Nannie's Impressions of the West
In a letter to her parents from Washington, January 17th, Nannie describes our good-bye to our company, as follows:
I can not tell you how sorry I was to leave Columbia. I really had become very much attached to the place, and I believe like it better than any city I was ever in. I suppose one never knows how much one is thought of 'til they take their departure. The day before we left, Anson received a note requesting his presence at his company quarters. He went over, and saw a table nicely covered with a red cloth, and on itsomethingwhich was covered up. The first sergeant then made him a little speech in behalf of the company and then, with a majestic wave of his hand, uncovered the article and presented him with a splendid pair of epaulets and a case containing two very handsome pistols, the whole costing nearly eighty dollars. On a paper inside was written "The compliments of Company H, 18th Infantry, to their beloved Captain, Anson Mills, 3d Cavalry." I went with Anson when he bade his old company good-bye, and it really was very sad. I cried, and Anson almost did. He went along shaking hands with each one. It is something to beveryproud of when sixty men without one exception like their commander, and one of them told Anson that there was not a man in the company but regretted his going away. I do not believe there are many company commanders who have won the affections of their men so completely.
I can not tell you how sorry I was to leave Columbia. I really had become very much attached to the place, and I believe like it better than any city I was ever in. I suppose one never knows how much one is thought of 'til they take their departure. The day before we left, Anson received a note requesting his presence at his company quarters. He went over, and saw a table nicely covered with a red cloth, and on itsomethingwhich was covered up. The first sergeant then made him a little speech in behalf of the company and then, with a majestic wave of his hand, uncovered the article and presented him with a splendid pair of epaulets and a case containing two very handsome pistols, the whole costing nearly eighty dollars. On a paper inside was written "The compliments of Company H, 18th Infantry, to their beloved Captain, Anson Mills, 3d Cavalry." I went with Anson when he bade his old company good-bye, and it really was very sad. I cried, and Anson almost did. He went along shaking hands with each one. It is something to beveryproud of when sixty men without one exception like their commander, and one of them told Anson that there was not a man in the company but regretted his going away. I do not believe there are many company commanders who have won the affections of their men so completely.
We could take but little baggage, so in Washington I asked a delay of thirty days to leave our belongings with Nannie's parents in Zanesville. General Sherman had, a few days before, ordered that there should be no more delays. When I applied, he said, "Well, Captain Mills, I can not revoke my order; but in your case I don't object to your taking a 'French,'and I don't think your colonel will make any trouble with you if you arrive thirty days late. Should he do so, refer him to me and I'll see that you get into no trouble in the matter."
The headquarters and band at Halleck were ordered to Fort WhippleviaSan Francisco, where I purchased an ambulance for the land journey.
We sailed February 2d on the Government transport Orizaba. We had never been to sea, and as it was a beautiful day and the waters of the bay were smooth as glass, we congratulated ourselves that we could hardly have a bad time. But when we struck the bar outside, the ship seemed to rise at least fifty feet, and otherwise moved and rolled in every possible manner. Nannie proved to be a poor sailor, which affliction she retained through life. I fared better, but was not immune and never have been.
Among the many military passengers was Captain I. M. Hoag, who occupied a stateroom next ours. As we passed down the smooth bay he claimed never to be seasick. I soon recovered sufficiently to take lunch, after which I took a chair by our stateroom to be near Nannie. The stewardess, passing, asked if she could not bring Nannie some "nice jelly cake," when Hoag's coarse voice broke out, "Jelly cake! jelly cake! Oh, my God, why does that woman want to come around talking about jelly cake! Give me my bucket. Give me my bucket!"
We arrived at San Pedro (Drum Barracks) near Wilmington, March 4th.
