass jar of butter sent over from the
Commissary, and asked Colonel Biddle if he thought
it right that such butter as that should be bought
by the purchasing officer in San Francisco. It had
melted, and separated into layers of dead white, deep
orange and pinkish-purple colors. Thus I, too, as
well as General Miles, had my turn at trying to re-
form the Commissary Department of Uncle Sam's
army.
Hammocks were swung under the ramddas, and
after luncheon everybody tried a siesta. Then, near
sundown, an ambulance came and took us over to
the Verde River, about a mile away, wliere we bathed
in water almost as thick as that of the Great Colorado.
We taught Mrs. Kendall to swim, but Mr. Kendall,
being an inland man, did not take to the water.
Now the Verde River was not a very good substitute
for the sea, and the thick water filled our ears and
mouths, but it gave us a little half hour in the day
when we could experience a feeling of being cool, and
219
VANISHED ARIZONA
we found it worth while to take the trouble. Thick
clumps of mesquite trees furnished us with dressing-
rooms. We were all young, and youth requires so
little with which to make merry.
After the meagre evening dinner, the Kendalls and
ourselves sat together under the ramdda until taps,
listening generally to the droll anecdotes told by Mr.
Kendall, who had an inexhaustible fund. Then an-
other night under the stars, and so passed the time
away.
We lived, ate, slept by the bugle calls. Reveille
means sunrise, when a Lieutenant must hasten to put
himself into uniform, sword and belt, and go out to
receive the report of the company or companies of
soldiers, who stand drawn up in line on the parade
ground.
At about nine o'clock in the morning comes the
guard-mount, a function always which everybody goes
out to see. Then the various drill calls, and re-
calls, and sick-call and the beautiful stable-call for the
cavalry, when the horses are groomed and watered,
the thrilling fire-call and the startling assembly, or
call-to-arms, when every soldier jumps for his rifle
and every officer buckles on his sword, and a
woman's heart stands still.
Then at night, ''tattoo," when the company officers
go out to receive the report of ''all present and ac-
counted for" — and shortly after that, the mournful
"taps," a signal for the barrack lights to be put out.
220
OLD CAMP MACDOWELL
The bugle call of ''taps" is mournful also through
association, as it is always blown over the grave of
a soldier or an officer, after the coffin has been lowered
into the earth. The soldier-musicians who blow the
calls, seem to love the call of ''taps," (strangely
enough) and I remember well that there at Camp
MacDowell, we all used to go out and listen when
"taps went," as the soldier who blew it, seemed to
put a whole world of sorrow into it, turning to the
four points of the compass and letting its clear tones
tremble through the air, away off across the Maricopa
desert and then toward the East, our home so far
away. We never spoke, we just listened, and who
can tell the thoughts that each one had in his mind?
Church nor ministers nor priests had we there in
those distant lands, but can we say that our lives
were wholly without religion?
The Sunday inspection of men and barracks, which
was performed with much precision and formality,
and often in full dress uniform, gave us something
by which we could mark the weeks, as they slipped
along. There was no religious service of any kind, as
Uncle Sam did not seem to think that the souls of
us people in the outposts needed looking after. It
would have afforded much comfort to the Roman
Catholics had there been a priest stationed there.
The only sermon I ever heard in old Camp Mac-
Dowell was delivered by a Mormon Bishop and was
of a rather preposterous nature, neither instructive
221
VANISHED ARIZONA
nor edifying. But the good Catholics read their
prayer-books at home, and the rest of us almost for-
got that such organizations as churches existed.
Another bright winter found us still gazing at the
Four Peaks of the MacDowell Mountains, the only
landmark on the horizon. I was glad, in those days,
that I had not staid back East, for the life of an
officer without his family, in those drear places, is
indeed a blank and empty one.
''Four years I have sat here and looked at the Four
Peaks," said Captain Corliss, one day, "and Vm get-
ting almighty tired of it."
(222)
CHAPTER XXVI
A SUDDEN ORDER
In June, 1878, Jack was ordered to report to the
commanding officer at Fort Lowell (near the ancient
city of Tucson), to act as Quartermaster and Commis-
sary at that post. This was a sudden and totally
unexpected order. It was indeed hard, and it seemed
to me cruel. For our regiment had been four years
in the Territory, and we were reasonably sure of
being ordered out before long. Tucson lay far to the
south of us, and was even hotter than this place. But
tiiere was nothing to be done; we packed up, I with
a heavy heart. Jack with his customary stoicism.
With the grief which comes only at that time in
one's life, and which sees no end and no limit, I
parted from my friends at Camp MacDowell. Two
years together, in the most intimate companionship,
cut off from the outside world, and away from all
early ties, had united us with indissoluble bonds, —
and now we were to part, — forever as I thought.
We all wept; I embraced them all, and Jack lifted
me into the ambulance ; Mrs. Kendall gave a last kiss
to our little boy ; Donahue, our soldier-driver, loosened
up his brakes, cracked his long whip, and away we
went, down over the flat, through the dark MacDowell
canon, with the chollas nodding to us as we passed,
223
VANISHED ARIZONA
across the Salt River, and on across an open desert
to Florence, forty miles or so to the southeast of us.
At Florence we sent our military transportation
back and staid over a day at a tavern to rest. We
met there a very agreeable and cultivated gentleman,
Mr. Charles Poston, who was en route to his home,
somewhere in the mountains near by. We took the
Tucson stage at sundown, and travelled all night.
I heard afterwards more about Mr. Poston: he had
attained some reputation in the literary world by
writing about the Sun-worshippers of Asia. He had
been a great traveller in his early life, but now had
built himself some sort of a house in one of the
desolate mountains which rose out of these vast plains
of Arizona, hoisted his sun-flag on the top, there to
pass the rest of his days. People out there said he
was a sun-worshipper. I do not know. ''But when I
am tired of life and people," I thought, "this will not
be the place I shall choose.''
Arriving at Tucson, after a hot and tiresome night
in the stage, we went to an old hostelry. Tucson
looked attractive. Ancient civilization is always in-
teresting to me.
Leaving me at the tavern, my husband drove out
to Fort Lowell, to see about quarters and things in
general. In a few hours he returned with the over-
whelming news that he found a dispatch awaiting him
at that post, ordering him to return immediately to
his company at Camp MacDowell, as the Eighth In-
224
A SUDDEN ORDER
fantry was ordered to the Department of California.
Ordered ''ouf at last! I felt like jumping up
onto the table, climbing onto the roof, dancing and
singing and shouting for joy ! Tired as we were (and
I thought I had reached the limit), we were not too
tired to take the first stage back for Florence, which
left that evening. Those two nights on the Tucson
stage are a blank in my memory. I got through them
somehow.
In the morning, as we approached the town of
Florence, the great blue army wagon containing our
household goods, hove in sight — its white canvas cover
stretched over hoops, its six sturdy mules coming
along at a good trot, and Sergeant Stone cracking his
long whip, to keep up a proper pace in the eyes of
the Tucson stage-driver.
Jack called him to halt, and down went the Ser-
geant's big brakes. Both teams came to a stand-still,
and we told the Sergeant the news. Bewilderment,
surprise, joy, followed each other on the old Sergeant's
countenance. He turned his heavy team about, and
promised to reach Camp MacDowell as soon as the
animals could make it. At Florence, we left the stage,
and went to the little tavern once more; the stage-
route did not lie in our direction, so we must hire a
private conveyance to bring us to Camp MacDowell.
Jack found a man who had a good pair of ponies and
an open buckboard. Towards night we set forth to
225
VANISHED ARIZONA
cross the plain which lies between Florence and the
Salt River, due northwest by the map.
When I saw the driver I did not care much for his
appearance. He did not inspire me with confidence,
but the ponies looked strong, and we had forty or
fifty miles before us.
After we got fairly into the desert, which was a
trackless waste, I became possessed by a feeling that
the man did not know the way. He talked a good
deal about the North Star, and the fork in the road,
and that we must be sure not to miss it.
It was a still, hot, starlit night. Jack and the
driver sat on the front seat. They had taken the back
seat out, and my little boy and I sat in the bottom of
the wagon, with the hard cushions to lean against
through the night. I suppose we were drowsy with
sleep; at all events, the talk about the fork of the
road and the North Star faded away into dreams.
I awoke with a chilly feeling, and a sudden jolt over
a rock. "I do not recollect any rocks on this road.
Jack, when we came over it in the ambulance," said I.
'^Neither do I,'' he replied.
I looked for the North Star: I had looked for it
often when in open boats. It was away off on our
left, the road seemed to be ascending and rocky : I had
never seen this piece of road before, that I was sure of.
''We are going to the eastward," said I, "and we
should be going northwest."
"My dear, lie down and go to sleep ; the man knows
226
A SUDDEN ORDER
the road; he is taking a short cut, I suppose," said
the Lieutenant. There was something not at all re-
assuring in his tones, however.
The driver did not turn his head nor speak. I
looked at the North Star, which was getting farther
and farther on our left, and I felt the gloomy con-
viction that we were lost on the desert.
Finally, at daylight, after going higher and higher,
we drew up in an old deserted mining-camp.
The driver jerked his ponies up, and, with a sullen
gesture, said, ''We must have missed the fork of the
road ; this is Picket Post"
''Great Heavens!'' I cried; "how far out of the
way are we?"
"About fifteen miles," he drawled, "you see we
shall have to go back to the place where the road
forks, and make a new start."
I nearly collapsed with discouragement. I looked
around at the ruined walls and crumbling pillars of
stone, so weird and so grey in the dawning light:
it might have been a worshipping place of the Druids.
My little son shivered with the light chill which comes
at daybreak in those tropical countries: we were
hungry and tired and miserable : my bones ached, and
I felt like crying.
We gave the poor ponies time to breathe, and took
a bite of cold food ourselves.
Ah ! that blighted and desolate place called Picket
227
VANISHED ARIZONA
Post! Forsaken by God and man, it might have
been the entrance to Hades.
Would the ponies hold out? They looked jaded
to be sure, but we had stopped long enough to breathe
them, and away they trotted again, down the moun-
tain this time, instead of up.
It was broad day when we reached the fork of the
road, which we had not been able to see in the night :
there was no mistaking it now.
We had travelled already about forty miles, thirty
more lay before us; but there were no hills, it was
all flat country, and the owner of these brave little
ponies said we could make it.
As we neared the MacDowell canon, we met Captain
Corliss marching out with his company (truly they
had lost no time in starting for California), and he
told his First Lieutenant he would make slow marches,
that we might overtake him before he reached Yuma.
We were obliged to wait at Camp MacDowell for
Sergeant Stone to arrive with our wagonful of house-
hold goods, and then, after a mighty weeding out and
repacking, we set forth once more, with a good team
of mules and a good driver, to join the command. We
bade the Sixth Cavalry people once more good-bye,
but I was so nearly dead by this time, with the heat,
and the fatigue of all this hard travelling and packing
up, that the keener edge of my emotions was dulled.
Eight days and nights spent in travelling hither and
228
A SUDDEN ORDER
thither over those hot plains in Southern Arizona,
and all for what?
Because somebody in ordering somebody to change
his station, had forgotten that somebody's regiment
was about to be ordered out of the country it had
been in for four years. Also because my husband was
a soldier who obeyed orders without questioning them.
If he had been a political wire-puller, many of our
misfortunes might have been averted. But then,
while I half envied the wives of the wire-pullers, I
took a sort of pride in the blind obedience shown by
my own particular soldier to the orders he received.
After that week's experience, I held another col-
loquy with myself, and decided that wives should not
follow their husbands in the army, and that if I ever
got back East again, I would stay: I simply could
not go on enduring these unmitigated and unreason-
able hardships.
The Florence man staid over at the post a day or so
to rest his ponies. I bade him good-bye and told him
to take care of those brave little beasts, which had
travelled seventy miles without rest, to bring us to
our destination. He nodded pleasantly and drove
away. ''A queer customer," I observed to Jack.
''Yes," answered he, "they told me in Florence
that he was a 'road agent' and desperado, but there
did not seem to be anyone else, and my orders were
peremptory, so I took him. I knew the ponies could
pull us through, by the looks of them ; and road
229
VANISHED ARIZONA
agents are all right with army officers, they know
they wouldn't get anything if they held 'em up."
''How much did he charge you for the trip?" I
asked.
''Sixteen dollars/' was the reply. And so ended
the episode. Except that I looked back to Picket
Post with a sort of horror, I thought no more about it.
(230)
CHAPTER XXVII
the: e:iGHTH mot I^EAV^S ARIZONA
And now after the eight days of most distressing
heat, and the fatigue of all sorts and varieties of
travelHng, the nights spent in a stage-coach or at a
desert inn, or in the road agent's buckboard, holding
always my little son close to my side, came six days
more of journeying down the valley of the Gila.
We took supper in Phoenix, at a place known as
"Devine's/' I was hearing a good deal about
Phoenix; for even then, its gardens, its orchards and
its climate were becoming famous, but the season of
the year was unpropitious to form a favorable opinion
of that thriving place, even if my opinions of Arizona,
with its parched-up soil and insufferable heat, had not
been formed already.
We crossed the Gila somewhere below there, and
stopped at our old camping places, but the entire
valley was seething hot, and the remembrance of the
December journey seemed but an aggravating dream.
We joined Captain Corliss and the company at
Antelope Station, and in two more days were at
Yuma City. By this time, the Southern Pacific
Railroad had been built as far as Yuma, and a bridge
thrown across the Colorado at this point. It seemed
231
VANISHED ARIZONA
an incongruity. And how burning hot the cars
looked, standing there in the Arizona sun !
After four years in that Territory, and remember-
ing the days, weeks, and even months spent in travel-
ling on the river, or marching through the deserts,
I could not make the Pullman cars seem a reality.