Nannie described the eventful march from San Pedro to Whipple Barracks in letters to her parents, better than I could describe it now, as follows:
March 5th.My Dear Mother:As you may imagine, we are very busy making arrangements for our wagon trip. Anson is having our vehicle fixed up 'til a queen might be proud to ride in it. He is having it covered with white canvas, and he bought an elegant greenblanket to line the top to keep off the heat and protect the eyes. It has curtains all 'round to roll up to let the air in, and at night we can take out the seats, make up a bed in the bottom, and there is a large front curtain which shuts everything in and keeps out the damp. He is going to have pockets inside to put little articles in, and altogether it is as convenient and elegant a thing as one could imagine, and I am very proud of it, especially as he got it on purpose for me. We expect to have a very nice time on the route. There are quite a number of officers going, but no other ladies. I am very glad we are going with this party, as we would not have had as good a chance probably for a long time, and very likely would have had to go by stage, which would have been very unpleasant.Anson is ordered on a court martial at Date Creek, which is on our road, so we will have to stop there. We received a letter from Lieut. Ebstein (you remember his picture in the group), who is at Date Greek, asking us to stop there.I do not expect to get really settled this year, for there does seem to be some truth in the old saying about the first of January determining the rest of the year.If possible I will write to you while we are on the march, but if I do not you need not be surprised, although I think I shall, but you know it is very hard to write after riding so far and getting so tired, but I shall try to write to you if it is only a few lines, so as to keep you from being anxious.This place (Drum Barracks) is on the coast and twenty-five miles from Los Angeles, which latter place is said to be the paradise of the whole United States. A woman came here today from there, and she was carrying in her hand a branch broken from an orange tree, justfullof large oranges, just as we at home might have a branch full of apples.March 9th.We actually did leave this morning, and made twenty-five miles, which is a pretty long trip for a first day's march. The day was lovely, and the road a nice, level one, nothing particularly interesting, however, 'til we neared Los Angeles, which has been called the garden of the United States, and then we came to the orange groves with the ripe fruit hanging on the boughs, peach trees in bloom, lemon trees, and we saw in one place some men harvesting barley. Rank green weeds grew all along the roadside, in some cases as high as your head, while pretty little red and yellow wild flowers covered the meadows, and the meadow larks sang so gaily that it inspired Anson to repeat a piece of poetry on the lark, not that I mean to say that my hubby dear mounted the little songster to spout forth the flow of poetic words, but the subject of the piece was "The Lark." My first day's experience in this line has been very pleasant. We are camped in a beautiful spot before getting to which we had to cross one of my much dreaded streams, which was nothing at all and wouldn't scare a chippy. Los Angeles is quite a town, and if any angels take a notion to visit this mundane sphere and namesake, I advise them to put up at the Pico House, where we went in to dinner. The house is a clean, nice place, Brussels carpet, lace curtains, mirrors, piano, etc., in the parlor, and a very nice dinner—fresh peas, cauliflower, etc.; but that which struck my fancy most was an open court in the center of the building in which a fountain was playing, and in a gallery running all 'round the second story, looking down on this fountain, were fastened numerous plants in pots and bird cages. As we left the house three Mexicans were playing on a harp, violin and flageolet, which completed a very romantic picture.We invested eighteen dollars in apples, lemons and oranges, and Anson also found some freshtomatoes, all, of course, grown in the open air, for it never frosts here. It looks strange to see the tropical fruit growing while snow-capped mountains look down on them.Our tent is pitched, our bed made down, and everything is very easy; our only regret is that dear Lizzie did not come with us. Anson repeatedly expresses his regret that she did not.Our carriage is perfectly splendid; in fact Idon'tsee how people can possiblyexistwithout a carriage.I was made very happy last night by receiving a letter from home, the first one since we left. It was addressed to Drum Barracks. We have not as yet received those directed to Halleck, but they will be forwarded to us. We also got two newspapers, and one the day before, which were devoured.March 12th.We are camped in the loveliest spot you ever saw. A little mountain stream runs rapidly down on one side of us, the mountains on another, the wagon road on another, and on the other the valley stretches miles and miles away in the direction where lies our road. The ground (Cocomonga Ranch) belongs to a Mexican who owns a tract of land nine miles square, over fifty thousand acres. One hundred and seventy of it is planted in a vineyard. All of this work is done by