We brushed the dust of the Gila Valley from our
clothes, I unearthed a hat from somewhere, and some
wraps which had not seen the light for nearly two
years, and prepared to board the train.
I cried out in my mind, the prayer of the woman in
one of Fisher's Ehrenberg stories, to which I used to
listen with unmitigated delight, when I lived there.
The story was this : "Mrs. Blank used to live here in
Ehrenberg ; she hated the place just as you do, but she
was obliged to stay. Finally, after a period of two
years, she and her sister, who had lived with her, were
able to get away. I crossed over the river with them
to Lower California, on the old rope ferry-boat which
they used to have near Ehrenberg, and as soon as the
boat touched the bank, they jumped ashore, and down
they both went upon their knees, clasped their hands,
raised their eyes to Heaven, and Mrs. Blank said: 'I
thank Thee, oh Lord ! Thou hast at last delivered us
from the wilderness, and brought us back to God's
country. Receive my thanks, oh Lord !' "
And then Fisher used to add: "And the tears
rolled down their faces, and I knew they felt every
word they spoke; and I guess you'll feel about the
232
u
'o
O
u
J3
o
0)
n
2
a
o
08
a
^
THE EIGHTH FOOT LEAVES ARIZONA
same way when you get out of Arizona, even if you
don't quite drop on your knees/' he said.
The soldiers did not look half so picturesque, climb-
ing into the cars, as they did when loading onto a
barge; and when the train went across the bridge,
and we looked down upon the swirling red waters of
the Great Colorado from the windows of a luxurious
Pullman, I sighed; and, with the strange contradic-
toriness of the human mind, I felt sorry that the old
days had come to an end. For, somehow, the hard-
ships and deprivations which we have endured, lose
their bitterness when they have become only a memory.
(233)
CHAPTER XXVIII
CAUJ^ORNIA AND NEVADA
A PORTION of our regiment was ordered to Oregon,
to join General Howard, who was conducting the
Bannock Campaign, so I remained that summer in
San Francisco, to await my husband's return.
I could not break away from my Arizona habits.
I wore only white dresses, partly because I had no
others which were in fashion, partly because I had
become imbued with a profound indifference to dress.
"They'll think you're a Mexican," said my New
England aunt (who regarded all foreigners with con-
tempt). "Let them think," said I; "I almost wish
I were; for, after all, they are the only people who
understand the philosophy of living. Look at the
tired faces of the women in your streets," I added,
"one never sees that sort of expression down below,
and I have made up my mind not to be caught by
the whirlpool of advanced civilization again."
Added to the white dresses, I smoked cigarettes,
and slept all the afternoons. I was in the bondage
of tropical customs, and I had lapsed back into a state
of what my aunt called semi-barbarism.
"Let me enjoy this heavenly cool climate, and do
not worry me," I begged. I shuddered when I heard
people complain of the cold winds of the San Fran-
234
CALIFORNIA AND NEVADA
Cisco summer. How do they dare tempt Fate, thought
I, and I wished them all in Ehrenberg or MacDowell
for one summer. "I think they might then know
something about climate, and would have something
to complain about !"
How I revelled in the flowers, and all the luxuries
of that delightful city!
The headquarters of the Eighth was located at
Benicia, and General Kautz, our Colonel, invited me
to pay a visit to his wife. A pleasant boat-trip up
the Sacramento River brought us to Benicia. Mrs.
Kautz, a handsome and accomplished Austrian, pre-
sided over her lovely army home in a manner to
captivate my fancy, and the luxury of their sur-
roundings almost made me speechless.
"The other side of army life," thought I.
A visit to Angel Island, one of the harbor defences,
strengthened this impression. Four years of life in
the southern posts of Arizona had almost made me
believe that army life was indeed but ''glittering
misery," as the Germans had called it.
In the autumn, the troops returned from Oregon,
and C company was ordered to Camp MacDermit, a
lonely spot up in the northern part of Nevada
(Nevada being included in the Department of Cali-
fornia). I was sure by that time that bad luck was
pursuing us. I did not know so much about the "ins
and outs" of the army then as I do now.
VANISHED ARIZONA
At my aunt's suggestion, I secured a Chinaman of
good caste for a servant, and by deceiving him (also
my aunt's advice) with the idea that we were going
only as far as Sacramento, succeeded in making him
willing to accompany us.
We started east, and left the railroad at a station
called ^Winnemucca.'* MacDermit lay ninety miles
to the north. But at Winnemucca the Chinaman
balked. ''You say: 'AU'e same Saclamento': lis
place heap too far: me no likee!" I talked to him,
and, being a good sort, he saw that I meant well, and
the soldiers bundled him on top of the army wagon,
gave him a lot of good-natured guying, and a revolver
to keep off Indians, and so we secured Hoo Chack.
Captain Corliss had been obliged to go on ahead
with his wife, who was in the most delicate health.
The post ambulance had met them at this place.
Jack was to march over the ninety miles, with the
company. I watched them starting out, the men,
glad of the release from the railroad train, their guns
on their shoulders, stepping off in military style and
in good form.
The wagons followed — the big blue army wagons,
and Hoo Chack, looking rather glum, sitting on top of
a pile of baggage.
I took the Silver City stage, and except for my little
boy I was the only passenger for the most of the way.
We did the ninety miles without resting over, except
for relays of horses.
2^6
CALIFORNIA AND NEVADA
I climbed up on the box and talked with the driver.
I liked these stage-drivers. They were ''nervy,"
fearless men, and kind, too, and had a great dash and
go about them. They often had a quiet and gentle
bearing, but by that time I knew pretty well what
sort of stuff they were made of, and I liked to have
them talk to me, and I liked to look out upon the world
through their eyes, and judge of things from their
standpoint.
It was an easy journey, and we passed a comfortable
night in the stage.
Camp MacDermit was a colorless, forbidding sort
of a place. Only one company was stationed there,
and my husband was nearly always scouting in the
mxountains north of us. The weather was severe, and
the winter there was joyless and lonesome. The ex-
treme cold and the loneliness affected my spirits, and
I suffered from depression.
I had no woman to talk to, for Mrs. Corliss, who
was the only other officer's wife at the post, was con-
fined to the house by the most delicate health, and her
. mind was wholly absorbed by the care of her young
infant. There were no nurses to be had in that deso-
late corner of the earth.
One day, a dreadful looking man appeared at the
door, a person such as one never sees except on the
outskirts of civilization, and I wondered what busi-
ness brought him. He wore a long, black, greasy
frock coat, a tall hat, and had the face of a sneak.
237
VANISHED ARIZONA
He wanted the Chinaman's poll-tax, he said.
*'But/' I suggested, ''I never heard of collecting
taxes in a Government post; soldiers and officers do
not pay taxes."
"That may be,'' he replied, "but your Chinaman
is not a soldier, and I am going to have his tax
before I leave this house."
"So, ho," I thought; "a threat!" and the soldier's
blood rose in me.
I was alone ; Jack was miles away up North. Hoo
Chack appeared in the hall; he had evidently heard
the man's last remark. "Now," I said, "this China-
man is in my employ, and he shall not pay any tax,
until I find out if he be exempt or not."
The evil-looking man approached the Chinaman.
Hoo Chack grew a shade paler. I fancied he had a
knife under his white shirt; in fact, he felt around
for it. I said, "Hoo Chack, go away, I will talk to
this man."
I opened the front door. "Come with me" (to the
tax-collector) ; "we will ask the commanding officer
about this matter." My heart was really in my
mouth, but I returned the man's steady and dogged
gaze, and he followed me to Captain Corliss' quarters.
I explained the matter to the Captain, and left the
man to his mercy. "Why didn't you call the vSergeant
of the Guard, and have the man slapped into the
guard-house?" said Jack, when I told him about it
afterwards. "The man had no business around here;
238
CALIFORNIA AND NEVADA
he was trying to browbeat you into giving him a
dollar, I suppose."
The country above us was full of desperadoes from
Boise and Silver City, and I was afraid to be left
alone so much at night; so I begged Captain Corliss
to let me have a soldier to sleep in my quarters. He
sent me old Needham. So I installed old Needham in
my guest chamber with his loaded rifle. Now old
Needham was but a wisp of a man; long years of
service had broken down his health ; he was all wizened
up and feeble ; but he was a soldier; I felt safe, and
could sleep once more. Just the sight of Needham
and his old blue uniform coming at night, after taps,
was a comfort to me.
Anxiety filled my soul, for Jack was scouting in
the Stein Mountains all winter in the snow, after
Indians who were avowedly hostile, and had threat-
ened to kill on sight. He often went out with a small
pack-train, and some Indian scouts, five or six soldiers,
and I thought it quite wrong for him to be sent into
the mountains with so small a number.
Camp MacDermit was, as I have already men-
tioned, a ''one-company post.'' We all know what
that may mean, on the frontier. Our Second Lieu-
tenant was absent, and all the hard work of winter
scouting fell upon Jack, keeping him away for weeks
at a time.
The Piute Indians were supposed to be peaceful,
and their old chief, Winnemucca, once the warlike
239
VANISHED ARIZONA
and dreaded foe of the white man, was now quiet
enough, and too old to fight. He Hved, with his
family, at an Indian village near the post.
He came to see me occasionally. His dress was a
curious mixture of civilization and savagery. He
wore the chapeau and dress-coat of a General of the
American Army, with a large epaulette on one shoul-
der. He was very proud of the coat, because General
Crook had given it to him. His shirt, leggings and
moccasins were of buckskin, and the long braids of his
coal-black hair, tied with strips of red flannel, gave
the last touch to this incongruous costume.
But I must say that his demeanor was gentle and
dignified, and, after recovering from the superficial
impressions which his startling costume had at first
made upon my mind, I could well believe that he had
once been the war-leader, as he was now the political
head of his once-powerful tribe.
Winnemucca did not disdain to accept some little
sugar-cakes from me, and would sit down on our
veranda and munch them.
He always showed me the pasteboard medal which
hung around his neck, and which bore General
Howard's signature; and he always said: "General
Howard tell me, me good Injun, me go up — up —
up" — pointing dramatically towards Heaven. On
one occasion, feeling desperate for amusement, I said
to him: "General Howard very good man, but he
make a mistake; where you go, is not up — up — up,
240
CALIFORNIA AND NEVADA
but," pointing solemnly to the earth below us, ''down
— down — down." He looked incredulous, but I as-
sured him it was a nice place down there.
Some of the scattered bands of the tribe, however,
were restless and unsubdued, and gave us much
trouble, and it was these bands that necessitated the
scouts.
My little son, Harry, four years old, was my con-
stant and only companion, during that long, cold, and
anxious winter.
My mother sent me an appealing invitation to come
home for a year. I accepted gladly, and one after-
noon in May, Jack put us aboard the Silver City
stage, which passed daily through the post.
Our excellent Chinese servant promised to stay
with the "Captain" and take care of him, and as I
said ''Good-bye, Hoo Chack," I noticed an expression
of real regret on his usually stolid features.
Occupied with my thoughts, on entering the stage,
I did not notice the passengers or the man sitting next
me on the back seat. Darkness soon closed around us,
and I suppose we fell asleep. Between naps, I heard
a queer clanking sound, but supposed it was the
chains of the harness or the stage-coach gear. The
next morning, as we got out at a relay station for
breakfast, I saw the handcuffs on the man next to
whom I had sat all the night long. The sheriff was
on the box outside. He very obligingly changed seats
with me for the rest of the way, and evening found
241
VANISHED ARIZONA
us on the overland train speeding on our journey East.
Camp MacDermit with its dreary associations and
surroundings faded gradually from my mind, like a
dream.
The year of 1879 brought us several changes. My
little daughter was born in mid-summer at our old
home in Nantucket. As I lay watching the curtains
move gently to and fro in the soft sea-breezes, and
saw my mother and sister moving about the room, and
a good old nurse rocking my baby in her arms, I
could but think of those other days at Camp Apache,
when I lay through the long hours, with my new-born
baby by my side, watching, listening for some one
to come in. There was no one, no woman to come,
except the poor hard-working laundress of the cavalry,
who did come once a day to care for the baby.
Ah ! what a contrast ! and I had to shut my eyes
for fear I should cry, at the mere thought of those
other days.
^fr ^ *l^ T^ ^ ^F ^F ^ ^ ^F
Jack took a year's leave of absence and joined me
in the autumn at Nantucket, and the winter was spent
in New York, enjoying the theatres and various
amusements we had so long been deprived of. Here
we met again Captain Porter and Carrie Wilkins,
who w^as now Mrs. Porter. They were stationed at
David's Island, one of the harbor posts, and we went
9.A2
CALIFORNIA AND NEVADA
over to see them. "Yes," he said, ''as Jacob waited
seven years for Rachel, so I waited for Carrie."
The following summer brought us the good news
that Captain Corliss' company was ordered to Angel
Island, in the bay of San Francisco. ''Thank good-
ness," said Jack, "C company has got some good luck,
at last!"
Joyfully we started back on the overland trip to
California, which took about nine days at that time.
Now, travelling with a year-old baby and a five-year-
old boy was quite troublesome, and we were very
glad when the train had crossed the bleak Sierras and
swept down into the lovely valley of the Sacramento.
Arriving in San Francisco, we went to the old
Occidental Hotel, and as we were going in to dinner, a
card was handed to us. "Hoo Chack" was the name
on the card. "That Chinaman!" I cried to Jack.
"How do you suppose he knew we were here?"
We soon made arrangements for him to accompany
us to Angel Island, and in a few days this "heathen
Chinee" had unpacked all our boxes and made our
quarters very comfortable. He was rather a high-
caste man, and as true and loyal as a Christian. He
never broke his word, and he staid with us as long as
we remained in California.
And now we began to live, to truly live; for we
felt that the years spent at those desert posts under
the scorching suns of Arizona had cheated us out of
all but a bare existence upon earth.
243
VANISHED ARIZONA
The flowers ran riot in our garden, fresh fruits and
vegetables, fresh fish, and all the luxuries of that
marvellous climate, were brought to our door.
A comfortable Government steamboat plied between
San Francisco and its harbor posts, and the distance
was not great — only three quarters of an hour. So
we had a taste of the social life of that fascinating
city, and could enjoy the theatres also.
On the Island, we had music and dancing, as it
was the headquarters of the regiment. Mrs. Kautz,
so brilliant and gay, held grand court here — recep-
tions, military functions, lawn tennis, bright uniforms,
were the order of the day. And that incomparable
climate ! How I revelled in it ! When the fog rolled
in from the Golden Gate, and enveloped the great
city of Saint Francis in its cold vapors, the Island of
the Angels lay warm and bright in the sunshine.
The old Spaniards named it well, and the old Nan-
tucket whalers who sailed around Cape Horn on their
way to the Ar'tic, away back in the eighteen twenties,
used to put in near there for water, and were well
familiar with its bright shores, before it was touched
by man's handiwork.
Was there ever such an emerald green as adorned
those hills which sloped down to the bay ? Could any-
thing equal the fields of golden escholzchia which lay
there in the sunshine? Or the blue masses of "baby-
eye," which opened in the mornings and held up their
pretty cups to catch the dew?
244
*g Lt. C. P. Terrett, 8th Inf. Lt. Bingham, 9th Cav.
Major Wilhelm, StH Inf. Lt. Phil. Reade.
Lt. Charley Bailey, 8th Inf.
CALIFORNIA AND NEVADA
Was this a real Paradise?
It surely seemed so to us; and, as if Nature had
not done enough, the Fates stepped in and sent all
the agreeable young officers of the regiment there, to
help us enjoy the heavenly spot.
There was Terrett, the handsome and aristocratic
young Baltimorean, one of the finest men I ever saw
in uniform ; and Richardson, the stalwart Texan, and
many others, with whom we danced and played tennis,
and altogether there was so much to do and to enjoy
that Time rushed by and we knew only that we were
happy, and enchanted with Life.
Did any uniform ever equal that of the infantry in
those days ? The dark blue, heavily braided ''blouse,"
the white stripe on the light blue trousers, the jaunty
cap? And then, the straight backs and the slim lines
of those youthful figures ! It seems to me any woman
who was not an Egyptian mummy would feel her
heart thrill and her blood tingle at the sight of them.
Indians and deserts and Ehrenberg did not exist
for me any more. My girlhood seemed to have re-
turned, and I enjoyed everything with the keenest
zest.
My old friend Charley Bailey, who had married
for his second wife a most accomplished young San
Francisco girl, lived next door to us.
General and Mrs. Kautz entertained so hospitably,
and were so beloved by all. Together Mrs. Kautz
and I read the German classics, and went to the
245
VANISHED ARIZONA
German theatre; and by and by a very celebrated
player, Friedrich Haase, from the Royal Theatre of
Berlin, came to San Francisco. We never missed a
performance, and when his tour was over, Mrs.
Kautz gave a lawn party at Angel Island for him
and a few of the members of his company. It was
charming. I well remember how the sun shone that
day, and, as we strolled up from the boat with them,
Frau Haase stopped, looked at the blue sky, the lovely
clouds, the green slopes of the Island and said : ''Mein
Gott! Frau Summerhayes, was ist das fur ein Para-
dies! Warum haben Sie uns nicht gesagt, Sie wohnten
im ParadiesT
So, with music and German speech, and strolls to
the North and to the' South Batteries, that wonderful
and never-to-be-forgotten day with the great Fried-
rich Haase came to an end.
The months flew by, and the second winter found
us still there; we heard rumors of Indian troubles in
Arizona, and at last the orders came. The ofificers
packed away their evening clothes in camphor and had
their campaign clothes put out to air, and got their
mess-chests in order, and the post was alive with prep-
arations for the field. All the families were to stay
behind. The most famous Indian renegade was to be
hunted down, and serious fighting was looked for.
At last all was ready, and the day was fixed for
the departure of the troops.
246
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CALIFORNIA AND NEVADA
The winter rains had set in, and the skies were grey,
as the command marched down to the boat.
The officers and soldiers were in their campaign
clothes; the latter had their blanket-rolls and haver-
sacks slung over their shoulders, and their tin cups,
which hung from the haversacks, rattled and jingled
as they marched down in even columns of four, over
the wet and grassy slopes of the parade ground, where
so short a time before all had been glitter and
sunshine.
I realized then perhaps for the first time what the
uniform really stood for; that every man who wore
it, was going out to fight — that they held their lives as
nothing. The glitter was all gone; nothing but sad
reality remained.
The officers' wives and the soldiers' wives followed
the troops to the dock. The soldiers marched single
file over the gang-plank of the boat, the officers said
good-bye, the shrill whistle of the "General McPher-
son" sounded — and they were off. We leaned back
against the coal-sheds, and soldiers' and officers' wives
alike all wept together.
And now a season of gloom came upon us. The
skies were dull and murky and the rain poured down.
Our old friend Bailey, who was left behind on
account of illness, grew worse and finally his case was
pronounced hopeless. His death added to the deep
gloom and sadness which enveloped us all.
A few of the soldiers who had staid on the Island
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to take care of the post, carried poor Bailey to the
boat, his casket wrapped in the flag and followed by a
little procession of women. I thought I had never
seen anything so sad.
The campaign lengthened out into months, but the
California winters are never very long, and before
the troops came back the hills looked their brightest
green again. The campaign had ended with no very
serious losses to our troops and all was joyous again,
until another order took us from the sea-coast to the
interior once more.
(248)
CHAPTER XXIX
CHANGING STATION
It was the custom to change the stations of the
different companies of a regiment about every two
years. So the autumn of '82 found us on the way
to Fort Halleck, a post in Nevada, but differing vastly
from the desolate MacDermit station. Fort Halleck
was only thirteen miles south of the Overland Rail-
road, and lay near a spur of the Humboldt range.
There were miles of sage-brush between the railroad
and the post, but the mountains which rose abruptly
five thousand feet on the far side, made a magnificent
background for the officers' quarters, which lay
nestled at the bottom of the foot-hills.
''Oh! what a lovely post!'' I cried, as we drove in.
Major Sanford of the First Cavalry, with Captain
Carr and Lieutenant Oscar Brown, received us.
''Dear me," I thought, "if the First Cavalry is made
up of such gallant men as these, the old Eighth
Infantry will have to look out for its laurels."
Mrs. Sanford and Mrs. Carr gave us a great wel-
come and vied with each other in providing for our
comfort, and we were soon established.
It was so good to see the gay yellow of the cavalry
again ! Now I rode, to my heart's content, and it was
good to be alive; to see the cavalry drill, and to ride
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through the canons, gorgeous in their flaming autumn
tints; then again to gallop through the sage-brush,
jumping where we could not turn, starting up rabbits
by the score.
That little old post, now long since abandoned,
marked a pleasant epoch in our life. From the
ranches scattered around we could procure butter and
squabs and young vegetables, and the soldiers culti-
vated great garden patches, and our small dinners
and breakfasts live in delightful memory.
At the end of two years spent so pleasantly with
the people of the First Cavalry, our company was
again ordered to Angel Island. But a second very
active campaign in Arizona and Mexico, against
Geronimo, took our soldiers away from us, and we
passed through a period of considerable anxiety.
June of '86 saw the entire regiment ordered to take
station in Arizona once more.
We travelled to Tucson in a Pullman car. It was
hot and uninteresting. I had been at Tucson nine
years before, for a few hours, but the place seemed
unfamiliar. I looked for the old tavern; I saw only
the railroad restaurant. We w^ent in to take breakfast,
before driving out to the post of Fort Lowell, seven
miles away. Everything seemed changed. Iced can-
taloupe was served by a spick-span alert waiter ; then,
quail on toast. "Ice in Arizona ?" It was like a dream,
and I remarked to Jack, ''This isn't the same Arizona
we knew in '74," and then, *'I don't believe I like it
250
CHANGING STATION
as well, either; all this luxury doesn't seem to belong
to the place."
After a drive behind some smart mules, over a flat
stretch of seven miles, we arrived at Fort Lowell, a
rather attractive post, with a long line of officers'
quarters, before which ran a level road shaded by
beautiful great trees. We were assigned a half of
one of these sets of quarters, and as our half had no
conveniences for house-keeping, it was arranged that
we should join a mess with General and Mrs. Kautz
and their family. We soon got settled down to our
life there, and we had various recreations; among
them, driving over to Tucson and riding on horse-
back are those which I remember best. We made a
few acquaintances in Tucson, and they sometimes
drove out in the evenings, or more frequently rode
out on horseback. Then we would gather together on
the Kautz piazza and everybody sang to the accom-
paniment of Mrs. Kautz's guitar. It was very hot, of
course; we had all expected that, but the luxuries
obtainable through the coming of the railroad, such as
ice, and various summer drinks, and lemons, and
butter, helped out to make the summer there more
comfortable.
We slept on the piazzas, which ran around the
houses on a level with the ground. At that time the
fad for sleeping out of doors, at least amongst civilized
people, did not exist, and our arrangements were
entirely primitive.
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Our quarters were surrounded by a small yard and
a fence; the latter was dilapidated, and the gate
swung on one hinge. We were seven miles from any-
where, and surrounded by a desolate country. I did
not experience the feeling of terror that I had had at
Camp Apache, for instance, nor the grewsome fear of
the Ehrenberg grave-yard, nor the appalling fright
I had known in crossing the Mogollon range or in
driving through Sanford's Pass. But still there was
a haunting feeling of insecurity which hung around
me especially at night. I was awfully afraid of
snakes, and no sooner had we lain ourselves down on
our cots to sleep, than I would hear a rustling among
the dry leaves that had blown in under our beds.
Then all would be still again; then a crackling and a
rustling — in a flash I would be sitting up in bed.
''Jack, do you hear that?" Of course I did not dare
to move or jump out of bed, so I would sit, rigid,
scared. "Jack ! what is it ?" ''Nonsense, Mattie, go
to sleep; it's the toads jumping about in the leaves."
But my sleep was fitful and disturbed, and I never
knew what a good night's rest was.
One night I was awakened by a tremendous snort
right over my face. I opened my eyes and looked
into the wild eyes of a big black bull. I think I must
have screamed, for the bull ran clattering off the
piazza and out through the gate. By this time Jack
was up, and Harry and Katherine, who slept on the
front piazza, came running out, and I said: "Well,
252
CHANGING STATION
this is the Hmit of all things, and if that gate isn't
mended to-morrow, I will know the reason why."
Now I heard a vague rumor that there was a
creature of this sort in or near the post, and that he
had a habit of wandering around at night, but as I had
never seen him, it had made no great impression on
my mind. Jack had a great laugh at me, but I did
not think then, nor do I now, that it was anything to
be laughed at.
We had heard much of the old Mission of San
Xavier del Bac, away the other side of Tucson. Mrs.
Kautz decided to go over there and go into camp and
paint a picture of San Xavier. It was about sixteen
miles from Fort Lowell.
So all the camp paraphernalia was gotten ready and
several of the officers joined the party, and we all
went over to San Xavier and camped for a few days
under the shadow of those beautiful old walls. This
Mission is almost unknown to the American traveler.
Exquisite in color, form and architecture, it stands
there a silent reminder of the Past.
The curious carvings and paintings inside the
church, and the precious old vestments which were
shown us by an ancient custodian, filled my mind with
wonder. The building is partly in ruins, and the
little squirrels were running about the galleries, but
the great dome is intact, and many of the wonderful
figures which ornament it. Of course we know the
Spanish built it about the middle or last of the six-
253
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teenth century, and that they tried to christianize the
tribes of Indians who hved around in the vicinity.
But there is no sign of 'priest or communicant now,
nothing but a desolate plain around it for miles. No
one can possibly understand how the building of this
large and beautiful mission was accomplished, and
I believe history furnishes very little information.
In its archives was found quite recently the charter
given by Ferdinand and Isabella, to establish the
*'pueblo" of Tucson about the beginning of the i6th
century.
After a few delightful days, we broke camp and
returned to Fort Lowell.
And now the summer was drawing to a close, and
we were anticipating the delights of the winter climate
at Tucson, when, without a note of warning, came the
orders for Fort Niobrara. We looked, appalled, in
each other's faces, the evening the telegram came, for
we did not even know where Fort Niobrara was.
We all rushed into Major Wilhelm's quarters, for
he always knew everything. We (Mrs. Kautz and
several of the other ladies of the post, and myself)
were in a state of tremendous excitement. We
pounded on Major Wilhelm's door and we heard a
faint voice from his bedroom (for it was after ten
o'clock) ; then we waited a few moments and he said,
'^Come in."
We opened the door, but there being no light in his
quarters we could not see him. A voice said: "What
254
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Altar, Mission of San Xavier del Bac.
CHANGING STATION
in the name of " but we did not wait for him to
finish; we all shouted: ''Where is Fort Niobrara?"
"The Devil!" he said. ''Are we ordered there?"
"Yes, yes," we cried; "where is it?" "Why, girls,"
he said, relapsing into his customary moderate tones,'
"It's a hell of a freezing cold place, away up north in
Nebraska."
Wt turned our backs and went over to our quarters
to have a consultation, and we all retired with sad
hearts.
Now, just think of it! To come to Fort Lowell in
July, only to move in November ! What could it
mean ? It was hard to leave the sunny South, to
spend the winter in those congealed regions in the
North. We were but just settled, and now came
another break-up!
Our establishment now, with two children, several
servants, two saddle horses, and additional household
furnishings, was not so simple as in the beginning of
our army life, when three chests and a box or two
contained our worldly goods. Each move we made
was more difficult than the last; our allowance of
baggage did not begin to cover what we had to take
along, and this added greatly to the expense of moving.
The enormous waste attending a move, and the
heavy outlay incurred in travelling and getting set-
tled anew, kept us always poor; these considerations
increased our chagrin over this unexpected change of
station. There was nothing tQ be done, however,
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Orders are relentless, even if they seem senseless,
which this one did, to the women, at least, of the
Eighth Infantry.
(256)
CHAPTER XXX
MRT NIOBRARA
Thi: journey itself, however, was not to be dreaded,
although it was so undesired. It was entirely by rail
across New Mexico and Kansas, to St. Joseph, then up
the Missouri River and then across the state to the
westward. Finally, after four or five days, we
reached the small frontier town of Valentine, in the
very northwest corner of the bleak and desolate state
of Nebraska. The post of Niobrara was four miles
away, on the Niobrara (swift water) River.
Some officers of the Ninth Cavalry met us at the
station with the post ambulances. There were six
companies of our regiment, with headquarters and
band.
It was November, and the drive across the rolling
prairie-land gave us a fair glimpse of the country
around. We crossed the old bridge over the Niobrara
River, and entered the post. The snow lay already
on the brown and barren hills, and the place struck
a chill to my heart.
The Ninth Cavalry took care of all the officers'
families until we could get established. Lieutenant
Bingham, a handsome and distinguished-looking young
bachelor, took us with our two children to his quar-
ters, and made us delightfully at home. His quarters
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were luxuriously furnished, and he was altogether
adorable. This, to be sure, helped to soften my first
harsh impressions of the place.
Quarters were not very plentiful, and we were
compelled to take a house occupied by a young officer
of the Ninth. What base ingratitude it seemed, after
the kindness we had accepted from his regiment ! But
there was no help for it. We secured a colored cook,
who proved a very treasure, and on inquiring how
she came to be in those wilds, I learned that she had
accompanied a young heiress who eloped with a
cavalry lieutenant, from her home in New York some
years before.
What a contrast was here, and what a cruel con-
trast! With blood thinned down by the enervating
summer at Tucson, here we were, thrust into the polar
regions ! Ice and snow and blizzards, blizzards and
snow and ice ! The mercury disappeared at the bot-
tom of the thermometer, and we had nothing to mark
any degrees lower than 40 below zero. Human cal-
culations had evidently stopped there. Enormous
box stoves were in every room and in the halls; the
old-fashioned sort that we used to see in school-rooms
and meeting-houses in New England. Into these, the
soldiers stuffed great logs of mountain mahogany,
and the fires were kept roaring day and night.
A board walk ran in front of the officers' quarters,
and, desperate for fresh air and exercise, some of the
ladies would bundle up and go to walk. But frozen
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chins, ears and elbows soon made this undesirable,
and we gave up trying the fresh air, unless the mer-
cury rose to i8 below, when a few of us would take
our daily promenade.
We could not complain of our fare, however, for
our larder hung full of all sorts of delicate and de-
licious things, brought in by the grangers, and which
we were glad to buy. Prairie-chickens, young pigs,
venison, and ducks, all hanging, to be used when
desired.
To f rappe a bottle of wine, we stood it on the porch ;
in a few minutes it would pour crystals. House-keep-
ing was easy, but keeping warm was difficult.
It was about this time that the law was passed
abolishing the post-trader's store, and forbidding the
selling of whiskey to soldiers on a Government reser-
vation. The pleasant canteen, or Post Exchange, the
soldiers' club-room, was established, where the men
could go to relieve the monotony of their lives.
With the abolition of whiskey, the tone of the post
improved greatly; the men were contented with a
glass of beer or light wine, the canteen was well man-
aged, so the profits went back into the company messes
in the shape of luxuries heretofore unknown ; billiards
and reading-rooms were established; and from that
time on, the canteen came to be regarded in the army
as a most excellent institution. The men gained in
self-respect; the canteen provided them with a place
where they could go and take a bite of lunch, read,
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VANISHED ARIZONA
chat, smoke, or play games with their own chosen
friends, and escape the lonesomeness of the barracks.
But, alas ! this condition of things was not destined
to endure, for the women of the various Temperance
societies, in their mistaken zeal and woful ignorance
of the soldiers' life, succeeded in influencing legisla-
tion to such an extent that the canteen, in its turn,
was abolished ; with what dire results, we of the army
all know.
Those estimable women of the W. C. T. U. thought
to do good to the army, no doubt, but through their
pitiful ignorance of the soldiers' needs they have
done him an incalculable harm.
Let them stay by their lectures and their clubs, I
say, and their other amusements; let them exercise
their good influences nearer home, with a class of
people whose conditions are understood by them,
where they can, no doubt, do worlds of good.
They cannot know the drear monotony of the
barracks life on the frontier in times of peace. I
have lived close by it, and I know it well. A cease-
less round of drill and work and lessons, and work
and lessons and drill — no recreation, no excitement,
no change.
Far away from family and all home companion-
ship, a man longs for some pleasant place to go, after
the day's work is done. Perhaps these women think
(if, in their blind enthusiasm, they think at all) that
a young soldier or an old soldier needs no recreation.
260
General x\ugust V. Kautz.
FORT NIOBRARA
At all events, they have taken from him the only-
one he had, the good old canteen, and given him
nothing in return.
Now Fort Niobrara was a large post. There were
ten companies, cavalry and infantry, General August
V. Kautz, the Colonel of the Eighth Infantry, in
command.
And here, amidst the sand-hills of Nebraska, we
first began to really know our Colonel. A man of
strong convictions and abiding honesty, a soldier who
knew his profession thoroughly, having not only
achieved distinction in the Civil War, but having
served when little more than a boy, in the Mexican
War of 1846. Genial in his manners, brave and kind,
he was beloved by all.
The three Kautz children, Frankie, Austin, and
Navarra, were the inseparable companions of our
own children. There was a small school for the
children of the post, and a soldier by the name of
Delany was schoolmaster. He tried hard to make
our children learn, but they did not wish to study,
and spent all their spare time in planning tricks to
be played upon poor Delany. It was a difficult situa-
tion for the soldier. Finally, the two oldest Kautz
children were sent East to boarding-school, and w^e
also began to realize that something must be done.
Our surroundings during the early winter, it is
true, had been dreary enough, but as the weather
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softened a bit and the spring approached, the post
began to wake up.
In the meantime, Cupid had not been idle. It
was observed that Mr. Bingham, our gracious host
of the Ninth Cavalry, had fallen in love with An-
toinette, the pretty and attractive daughter of Captain
Lynch of our own regiment, and the post began to
be on the qui vive to see how the affair would end,
for nobody expects to see the course of true love run
smooth. In their case*', however, the Fates were kind
and in due time the happy engagement was
announced.
We had an excellent amusement hall, with a fine
floor for dancing. The chapel was at one end, and a
fairly good stage was at the other.
Being nearer civilization now, in the state of
Nebraska, Uncle Sam provided us with a chaplain,
and a weekly service was held by the Anglican clergy-
man— a tall, well- formed man, a scholar and, as we
say, a gentleman. He wore the uniform of the army
chaplain, and as far as looks went could hold his
own with any of the younger officers. And it was a
great comfort to the church people to have this weekly
service.
During the rest of the time, the chapel was con-
cealed by heavy curtains, and the seats turned around
facing the stage.
We had a good string orchestra of twenty or more
pieces, and as there were a number of active young
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FORT NIOBRARA
bachelors at the post, a series of weekly dances was
inaugurated. Never did I enjoy dancing more than
at this time.
Then Mrs. Kautz, who was a thorough music lover
and had a cultivated taste as well as a trained and
exquisite voice, gave several musicales, for which
much preparation was made, and which were most
delightful. These were given at the quarters of Gen-
eral Kautz, a long, low, rambling one-story house,
arranged with that artistic taste for which Mrs. Kautz
was distinguished.
Then came theatricals, all managed by Mrs. Kautz,
whose talents were versatile.
We charged admission, for we needed some more
scenery, and the neighboring frontier town of Valen-
tine came riding and driving over the prairie and
across the old bridge of the Niobrara River, to see
our plays. We had a well-lighted stage. Our meth-
ods were primitive, as there was no gas or electricity
there in those days, but the results were good, and
the histrionic ability shown by some of our young
men and women seemed marvellous to us.
I remember especially Bob Emmet's acting, which
moved me to tears, in a most pathetic love scene. I
thought, "What has the stage lost, in this gifted
man!"
But he is of a family whose talents are well known,
and his personality, no doubt, added much to his
natural ability as an actor.
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Neither the army nor the stage can now claim this
brilHant cavalry officer, as he was induced, by urgent
family reasons, shortly after the period of which I
am writing, to resign his commission and retire to
private life, at the very height of his ambitious
career.
And now the summer came on apace. A tennis-
court was made, and added greatly to our amusement.
We were in the saddle every day, and the country
around proved very attractive at this season, both for
riding and driving.
But all this gayety did not content me, for the
serious question of education for our children now
presented itself; the question which, sooner or later,
presents itself to the minds of all the parents of army
children. It is settled differently by different people.
It had taken a year for us to decide.
I made up my mind that the first thing to be done
was to take the children East and then decide on
schools afterwards. So our plans were completed
and the day of departure fixed upon. Jack was to
remain at the Post.
About an hour before I was to leave I saw the
members of the string orchestra filing across the
parade ground, coming directly towards our quarters.
My heart began to beat faster, as I realized that
Mrs. Kautz had planned a serenade for me. I felt it
was a great break in my army life, but I did not know
I was leaving the old regiment forever, the regiment
264
FORT NIOBRARA
with which I had been associated for so many years.
And as I Hstened to the beautiful strains of the music
I loved so well, my eyes were wet with tears, and
after all the goodbye's were said, to the officers and
their wives, my friends who had shared all our joys
and our sorrows in so many places and under so many
conditions, I ran out to the stable and pressed my
cheek against the soft warm noses of our two saddle
horses. I felt that life was over for me, and nothing
but work and care remained. I say I felt all this.
It must have been premonition, for I had no idea
that I was leaving the line of the army forever.
The ambulance was at the door, to take us to
Valentine, where I bade Jack good bye, and took the
train for the East. His last promise was to visit us
once a year, or whenever he could get a leave of
absence.
My husband had now worn the single bar on his
shoulder-strap for eleven years or more; before that,
the straps of the second lieutenant had adorned his
broad shoulders for a period quite as long. Twenty-
two years a lieutenant in the regular army, after
fighting, in a volunteer regiment of his own state,
through the four years of the Civil War! The
''gallant and meritorious service" for which he had
received brevets, seemed, indeed, to have been for-
gotten. He had grown grey in Indian campaigns,
and it looked as if the frontier might always be the
home of the senior lieutenant of the old Eighth.
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Promotion in that regiment had been at a standstill
for years.
Being in Washington for a short time towards mid-
winter enjoying the social side of military life at
the Capital, an opportunity came to me to meet
President Cleveland, and although his administration
was nearing its close, and the stress of official cares
was very great, he seemed to have leisure and interest
to ask me about my life on the frontier; and as the
conversation became quite personal, the impulse
seized me, to tell him just how I felt about the edu-
cation of our children, and then to tell him what I
thought and w,hat others thought about the unjust
way in which the promotions and retirements in our
regiment had been managed.
He listened with the greatest interest and seemed
pleased with my frankness. He asked me what the
soldiers and officers out there thought of "So and So."
'^They hate him," I said.
Whereupon he laughed outright and I knew I had
committed an indiscretion, but life on the frontier does
not teach one diplomacy of speech, and by that time
I was nerved up to say just what I felt, regardless
of results.
"Well," he said, smiling, "I am afraid I cannot
interfere much with those military matters;" then,
pointing with his left hand and thumb towards the
War Department, "they fix them all up over there
in the Adjutant Generars office," he added.
266
FORT NIOBRARA
Then he asked me many more questions; if I had
always stayed out there with my husband, and why
I did not Hve in the East, as so many army women
did; and all the time I could hear the dull thud of
the carpenters' hammers, for they were building even
then the board seats for the public who would witness
the inaugural ceremonies of his successor, and with
each stroke of the hammer, his face seemed to grow
more sad.
I felt the greatness of the man; his desire to be
just and good: his marvellous personal power, his
ability to understand and to sympathize, and when I
parted from him he said again laughingly, ''Well, I
shall not forget your husband's regiment, and if any-
thing turns up for those fine men you have told me
about, they will hear from me/' And I knew they
were the words of a man, who meant what he said.
In the course of our conversation he had asked,
''Who are these men? Do they ever come to Wash-
ington? I rarely have these things explained to me
and I have little time to interfere with the decisions
of the Adjutant General's office."
I replied: "No, Mr. President, they are not the
men you see around Washington. Our regiment stays
on the frontier, and these men are the ones who do
the fighting, and you people here in Washington are
apt to forget all about them."
"What have they ever done? Were they in the
Civil War?" he asked.
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"Their records stand in black and white in the
War Department," I repHed, ''if you have the interest
to learn more about them."
''Women's opinions are influenced by their feelings,"
he said.
"Mine are based upon what I know, and I am
prepared to stand by my convictions," I replied.
Soon after this interview, I returned to New York
and I did not give the matter very much further
thought, but my impression of the greatness of Mr.
Cleveland and of his powerful personahty has re-
mained with me to this day.
A vacancy occurred about this time in the Quarter-
master's Department, and the appointment was eagerly
sought for by many Lieutenants of the army.
President Cleveland saw fit to give the appointment
to Lieutenant Summerhayes, making him a Captain
and Quartermaster, and then, another vacancy occur-
ring shortly after, he appointed Lieutenant John
McEwen Hyde to be also a Captain and Quarter-
master.
Lieutenant Hyde stood next in rank to my husband
and had grown grey in the old Eighth Infantry. So
the regiment came in for its honor at last, and General
Kautz, when the news of the second appointment
reached him, exclaimed, "Well ! well ! does the
President think my regiment a nursery for the Staff ?"
The Eighth Foot and the Ninth Horse at Niobrara
gave the new Captain and Quartermaster a rousing
268
John W. Summerhayes, Major and Quartermaster. U. S. A
"
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FORT NIOBRARA
farewell, for now my husband was leaving his old
regiment forever ; and, while he appreciated fully the
honor of his new staff position, he felt a sadness at
breaking off the associations of so many years — a
sadness which can scarcely be understood by the young
officers of the present day, who are promoted from
one regiment to another, and rarely remain long
enough with one organization to know even the men
of their own Company.
There were many champagne suppers, dinners and
card-parties given for him, to make the good-bye
something to be remembered, and at the end of a
week's festivities, he departed by a night train from
Valentine, thus eluding the hospitality of those
generous but wild frontiersmen, who were waiting to
give him what they call out there a ''send-off/'
For Valentine was like all frontier towns; a row
of stores and saloons. The men who kept them were
generous, if somewhat rough. One of the officers of
the post, having occasion to go to the railroad station
one day at Valentine, saw the body of a man hanging
to a telegraph pole a short distance up the track. He
said to the station man: "What does that mean?"
(nodding his head in the direction of the telegraph
pole).
"Why, it means just this," said the station man,
"the people who hung that man last night had the
nerve to put him right in front of this place, by G — .
What would the passengers think of this town, sir,
269
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as they went by? Why, the reputation of Valentine
would be ruined! Yes, sir, we cut him down and
moved him up a pole or two. He was a hard case,
though," he added.
(270)
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CHAPTER XXXI
SANTA FE
I MADE haste to present Captain Summerhayes with
the shoulder-straps of his new rank, when he joined
me in New York.
The orders for Santa Fe reached us in mid-summer
at Nantucket. I knew about as much of Santa Fe
as the average Am eric? n knows, and that was nothing ;
but I did know that the Staff appointment solved the
problem of education for us (for Staff officers are
usually stationed in cities), and I knew that our
frontier life was over. I welcomed the change, for
our children were getting older, and we were our-
selves approaching the age when comfort means more
to one than it heretofore has.
Jack obeyed his sudden orders, and I followed him
as soon as possible.
Arriving at Santa Fe in the mellow sunlight of an
October day, we were met by my husband and an
officer of the Tenth Infantry, and as we drove into
the town, its appearance of placid content, its ancient
buildings, its great trees, its clear air, its friendly,
indolent-looking inhabitants, gave me a delightful
feeling of home. A mysterious charm seemed to pos-
sess me. It was the spell which that old town loves
271
VANISHED ARIZONA
to throw over the strangers who venture off the beaten
track to come within her walls.
Lying only eighteen miles away, over a small branch
road from Llamy (a station on the Atchison and
Topeka Railroad), few people take the trouble to
stop over to visit it. ''Dead old town," says the
commercial traveller, ''nothing doing there."
And it is true.
But no spot that I have visited in this country has
thrown around me the spell of enchantment which
held me fast in that sleepy and historic town.
The Governor's Palace, the old plaza, the ancient
churches, the antiquated customs, the Sisters' Hos-
pital, the old Convent of Our Lady of Loretto, the
soft music of the Spanish tongue, I loved them all.
There were no factories ; no noise was ever heard ;
the sun shone peacefully on, through winter and
summer alike. There was no cold, no heat, but a
delightful year-around climate. Why the place was
not crowded with health seekers, was a puzzle to me.
I had thought that the bay of San Francisco offered
the most agreeable climate in Am.erica, but, in the
Territory of New Mexico, Santa Fe was the per-
fection of all climates combined.
The old city lies in the broad valley of the Santa
Fe Creek, but the valley of the Santa Fe Creek lies
seven thousand feet above the sea level. I should
never have known that we were living at a great
altitude if I had not been told, for the equable climate
2J2
SANTA FE
made us forget to inquire about height or depth or
distance.
I Hstened to old Father de Fourri preach his short
sermons in EngHsh to the few Americans who sat on
one side of the aisle, in the church of Our Lady of
Guadaloupe; then, turning with an easy gesture
towards his Mexican congregation, who sat or knelt
near the sanctuary, and saying, ''Hermanos mios/'
he gave the same discourse in good Spanish. I felt
comfortable in the thought that I was improving my
Spanish as well as profiting by Father de Fourri's
sound logic. This good priest had grown old at Santa
Fe in the service of his church.
The Mexican women, with their black ribosos
wound around their heads and concealing their faces,
knelt during the entire mass, and made many long
responses in Latin.
After years spent in a heathenish manner, as re-
gards all chui :h observations, this devout and unique
service, following the customs of ancient Spain, was
interesting to me in the extreme.
Sometimes on a Sunday afternoon I attended Ves-
pers in the chapel of the Sisters' Hospital (as it was
called). A fine Sanitarium, managed entirely by the
Roman Catholic Sisters of Charity.
Sister Victoria, who was at the head of the man-
agement, was not only a very beautiful woman, but
she had an agreeable voice and always led in the
singing.
273
VANISHED ARIZONA
It seemed like Heaven.
I wrote to my friends in the East to come to the
Sisters' Hospital if they wanted health, peace and
happiness, for it was surely to be found there.
I visited the convent of Our Lady of Loretto: I
stood before a high wall in an embrasure of which
there was a low wooden gate; I pulled on a small
knotted string which hung out of a little hole, and a
queer old bell rang. Then one of the nuns came and
let me in, across a beautiful garden to the convent
school. I placed my little daughter as a day pupil
there, as she was now eleven years old. The nuns
spoke very little English and the children none at all.
The entire city was ancient, Spanish, Catholic,
steeped in a religious atmosphere and in what the
average American Protestant would call the supersti-
tions of the dark ages. There were endless fiestas,
and processions and religious services, I saw them all
and became much interested in reading the history of
the Catholic missions, established so early out through
what was then a wild and unexplored country. After
that, I listened with renewed interest to old Father de
Fouri, who had tended and led his flock of simple
people so long and so lovingly.
There was a large painting of Our Lady of Guada-
loupe over the altar — these people firmly believed that
she had appeared to them, on the earth, and so
strong was the influence around me that I began
almost to believe it too. I never missed the Sunday
274
SANTA FE
morning mass, and I fell in easily with the religious
observances.
I read and studied about the old explorers, and I
seemed to live in the time of Cortez and his brave
band. I became acquainted with Adolf Bandelier,
who had lived for years in that country, engaged in
research for the American Archaeological Society. I
visited the Indian pueblos, those marvellous structures
of adobe, where live entire tribes, and saw natives
who have not changed their manner of speech of
dress since the days when the Spaniards first pene-
trated to their curious dwellings, three hundred or
more years ago. I climbed the rickety ladders, by
which one enters these strange dwellings, and bought
the great bowls which these Indians shape in some
then bake in their mud ovens,
manner without the assistance of a potter's wheel, and
The pueblo of Tesiique is only nine miles from
Santa Fe, and a pleasant drive, at that; it seemed
strange to me that the road was not lined with
tourists. But no, they pass all these wonders by, in
their disinclination to go oflf the beaten track.
Visiting the pueblos gets to be a craze. Governor
and Mrs. Prince knew them all — the pueblo of Taos,
of Santa Clara, San Juan, and others; and the Gov-
ernor's collection of great stone idols was a marvel
indeed. He kept them laid out on shelves, which
resembled the bunks on a great vessel, and in an
apartment especially reserved for them, in his resi-
275
VANISHED ARIZONA
dence at Santa Fe, and it was always with consider-
able awe that I entered that apartment. The
Governor occupied at that time a low, rambling adobe
house, on Palace Avenue, and this, with its thick walls
and low window-seats, made a fit setting for the
treasures they had gathered.
Later on, the Governor's family occupied the palace
(as it is always called) of the old Spanish Viceroy, a
most ancient, picturesque, yet dignified building, fac-
ing the plaza.
The various apartments in this old palace were used
for Government offices when we were stationed there
in 1889, and in one of these rooms. General Lew Wal-
lace, a few years before, had written his famous book,
"Ben Hur."
On the walls were hanging old portraits painted by
the Spaniards in the sixteenth century. They were
done on rawhide, and whether these interesting and
historic pictures have been preserved by our Govern-
ment I do not know.
The distinguished Anglican clergyman living there
taught a small class of boys, and the "Academy," an
excellent school established by the Presbyterian Board
of Missions, afforded good advantages for the young
girls of the garrison. And as we had found that the
Convent of Loretto was not just adapted to the educa-
tion of an American child, we withdrew Katharine
from that school and placed her at the Presbyterian
Academy.
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SANTA FE
To be sure, the young woman teacher gave a rousing
lecture on total abstinence once a week ; going even so
far as to say, that to partake of apple sauce which
had begun to ferment was yielding to the temptations
of Satan. The young woman's arguments made a
disastrous impression upon our children's minds; so
much so, that the rich German Jews whose daughters
attended the school complained greatly; for, as they
told us^ these girls would hasten to snatch the de-
canters from the sideboard, at the approach of visitors,
and hide them, and they began to sit in judgment upon
their elders. Now these men were among the leading
citizens of the town; they were self-respecting and
wealthy. They could not stand these extreme doc-
trines, so opposed to their life and their traditions.
We informed Miss X. one day that she could excuse
our children from the total abstinence lecture, or
we should be compelled to withdraw them from the
school. She said she could not compel them to listen,
but preach she must. She remained obedient to her
orders from the Board, and we could but respect her
for that. Our young daughters were, however,
excused from the lecture.
But our time was not entirely given up to the study
of ancient pottery, for the social life there was delight-
ful. The garrison was in the centre of the town,
the houses were comfortable, and the streets shaded
by old trees. The Tenth Infantry had its headquar-
ters and two companies there. Every afternoon, the
^77
VANISHED ARIZONA
military band played in the Plaza, where everybody
went and sat on benches in the shade of the old trees,
or, if cool, in the delightful sunshine. The pretty
and well-dressed senoritas cast shy glances at the
young officers of the Tenth ; but, alas ! the handsome
and attractive Lieutenants Van Vliet and Seyburn,
and the more sedate Lieutenant Plummer, could not
return these bewitching glances, as they were all
settled in life.
The two former officers had married in Detroit,
and both Mrs. Van Vliet and Mrs. Seyburn did honor
to the beautiful city of Michigan, for they were most
agreeable and clever women, and presided over their
army homes with distinguished grace and hospitality.
The Americans who lived there were all professional
people; mostly lawyers, and a few bankers. I could
not understand why so many Eastern lawyers lived
there. I afterwards learned that the old Spanish
land grants had given rise to illimitable and never-
ending litigation.
Every morning we rode across country. There
were no fences, but the wide irrigation ditches gave
us a plenty of excitement, and the riding was glorious.
I had no occasion yet to realize that we had left the
line of the army.
A camping trip to the head-waters of the Pecos,
where we caught speckled trout in great abundance in
the foaming riffles and shallow pools of this rushing
mountain stream, remaining in camp a week under
278
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SANTA FE
the spreading boughs of the mighty pines, added to
the variety and deHghts of our Hfe there.
With such an existence as this, good health and
diversion, the time passed rapidly by.
It was against the law now for soldiers to marry;
the old days of ^'laundresses'' had passed away.
But the trombone player of the Tenth Infantry
band (a young Boston boy) had married a wife, and
now a baby had come to them. They could get no
quarters, so we took the family in, and, as the wife
was an excellent cook, we were able to give many
small dinners. The walls of the house being three feet
thick, we were never troubled by the trombone prac-
tice or the infant's cries. And many a delightful eve-
ning we had around the board, with Father de Fourri,
Rev. Mr. Meany (the Anglican clergyman), the offi-
cers and ladies of the Tenth, Governor and Mrs.
Prince, and the brilliant lawyer folk of Santa Fe.
Such an ideal life cannot last long; this existence
of ours does not seem to be contrived on those lines.
At the end of a year, orders came for Texas, and
perhaps it was well that orders came, or we might
be in Santa Fe to-day, wrapt in a dream of past ages ;
for the city of the Holy Faith had bound us with
invisible chains.
With our departure from Santa Fe, all picturesque-
ness came to an end in our army life. Ever after
that, we had really good houses to live in, which had
all modern arrangements ; we had beautiful, well-kept
^79
SANTA FE
lawns and gardens, the same sort of domestic service
that civiHans have, and Hved almost the same life.
(280)
CHAPTER XXXII
TDXAS
Whenever I think of San Antonio and Fort Sam
Houston, the perfume of the wood violet which blos-
somed in mid-winter along the borders of our lawn,
and the delicate odor of the Cape jessamine, seem to
be wafted about me.
Fort Sam Houston is the Headquarters of the De-
partment of Texas, and all the Staff officers live there,
in comfortable stone houses, with broad lawns shaded
by chinaberry trees. Then at the top of the hill is
a great quadrangle, with a clock tower and all the
department offices. On the other side of this quad-
rangle is the post, where the line officers live.
General Stanley commanded the Department. A
fine, dignified and able man, with a great record as an
Indian fighter. Jack knew him well, as he had been
with him in the first preliminary survey for the
northern Pacific Railroad, when he drove old Sitting
Bull back to the Powder River.
He was now about to reach the age of retirement;
and as the day approached, that day when a man has
reached the limit of his usefulness (in the opinion of
an ever-wise Government), that day which sounds the
knell of active service, that day so dreaded and yet so
longed for, that day when an army officer is sixty-four
281
VANISHED ARIZONA
years old and Uncle Sam lays him upon the shelf, as
that day approached, the city of San Antonio, in fact
the entire State of Texas poured forth to bid him God-
speed; for if ever an army man was beloved, it was
General Stanley by the State of Texas.
Now on the other side of the great quadrangle lay
the post, where were the soldiers' barracks and quar-
ters of the line officers. This was commanded by
Colonel Coppinger, a gallant officer, who had fought
in many wars in many countries.
He had his famous regiment, the Twenty-third
Infantry, and many were the pleasant dances and
theatricals we had, with the music furnished by their
band ; for, as it was a time of peace, the troops were
all in garrison.
Major Burbank was there also, with his well-drilled
Light Battery of the 3rd Artillery.
My husband, being a Captain and Quartermaster,
served directly under General George H. Weeks, who
was Chief Quartermaster of the Department, and I
can never forget his kindness to us both. He was one
of the best men I ever knew, in the army or out of it,
and came to be one of my dearest friends. He pos-
sessed the sturdy qualities of his Puritan ancestry,
united with the charming manners of an aristocrat.
We belonged, of course, now, with the Stafif, and
something, an intangible something, seemed to have
gone out of the life. The officers were all older, and
the Staff uniforms were more sombre. I missed the
282
TEXAS
white stripe of the infantry, and the yellow of the
cavalry. The shoulder-straps all had gold eagles or
leaves on them, instead of the Captains' or Lieuten-
ants' bars. Many of the Staff officers wore civilians'
clothes, which distressed me much, and I used to tell
them that if I were Secretary of War they would not
be permitted to go about in black alpaca coats and
cinnamon-brown trousers.
''What would you have us do?" said General
Weeks.
''Wear white duck and brass buttons," I replied.
"Fol-de-rol !" said the fine-looking and erect Chief
Quartermaster ; "you would have us be as vain as we
were when we were Lieutenants?"
''You can afford to be," I answered ; for, even with
his threescore years, he had retained the lines of
youth, and was, in my opinion, the finest looking man
in the Staff of the Army.
But all my reproaches and all my diplomacy were
of no avail in reforming the Staff. Evidently com-
fort and not looks was their motto.
One day, I accidentally caught a side view of myself
in a long mirror (long mirrors had not been very
plentiful on the frontier), and was appalled by the
fact that my own lines corresponded but too well,
alas ! with those of the Staff. Ah, me ! were the days,
then, of Lieutenants forever past and gone? The
days of suppleness and youth, the careless gay days,
when there was no thought for the future, no anxiety
283
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about education, when the day began with a wild
dash across country and ended with a dinner and
dance — were they over, then, for us all?
Major Burbank's battery of light artillery came
over and enlivened the quiet of our post occasionally
with their brilliant red color. At those times, we
all went out and stood in the music pavilion to watch
the drill ; and when his horses and guns and caissons
thundered down the hill and swept by us at a terrific
gallop, our hearts stood still. Even the dignified
Staff permitted themselves a thrill, and as for us
women, our excitement knew no bounds.
The brilliant red of the artillery brought color to
the rather grey aspect of the quiet Headquarters post,
and the magnificent drill supplied the martial element
so dear to a woman's heart.
In San Antonio, the New has almost obliterated the
Old, and little remains except its pretty green river,
its picturesque bridges, and the historic Alamo, to
mark it from other cities in the Southwest.
In the late afternoon, everybody drove to the Plaza,
where all the country people were selling their garden-
stuff and poultry in the open square. This was
charming, and we all bought live fowl and drove home
again. . One heard cackling and gobbling from the
smart traps and victorias, and it seemed to be a sur-
vival of an old custom. The whole town took a drive
after that, and supped at eight o'clock.
The San Antonio people believe there is no climate
284
TEXAS
to equal theirs, and talk much about the cool breezes
from the Gulf of Mexico, which is some miles away.
But I found seven months of the twelve too hot for
comfort, and I could never detect much coolness in
the summer breezes.
After I settled down to the sedateness which is
supposed to belong to the Staff, I began to enjoy life
very much. There is compensation for every loss,
and I found, with the new friends, many of whom had
lived their lives, and had known sorrow and joy, a
true companionship which enriched my life, and filled
the days with gladness.
My son had completed the High School course in
San Antonio, under an able German master, and had
been sent East to prepare for the Stevens Institute
of Technology, and in the following spring I took my
daughter Katharine and fled from the dreaded heat
of a Texas summer. Never can I forget the child's
grief on parting from her Texas pony. She extorted
a solemn promise from her father, who was obliged to
stay in Texas, that he would never part with him.
My brother, then unmarried, and my sister Harriet
were living together in New Rochelle and to them
we went. Harry's vacation enabled him to be with
us, and we had a delightful summer. It was good to
be on the shores of Long Island Sound.
In the autumn, not knowing what next was in store
for us, I placed my dear little Katharine at the Con-
vent of the Sacred Heart at Kenwood on the Hudson,
285
VANISHED ARIZONA
that she might be able to complete her education in
one place, and in the care of those lovely, gentle and
refined ladies of that order.
Shortly after that, Captain Jack was ordered to
David's Island, New York Harbor (now called Fort
Slocum), where we spent four happy and uninter-
rupted years, in the most constant intercourse with
my dear brother and sister.
Old friends were coming and going all the time,
and it seemed so good to us to be living in a place
where this was possible.
Captain Summerhayes was constructing officer and
had a busy life, with all the various sorts of building
to be done there.
David's Island was then an Artillery Post, and
there were several batteries stationed there. (After-
wards it became a recruiting station.) The garrison
was often entirely changed. At one time. General
Henry C. Cook was in command. He and his charm-
ing Southern wife added so much to the enjoyment of
the post. Then came our old friends the Van Vliets
of Santa Fe days; and Dr. and Mrs. Valery Havard,
who are so well known in the army, and then Colonel
Carl Woodruff and Mrs. Woodrufif, whom we all liked
so much, and dear Doctor Julian Cabell, and others,
who completed a delightful garrison.
And we had a series of informal dances and invited
the distinguished members of the artist colony from
New Rochelle, and it was at one of these dances that
286
TEXAS
I first met Frederic Remington. I had long admirea
his work and had been most anxious to meet him.
As a rule, Frederic did not attend any social func-
tions, but he loved the army, and as Mrs. Remington
was fond of social life, they were both present at
our first little invitation dance.
About the middle of the evening I noticed Mr.
Remington sitting alone and I crossed the hall and
sat down beside him. I then told him how much
I had loved his work and how it appealed to all
army folks, and how glad I was to know him, and
I suppose I said many other things such as literary
men and painters and players often have to hear from
enthusiastic women like myself. However, Frederic
seemed pleased, and made some modest little speech
and then fell into an abstracted silence, gazing on
the great flag which was stretched across the hall at
one end, and from behind which some few soldiers
who were going to assist in serving the supper were
passing in and out. I fell in with his mood imme-
diately, as he was a person with whom formality
was impossible, and said: "What are you looking
at, Mr. Remington?'' He replied, turning upon me
his round boyish face and his blue eyes gladdening,
"I was just thinking I wished I was behind in there
where those blue jackets are — you know — behind that
flag with the soldiers — those are the men I like to
study, you know, I don't like all this fuss and feathers
of society" — then, blushing at his lack of gallantry,
^87
VANISHED ARIZONA
he added: ''It's all right, of course, pretty women
and all that, and I suppose you think Fm dreadful
and — do you want me to dance with you — that's the
proper thing here — isn't it?" Whereupon, he seized
me in his great arms and whirled me around at a
pace I never dreamed of, and, once around, he said,
''that's enough of this thing, isn't it, let's sit down,
I believe I'm going to like you, though I'm not much
for women." I said "You must come over here
often;" and he replied, "You've got a lot of jolly
good fellows over here and I will do it."
Afterwards, the Remingtons and ourselves became
the closest friends. Mrs. Remington's maiden name
was Eva Caton, and after the first few meetings, she
became "little Eva" to me — and if ever there was an
embodiment of that gentle lovdy name and what it
implies, it is this woman, the wife of the great artist,
who has stood by him through all the reverses of his
early life and been, in every sense, his guiding star.
And now began visits to the studio, a great room
he had built on to his house at New Rochelle. It
had an enormous fire place where great logs were
burned, and the walls were hung with the most rare
and wonderful Indian curios. There he did all the
painting which has made him famous in the last
twenty years, and all the modelling which has already
become so well known and would have eventually
made him a name as a great sculptor. He always
worked steadily until three o'clock and then there was
288
B ' > ° 3 ^ J i
Frederic Remington and Jack Summerhayes on a
shooting trip in Mexico. Showing the Army "Ambu-
lance."
TEXAS
a walk or game of tennis or a ride. After dinner,
delightful evenings in the studio.
Frederic was a student and a deep thinker. He
liked to solve all questions for himself and did not
accept readily other men's theories. He thought
much on religious subjects and the future life, and
liked to compare the Christian religion with the re-
ligions of Eastern countries, weighing them one
against the other with fairness and clear logic.
And so we sat, many evenings into the night, Fred-
eric and Jack stretched in their big leather chairs
puffing away at their pipes, Eva with her needlework,
and myself a rapt listener: wondering at this man
of genius, who could work with his creative brush
all day long and talk with the eloquence of a learned
Doctor of Divinity half the night.
During the time we were stationed at Davids
Island, Mr. Remington and Jack made a trip to the
Southwest, where they shot the peccary (wild hog)
in Texas and afterwards blue quail and other game
in Mexico. Artist and soldier, they got on famously
together notwithstanding the difference in their ages.
And now he was going to try his hand at a novel,
a real romance. We talked a good deal about the
little Indian boy, and I got to love White Weasel
long before he appeared in print as John Ermine.
The book came out after we had left New Rochelle —
but I received a copy from him, and wrote him my
ooinion of it, which was one of unstinted praise. But
289
VANISHED ARIZONA
it did not surprise me to learn that he did not con-
sider it a success from a financial point of view.
"You see/' he said a year afterwards, ''that sort
of thing does not interest the public. What they
want/' — here he began to mimic some funny old East
Side person, and both hands gesticulating — ''is a
back yard and a cabbage patch and a cook stove and
babies' clothes drying beside it, you see, Mattie," he
said. "They don't want to know anything about the
Indian or the half-breed, or what he thinks or be-
lieves/' And then he went off into one of his irresisti-
ble tirades combining ridicule and abuse of the reading
public, in language such as only Frederic Remington
could use before women and still retain his dignity.
"Well, Frederic," I said, "I will try to recollect that,
when I write my experiences of Army Life."
In writing him my opinion of his book the year
before, I had said, "In fact, I am in love with John
Ermine." The following Christmas he sent me the
accompanying card.
TEXAS
Now the book was dramatized and produced, with
Hackett as John Ermine, at the Globe Theatre in
September of 1902 — the hottest weather ever on rec-
ord in Boston at that season. Of course seats were
reserved for us; we were Hving at Nantucket that
year, and we set sail at noon to see the great pro-
duction. We snatched a bite of supper at a near-by
hotel in Boston and hurried to the theatre, but being
late, had some difficulty in getting our seats.
The curtain was up and there sat Hackett, not
with long yellow hair (which was the salient point
in the half-breed scout) but rather well-groomed,
looking more like a parlor Indian than a real live
half-breed, such as all we army people knew. I
thought "this will never do.''
The house was full, Hackett did the part well, and
the audience murmured on going out: ''a very ar-
tistic success." But the play was too mystical, too sad.
It would have suited the ''New Theatre" patrons
better. I wrote him from Nantucket and criticized
one or two minor points, such as the 1850 riding
habits of the women, which were slouchy and un-
becoming and made the army people look like poor
emigrants and I received this letter in reply:
Webster avenue.
New Rochei^IvE, N. Y.
My dear Mrs. S.,
Much obliged for your talk — it is just what we want
— proper impressions.
291
VANISHED ARIZONA
I fought for that long hair but the management
said the audience has got to have some Hackett —
why I could not see— but he is a matinee idol and that
long with the box office.
We'll dress Katherine up better.
The long rehearsals at night nearly killed me — I
was completely done up and came home on train
Monday in that terrific heat and now I am in the
hands of a doctor. Imagine me a week without sleep.
Hope that fight took Jack back to his youth. For
the stage I don't think it was bad. We'll get grey
shirts on their men later.
The old lady arrives to-day — she has been in
Gloversville.
I think the play will go — but we may have to save
Ermine. The public is a funny old cat and won't
stand for the mustard.
Well, glad you had a good time and of course you
can't charge me up with the heat.
Yours,
Frede:rick R.
Remington made a trip to the Yellowstone Park
and this is what he wrote to Jack. His letters were
never dated.
My dear Summerhayes:
Say if you could get a few pufifs of this cold air
out here you would think you were full of champagne
water. I feel like a d — kid —
292
TEXAS
I thought I should never be young again — but here
I am only 14 years old — my whiskers are falling out.
Capt. Brown of the ist cav. wishes to be remem-
bered to you both. He is Park Superintendent. Says
if you will come out here he will take care of you and
he would.
Am painting and doing some good work. Made a
''govt, six" yesterday.
fjkfjt ^h^i^ Si^^
293
VANISHED ARIZONA
In the course of time, he bought an Island in the
St. Lawrence and they spent several summers there.
On the occasion of my husband accepting a detail
in active service in Washington at the Soldiers' Home,
after his retirement, he received the following letter.
IngIvE:nkuk, Chippewa Bay, N. Y.
My dear Jack —
So there you are — and I'm d — glad you are so
nicely fixed. It's the least they could do for you
and you ought to be able to enjoy it for ten years
before they find any spavins on you if you will
behave yourself, but I guess you will drift into that
Army and Navy Club and round up with a lot of those
old alkalied prairie-dogs whom neither Indians nor
whiskey could kill and Mr. Gout will take you over
his route to Arlington.
I'm on the water wagon and I feel like a young
mule. I am never going to get down again to try the
walking. If I lose my whip I am going to drive
right on and leave it.
We are having a fine summer and I may run over
to Washington this winter and throw my eye over
you to see how you go. We made a trip down to
New Foundland but saw nothing worth while. I guess
I am getting to be an old swat — I can't see anything
that didn't happen twenty years ago,
Y—
Frederick R.
294
TEXAS
At the close of the year just gone, this great soul
passed from the earth leaving a blank in our lives
that nothing can ever fill. Passed into the great
Beyond whose mysteries were always troubling his
mind. Suddenly and swiftly the call came — the hand
was stilled and the restless spirit took its flight.
(295)
CHAPTER XXXIII
David's isi^and
At Davids' Island the four happiest years of my
army Hfe ghded swiftly away.
There was a small steam tug which made regular
and frequent trips over to New Rochelle and we en-
joyed our intercourse with the artists and players
who lived there.
Zogbaum, whose well known pictures of sailors and
warships and soldiers had reached us even in the
far West, and whose charming family added so much
to our pleasure.
Julian Hawthorne with his daughter Hildegarde,
now so well known as a literary critic ; Henry Loomis
Nelson, whose fair daughter Margaret came to our
little dances and promptly fell in love with a young,
slim, straight Artillery officer. A case of love at first
sight, followed by a short courtship and a beautiful
little country Avedding at Miss Nelson's home on the
old Pelham Road, where Hildegarde Hawthorne was
bridesmaid in a white dress and scarlet flowers (the
artillery colors) and many famous literary people
from everywhere were present.
Augustus Thomas, the brilliant playwright, whose
home was near the Remingtons on Lathers' Hill, and
296
DAVID'S ISLAND
whose wife, so young, so beautiful and so accom-
plished, made that home attractive and charming.
Francis Wilson, known to the world at large, first
as a singer in comic opera, and now as an actor and
author, also lived in New Rochelle, and we came to
have the honor of being numbered amongst his
friends. A devoted husband and kind father, a man
of letters and a book lover, such is the man as we
knew him in his home and with his family.
And now came the delicious warm summer days.
We persuaded the Quartermaster to prop up the
little row of old bathing houses which had toppled
over with the heavy winter gales. There were several
bathing enthusiasts amongst us ; we had a pretty fair
little stretch of beach which was set apart for the
officers' families, and now what bathing parties wx
had! Kemble, the illustrator, joined our ranks — and
on a warm summer morning the little old Tug Ham-
ilton was gay with the artists and their families, the
players and writers of plays, and soon you could
see the little garrison hastening to the beach and the
swimmers running dovv^n the long pier, down the
run-way and off head first into the clear waters of
the Sound. What a company was that ! The younger
and the older ones all together, children and their
fathers and mothers, all happy, all well, all so gay,
and we of the frontier so enamored of civilization
and what it brought us ! There were no intruders and
ah! those were happy days. Uncle Sam seemed to
297
VANISHED ARIZONA
be making up to us for what we had lost during all
those long years in the wild places.
Then Augustus Thomas wrote the play of "Arizona''
and we went to New York to see it put on, and we
sat iij Mr. Thomas' box and saw our frontier life
brought before us with startling reality.
And so one season followed another. Each bring-
ing its pleasures, and then came another lovely wed-
ding, for my brother Harry gave up his bachelor
estate and married one of the nicest and handsomest
girls in Westchester County, and their home in New
Rochelle was most attractive. My son was at the
Stevens Institute and both he and Katharine were
able to spend their vacations at David's Island, and
altogether, our life there was near to perfection.
We were doomed to have one more tour in the
West, however, and this time it was the Middle West.
For in the autumn of '96, Jack was ordered to
Jefferson Barracks, Missouri, on construction work.
Jefferson Barracks is an old and historic post on
the Mississippi River, some ten miles south of St.
Louis. I could not seem to take any interest in the
post or in the life there. I could not form new ties
so quickly, after our life on the coast, and I did not
like the Mississippi Valley, and St. Louis was too far
from the post, and the trolley ride over there too dis-
agreeable for words. After seven months of just
existing (on my part) at Jefferson Barracks, Jack
received an order for Fort Myer, the end, the aim,
298
DAVID'S ISLAND
the dream of all army people. Fort Myer is about
three miles from Washington, D. C.
We lost no time in getting there and were soon
settled in our pleasant quarters. There was some
building to be done, but the duty was comparatively
light, and we entered with considerable zest into the
social life of the Capital. We expected to remain
there for two years, at the end of which time Captain
Summerhayes would be retired and Washington would
be our permanent home.
But alas ! our anticipation was never to be realized,
for, as we all know, in May of 1898, the Spanish War
broke out, and my husband was ordered to New York
City to take charge of the Army Transport Service,
under Colonel Kimball.
No delay was permitted to him, so I was left behind,
to pack up the household goods and to dispose of our
horses and carriages as best I could.
The battle of Manila Bay had changed the current
of our lives, and we were once more adrift.
The young Cavalry officers came in to say good-bye
to Captain Jack: every one was busy packing up his
belongings for an indefinite period and preparing for
the field. We all felt the undercurrent of sadness
and uncertainty, but ''a good health'' and ''happy
return" was drunk all around, and Jack departed at
midnight for his new station and new duties.
The next morning at daybreak we were awakened
299
VANISHED ARIZONA
by the tramp, tramp of the Cavalry, marching out
of the post, en route for Cuba.
We peered out of the windows and watched the
troops we loved so well, until every man and horse
had vanished from our sight.
Fort Myer was deserted and our hearts were sad.
My sister Harriet, who was visiting us at that time,
returned from her morning walk, and as she stepped
upon the porch, she said: "Well! of all lonesome
places I ever saw, this is the worst yet. I am going
to pack my trunk and leave. I came to visit an army
post, but not an old zvomen's home or an orphan
asylum : that is about all this place is now. I simply
cannot stay !"
Whereupon, she proceeded immediately to carry out
her resolution, and I was left behind with my young
daughter, to finish and close up our life at Fort Myer.
To describe the year which followed, that strenuous
year in New York, is beyond my power.
That summer gave Jack his promotion to a Major,
but the anxiety and the terrible strain of official work
broke down his, health entirely, and in the following
winter the doctors sent him to Florida, to recuperate.
After six weeks in St. Augustine, we returned to
New York. The stress of the war was over ; the Major
was ordered to Governor's Island as Chief Quarter-
master, Department of the East, and in the following
300
DAVID'S ISLAND
year he was retired, by operation of the law, at the
age Hmit.
I was glad to rest from the incessant changing of
stations; the life had become irksome to me, in its
perpetual unrest. I was glad to find a place to lay
my head, and to feel that we were not under orders ;
to find and to keep a roof-tree, under which we could
abide forever.
In 1903, by an act of Congress, the veterans of the
Civil War, who had served continuously for thirty
years or more were given an extra grade, so now my
hero wears with complacency the silver leaf of the
Lieutenant-Colonel, and is enjoying the quiet life of
a civilian.
But that fatal spirit of unrest from which I thought
to escape, and which ruled my life for so many years,
sometimes asserts its power, and at those times my
thoughts turn back to the days when we were all
Lieutenants together, marching across the deserts and
mountains of Arizona; back to my friends of the
Eighth Infantry, that historic regiment, whose officers
and men fought before the walls of Chapultepec and
Mexico, back to my friends of the Sixth Cavalry, to
the days at Camp MacDowell, where we slept under
the stars, and watched the sun rise from behind the
Four Peaks of the MacDowell Mountains : where we
rode the big cavalry horses over the sands of the
Maricopa desert, swung in our hammocks under the
ramddas; swam in the red waters of the Verde River,
301
VANISHED ARIZONA
ate canned peaches, pink butter and commissary hams,
listened for the scratching of the centipedes as they
scampered around the edges of our canvas-covered
floors, found scorpions in our sHppers, and rattle-
snakes under our beds.
The old post is long since abandoned, but the Four
Peaks still stand, wrapped in their black shadows by
night, and their purple colors by day, waiting for the
passing of the Apache and the coming of the white
man, who shall dig his canals in those arid plains,
and build his cities upon the ruins of the ancient
Aztec dwellings.
The Sixth Cavalry, as well as the Eighth Infantry,
has seen many vicissitudes since those days. Some
of our gallant Captains and Lieutenants have won
their stars, others have been slain in battle.
Dear, gentle Major Worth received wounds in the
Cuban campaign, which caused his death, but he wore
his stars before he obeyed the "last call."
The gay young officers of Angel Island days hold
dignified commands in the Philippines, Cuba, and
Alaska.
My early experiences were unusually rough. None
of us seek such experiences, but possibly they bring
with them a sort of recompense, in that simple com-
forts afterwards seem, by contrast, to be the greatest
luxuries.
302
DAVID'S ISLAND
I am glad to have known the army: the soldiers,
the line, and the Staff; it is good to think of honor
and chivalry, obedience to duty and the pride of
arms ; to have lived amongst men whose motives were
unselfish and whose aims were high; amongst men
who served an ideal; who stood ready, at the call of
their country, to give their lives for a Government
which is, to them, the best in the world.
Sometimes I hear the still voices of the Desert : they
seem to be calling me through the echoes of the Past.
I hear, in fancy, the wheels of the ambulance crunch-
ing the small broken stones of the malapais, or
grating swiftly over the gravel of the smooth white
roads of the river-bottoms. I hear the rattle of the
ivory rings on the harness of the six-mule team ; I see
the soldiers marching on ahead; I see my white tent,
so inviting after a long day's journey.
But how vain these fancies! Railroad and auto-
mobile have annihilated distance, the army life of
those years is past and gone, and Arizona, as we knew
it, has vanished from the face of the earth.
THE END.
APPENDIX.
Nantucket IsIvAnd, June 191 o.
When, a few years ago, I determined to write my
recollections of life in the army, I was wholly un-
familiar with the methods of publishers, and the
firm to whom I applied to bring out my book, did
not urge upon me the advisability of having it electro-
typed, firstly, because, as they said afterwards, I my-
self had such a very modest opinion of my book, and,
secondly because they thought a book of so decidedly
personal a character would not reach a sale of more
than a few hundred copies at the farthest. The
matter of electrotyping was not even discussed be-
tween us. The entire edition of one thousand copies
was exhausted in about a year, without having been
carried on the lists of any bookseller or advertised in
any way except through some circulars sent by myself
to personal friends, and through several excellent
reviews in prominent newspapers.
As the demand for the book continued, I have
thought it advisable to re-issue it, adding a good deal
that has come into my mind since its publication.
It was after the Colonel's retirement that we came
to spend the summers at Nantucket, and I began to
enjoy the leisure that never comes into the life of an
army woman during the active service of her hus-
304
APPENDIX
band. We were no longer expecting sudden orders,
and I was able to think quietly over the events of
the past.
My old letters which had been returned to me
really gave me the inspiration to write the book and
as I read them over, the people and the events therein
described were recalled vividly to my mind — events
which I had forgotten, people whom I had forgotten —
events and people all crowded out of my memory for
many years by the pressure of family cares, and the
succession of changes in our stations, by anxiety
during Indian campaigns, and the constant readjust-
ment of my mind to new scenes and new friends.
And so, in the delicious quiet of the Autumn days
at Nantucket, when the summer winds had ceased to
blow and the frogs had ceased their pipings in the
salt meadows, and the sea was wondering whether it
should keep its summer blue or change into its winter
grey, I sat down at my desk and began to write my
story.
Looking out over the quiet ocean in those wonder-
ful November days, when a peaceful calm brooded
over all things, I gathered up all the threads of my
various experiences and wove them together.
But the people and the lands I wrote about did not
really exist for me; they were dream people and
dream lands. I wrote of them as they had appeared
to me in those early years, and, strange as it may seem,
30s
VANISHED ARIZONA
I did not once stop to think if the people and the
lands still existed.
For a quarter of a century I had lived in the day
that began with reveille and ended with ''Taps."
Now on this enchanted island, there was no reveille
to awaken us in the morning, and in the evening the
only sound we could hear was the "ruck" of the waves
on the far outer shores and the sad tolling of the
bell buoy when the heaving swell of the ocean came
rolling over the bar.
And so I wrote, and the story grew into a book
which was published and sent out to friends and
family.
As time passed on, I began to receive orders for
the book from army officers, and then one day I re-
ceived orders from people in Arizona and I awoke to
the fact that Arizona was no longer the land of my
memories. I began to receive booklets telling me
of projected railroads, also pictures of wonderful
buildings, all showing progress and prosperity.
And then came letters from some Presidents of
railroads whose lines ran through Arizona, and from
bankers and politicians and business men of Tucson,
Phoenix and Yuma City. Photographs showing
shady roads and streets, where once all was a glare
and a sandy waste. Letters from mining men who
knew every foot of the roads we had marched over;
pictures of the great Laguna dam on the Colorado,
306
APPENDIX
and of the quarters of the Government Reclamation
Service Corps at Yuma.
These letters and pictures told me of the wonderful
contrast presented by my story to the Arizona of
today; and although I had not spared that country,
in my desire to place before my children and friends
a vivid picture of my life out there, all these men
seemed willing to forgive me and even declared that
my story might do as much to advance their interests
and the prosperity of Arizona as anything which had
been written with only that object in view.
My soul was calmed by these assurances, and I
ceased to be distressed by thinking over the descrip-
tions I had given of the unpleasant conditions existing
in that country in the seventies.
In the meantime, the San Francisco Chronicle had
published a good review of my book, and reproduced
the photograph of Captain Jack Mellon, the noted
pilot of the Colorado river, adding that he was un-
doubtedly one of the most picturesque characters who
had ever lived on the Pacific Coast and that he had
died some years ago.
And so he was really dead! And perhaps the
others too, were all gone from the earth, I thought,
when one day I received a communication from an en-
tire stranger, who informed me that the writer of
the review in the San Francisco newspaper had been
mistaken in the matter of Captain Mellon's death,
that he had seen him recently and that he lived at
307
VANISHED ARIZONA
San Diego. So I wrote to him and made haste to
forward him a copy of my book, which reached him
at Yuma, on the Colorado, and this is what he wrote :
Yuma, Dec. 15th, 1908.
My dear Mrs. Summerhayes:
Your good book and letter came yesterday p. m., for
which accept my thanks. My home is not in San
Diego, but in Coronado, across the bay from San
Diego. That is the reason I did not get your letter
sooner.
In one hour after I received your book, I had
orders for nine of them. All these books go to the
official force of the Reclamation Service here who are
Damming the Colorado for the Government Irrigation
Project. They are not Damming it as we formerly
did, but with good solid masonry. The Dam is 4800
feet long and 300 feet wide and 10 feet above high
water. In high water it will flow over the top of the
Dam, but in low water the ditches or canals will take
all the water out of the River, the approximate cost
is three million. There will be a tunnel under the
River at Yuma just below the Bridge, to bring the
water into Arizona which is thickly settled to the
Mexican Line.
I have done nothing on the River since the 23rd
of last August, at which date they closed the River
to Navigation, and the only reason I am now in Yuma
is trying to get something from Government for my
308
APPENDIX
boats made useless by the Dam. I expect to get a
little, but not a tenth of what they cost me.
Your book could not have a better title: it is
^^Vanished Arizona" sure enough, vanished the good
and warm Hearts that were here when you were. The
People here now are cold blooded as a snake and are
all trying to get the best of the other fellow.
There are but two alive that were on the River
when you were on it. Polhemus and myself are all
that are left, but I have many friends on this coast.
The nurse Patrocina died in Los Angeles last sum-
mer and the crying kid Jesusita she had on the boat
when you went from Ehrenberg to the mouth of the
River grew up to be the finest looking Girl in these
Parts; She was the Star witness in a murder trial in
LyOs Angeles last winter, and her picture was in all
of the Papers.
I am sending you a picture of the Steamer ''Mojave''
which was not on the river when you were here. I
made 20 trips with her up to the Virgin River, which
is 145 miles above Fort Mojave, or 75 miles higher
than any other man has gone with a boat: she was
10 feet longer than the ''Gila" or any other boat ever
on the River. (Excuse this blowing but it's the truth).
In 1864 I was on a trip down the Gulf of California,
in a small sail boat and one of my companions was
John Stanton. In AngeFs Bay a man whom we were
giving a passage to, murdered my partner and ran
309
VANISHED ARIZONA
oflf with the boat and left Charley Ticen, John Stanton
and myself on the beach. We were seventeen days
tramping to a village with nothing to eat but cactus but
I think I have told you the story before and what
I want to know, is this Stanton alive. He belonged
to New Bedford — his father had been master of a
whale-ship.
When we reached Guaymas, Stanton found a
friend, the mate of a steamer, the mate also belonged
to New Bedford. When we parted, Stanton told me
he was going home and was going to stay there, and
as he was two years younger than me, he may still
be in New Bedford, and as you are on the ground,
maybe you can help me to find out.
All the people that I know praise your descriptive
power and now my dear Mrs. Summerhayes I suppose
you will have a hard time wading through my
scrawl but I know you will be generous and remember
that I went to sea when a little over nine years of
age and had my pen been half as often in my hand as
a marlin spike, I would now be able to write a much
clearer hand.
I have a little bungalow on Coronado Beach, across
the bay from San Diego, and if you ever come there,
you or your husband, you are welcome ; while I have
a bean you can have half. I would like to see you
and talk over old times. Yuma is quite a place now ;
no more adobes built ; it is brick and concrete, cement
310
APPENDIX
sidewalks and flower gardens with electric light and
a good water system.
My home is within five minutes walk of the Pacific
Ocean. I was born at Digby, Nova Scotia, and the
first music I ever heard was the surf of the Bay of
Fundy, and when I close my eyes forever I hope
the surf of the Pacific will be the last sound that
will greet my ears.
I read Vanished Arizona last night until after
midnight, and thought what we both had gone through
since you first came up the Colorado with me. My
acquaintance with the army was always pleasant, and
like Tom Moore I often say:
Let fate do her worst, there are relics of joy
Bright dreams of the past which she cannot destroy!
Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care
And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories filled!
I suppose the Colonel goes down to the Ship
Chandler's and gams with the old whaling captains.
When I was a boy, there was a wealthy family of
ship-owners in New Bedford by the name of Robinson.
I saw one of their ships in Bombay, India, that was
in 1854, her name was the Mary Robinson, and altho'
there were over a hundred ships on the bay, she was
the handsomest there.
Well, good friend, I am afraid I will tire you out, so
311
VANISHED ARIZONA
I will belay this, and with best wishes for you and
yours,
I am, yours truly,
J. A. MKI.I.ON.
P. S. — Fisher is long since called to his Long Home.
I had fancied, when Vanished Arizona was pub-
lished, that it might possibly appeal to the sympathies
of women, and that men would lay it aside as a sort-of
a "woman's book" — but I have received more really
sympathetic letters from men than I have from
women, all telling me, in different words, that the
human side of the story had appealed to them, and
I suppose this comes from the fact that originally
I wrote it for my children, and felt perfect free-
dom to put my whole self into it. And now that
the book is entirely out of my hands, I am glad
that I wrote it as I did, for if I had stopped
to think that my dream people might be real people,
and that the real people would read it, I might never
have had the courage to write it at all.
The many letters I have received of which there
have been several hundred I am sure, have been so
interesting that I reproduce a few more of them here :
312
APPENDIX
Fort Benjamin Harrison,
Indianapous, Indiana.
January lo, 1909.
My dear Mrs. Summerhayes :
I have just read the book. It is a good book, a
true book, one of the best kind of books. After
taking it up I did not lay it down till it was finished —
till with you I had again gone over the malapais deserts
of Arizona, and recalled my own meetings with you
at Niobrara and at old Fort Marcy or Santa Fe. You
were my cicerone in the old town and I couldn't
have had a better one — or more charming one.
The book has recalled many memories to me.
Scarcely a name you mention but is or was a friend.
Major Van Vliet loaned me his copy, but I shall get
one of my own and shall tell my friends in the East
that, if they desire a true picture of army life as it
appears to the army woman, they must read your
book.
For my part I feel that I must congratulate you on
your successful work and thank you for the pleasure
you have given me in its perusal.
With cordial regard to you and yours, and with
best wishes for many happy years.
Very sincerely yours,
L. W. V. Kennon,
Maj. 10th Inf.
313
VANISHED ARIZONA
Headquarters Third Brigade,
NationaIv Guard of^ Pennsyi^vania,
WiIvKES-Barre, Pennsyi^vania.
January 19, 1908.
Dear Madam :
I am sending you herewith my check for two
copies of "Vanished Arizona." This summer our mu-
tual friend, Colonel Beaumont (late 4th U. S. Cav.)
ordered two copies for me and I have given them
both away to friends whom I wanted to have read
your delightful and charming book. I am now order-
ing one of these for another friend and wish to keep
one in my record library as a memorable story of the
bravery and courage of the noble band of army men
and women who helped to blaze the pathway of the
nation's progress in its course of Empire Westward.
No personal record written, which I have read, tells
so splendidly of what the good women of our army
endured in the trials that beset the army in the life
on the plains in the days succeeding the Civil War.
And all this at a time when the nation and its people
were caring but little for you all and the struggles
you were making.
I will be pleased indeed if you will kindly inscribe
your name in one of the books you will send me.
Sincerely Yours,
C. B. Dougherty,
Brig, Gen'l N. G. Pa,
Jan. 19, 1908.
314
APPENDIX
Schenectady, N. Y.
June 8th, 1908.
Mrs. John W. Summerhayes,
North Shore Hill, Nantucket, Mass.
My Dear Mrs. Summerhayes:
Were I to say that I enjoyed ''Vanished Arizona,"
I should very inadequately express my feelings about
it, because there is so much to arouse emotions deeper
than what we call ''enjoyment'' ; it stirs the sympa-
thies and excites our admiration for your courage and
your fortitude. In a word, the story, honest and un-
affected, yet vivid, has in it that touch of nature
which makes kin of us all.
How actual knowledge and experience broadens our
minds ! Your appreciation of, and charity for, the
weaknesses of those living a lonely life of deprivation
on the frontier, impressed me very much. I wish too,
that what you say about the canteen could be published
in every newspaper in America.
Very sincerely yours,
M. F. Westover,
Secretary Gen' I Electric Co.
The M11.1TARY Service Institution of the United
States.
Governor's Island, N. Y.
June 25, 1908.
Dear Mrs. Summerhayes:
I offer my personal congratulations upon your
315
VANISHED ARIZONA
success in producing a work of such absorbing interest
to all friends of the Army, and so instructive to the
public at large,
I have just finished reading the book, from cover
to cover, to my wife and we have enjoyed it thor-
oughly.
Will you please advise me where the book can be
purchased in New York, or otherwise mail two copies
to me at 203 W. 54th Street, New York City, with
memo of price per copy, that I may remit the amount.
Very truly yours,
T. F. RODENBOUGH^
Secretary and Editor (Brig. Gen'l. U. S. A.)
Yai,k University, New Haven, Conn.
May 15, 1910.
Dear Mrs. Summerhayes :
I have read every word of your book ''Vanished
Arizona" with intense interest. You have given a
vivid account of what you actually saw and lived
through, and nobody can resist the truthfulness and
reality of your narrative. The book is a real contri-
bution to American history, and to the chronicles of
army life.
Faithfully yours,
Wm. Lyon PheIvPS^
[Professor of English literature at Yale University.]
316
J
APPENDIX
LoNACONiNG, Md., Jan. 2, 1909.
Col. J. W. Summerhays,
New Rochelle, N. Y.
Dear Sir:
Captain William Baird, 6th Cavalry, retired, now
at Annapolis, sent me Mrs. Summerhay's book to
read, and I have read it with delight, for I was in
''K" when Mrs. Summerhays ''took on'' in the 8th.
Myself and my brother, Michael, served in "K" Com-
pany from David's Island to Camp Apache. Doubt-
less you have forgotten me, but I am sure that you
remember the tall fifer of ''K", Michael Gurnett. He
was killed at Camp Mohave in Sept. 1885, while in
Company ''G" of the ist Infantry. I was five years
in ''K", but my brother re-enlisted in ''K'', and after-
ward joined the First. He served in the 31st, 22nd,
8th and ist.
Oh, that little book! We're all in it, even poor
Charley Bowen. Mrs. Summerhays should have
written a longer story. She soldiered long enough
with the 8th in the ''bloody 70's" to be able to write a
book five times as big. For what she's done, God
bless her! She is entitled to the Irishman's benedic-
tion: "May every hair in her head be a candle to
light her soul to glory." We poor old Regulars have
little said about us in print, and wish to God that
"Vanished Arizona" was in the hands of every old
veteran of the "Marching 8th." If I had the means
I would send a copy to our ist Serg't Bernard Moran,
317
VANISHED ARIZONA
and the other old comrades at the Soldiers' Home.
But, alas, evil times have fallen upon us, and — I'm
not writing a jeremiad — I took the book from the
post office and when I saw the crossed ^ns and the
*'8" there was a lump in my throat, and I went into
the barber shop and read it through before I left. A
friend of mine was in the shop and when I came to
Pringle's death, he said, "Gurnett, that must be a sad
book you're reading, why man, you're crying."
I believe I was, but they were tears of joy. And,
Oh, Lord, to think of Bowen having a full page in
history; but, after all, maybe he deserved it. And
that picture of my company commander! [Worth].
Long, long, have I gazed on it. I was only sixteen and
a half years old when I joined his company at David's
Island, Dec. 6th, 1871. Folliot A. Whitney was ist
lieutenant and Cyrus Earnest, 2nd. What a fine
man Whitney was. A finer man nor truer gentleman
ever wore a shoulder strap. If he had been company
commander I'd have re-enlisted and stayed with him.
I was always afraid of Worth, though he was always
good to my brother and myself. I deeply regretted
Lieut. Whitney's death in Cuba, and I watched Major
Worth's career in the last war. It nearly broke my
heart that I could not go. Oh, the rattle of the war
drum and the bugle calls and the marching troops, it
set me crazy, and me not able to take a hand in the
scrap.
318
APPENDIX
Mrs. Summerhays calls him Wm. T. Worth, isn't
it Wm. S. Worth?
The copy I have read was loaned me by Captain
Baird; he says it's a Christmas gift from General
Carter, and I must return it. My poor wife has read
it with keen interest and says she: "William, I am
going to have that book for my children," and she'll
get it, yea, verily ! she will.
Well, Colonel, I'm right glad to know that you are
still on this side of the great divide, and I know that
you and Mrs. S. will be glad to hear from an old
'Valk-a-heap" of the 8th.
I am working for a Cumberland newspaper — Lona-
coning reporter — and I will send you a copy or two
of the paper with this. And now, permit me to sub-
scribe myself your
Comrade In Arms,
W11.1.IAM A. GURNKTT.
Dear Mrs. Summerhayes :
Read your book — in fact when I got started I forgot
my bedtime (and you know how rigid that is) and sat
it through.
It has a bully note of the old army — it was all worth
while — they had color, those days.
I say — now suppose you had married a man who
kept a drug store — see what you would have had and
see what you would have missed.
Yours,
Fri:di;ric Re;mington,
(618)
'V. .
' ,■/
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST BATE
STAMPED BELOW
AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS
WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO REn^URN
THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY
WILL INCREASE TO 50 CENTS ON THE FOURTH
DAY AND TO $1.00 ON THE SEVENTH DAY
OVERDUE.
SEI
> 27 1940
SEP 8 1932
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DEC 28 1944
A^JAN 11 1945
rOV 21 1933
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