Indians, civilized, of course. Anson brought one boy down to see me, or rather for me to see him. They jabbered away in Mexican together at a great rate. Anson can speak a good deal of Spanish, carried on a conversation very well, and is fast relearning what he had forgotten of it.I forgot to tell you that we saw flying fish and porpoises while we were coming down on the steamship.Last night Anson and I climbed a mountain, and a mighty steep one it was, but we were rewarded when we reached the summit by a most lovely view on all sides. I think the mountain is probably an extinct volcano, as something like lava was all over it. It also had quantities of wild flowers on it.The nearer you get to the Indians the less you hear of them. There are no wild Indians this side of the Colorado River, and very few tame ones. It is perfectly safe to travel alone as far as the Colorado River, which is almost half of our journey; after that, an escort is necessary, although the mail coach travels almost all the way with no escort at all. You need have no fears for us, as even if they do not furnish a regular escort in the Indian country, there are enough of usto do without, as there are thirty men in the party. By the time you get this we will probably be at Date Creek, where we stop for a while on that court.March 21.When I last wrote to you we had gone ten miles on the desert; we have now gone one hundred and twenty-three miles over the same desert, only some was worse, and I suppose it is the same thing until we reach the Rio Colorado, which is now only forty-nine miles. To fully describe the trip since my letter would be impossible, for one can have but a faint idea of it unless they were to go over the same country. I had no idea that such a forlorn district was comprised within the limits of the United States. To begin at the beginning, after leaving the Sulphur Springs of which I told you, we traveled eighteen miles through deep sand, which is the hardest thing imaginable on the poor mules, for their feet being very small sink deep in, the last few miles being through choking dust. We reached Indian Wells, a large station consisting of one house, or, more properly speaking, hovel, where theysellwater. There are some poor Indians here whom one can not help but pity. They had heard that the government intended moving them away onto a reservation, and when they found our train was coming said they wanted to see an officer. The chief and the interpreter (who spoke Indian and Spanish) came down, and Anson went over to talk to them. The poor old chief said he did not want to harm any one, but he was born in that place, and he wanted to die there, which assertion you would wonder at, could you but see the place and know that they have not even tents or huts to live in, but lie down in the sand. Anson brought them over to our tent to give them something to eat. The old chief was, I suppose, gotten up for the occasion, and was attired in a clean white shirt and a hat, that's all, which was at the same time unique and cool. They both shook hands with Anson on leaving, and trudged off, barefooted, through the sand and cactus to their home (?). It made me feel badly to see them, the descendants of Montezuma, reduced to such a state of humiliation. They have a strange custom in regard to their dead. They burn the body, and then break over the ashes all the oyas or earthen jars which once belonged to him. The next day we went eighteen miles through a dreadful sand-storm, which blinded and choked men and mules. After reaching Martinez, however, the sand stopped blowing over us, or we might have been compelled to eat for dinner the same kind of pies which we used to make when we were children—mud pies.The next day we traveled 26 miles to "Dos Palmas," which means two palms; but someone burnt up one of them, so the name is hardly proper now. Anson told me to be sure to tell you that we have seen a real palm tree, and he went bathing under its foliage. It was indeed an oasis in the desert to see this beautiful tree standing alone in its glory. I wish you could have seen it, for it was most lovely. Something else there was not quite so lovely; we had some rolls baked by the man who keeps the station house, and for ten large rolls he charged three dollars in coin. The next day at half past five we were on our way again, traveled sixteen miles, where they rested and watered the mules, and then on again to a dry camp, which explains itself, there being no water for the mules. We could carry with us enough to drink, but in the morning we rubbed off our faces with a wet towel, for we could not spare water for a greater ablution. We were off very early next morning, for the mules could get no water 'til we had traveled twenty-four miles. There is a stretch here of thirty-five miles where they always have to make a dry camp. Three more days and we reach the river, where we rest a few days, and then only six more days. At Martinez, one of the mules had a great big piece taken out of its breast by a bull dog, and Anson actually turned Vet. and sewed it up, and did it well, too. A horse died at this place last night, and today the Indians are making merry over its carcass, eating it. I was interrupted while writing this letter by the tent blowing down.March 28.We camped at Ehrenberg four days, during that time had two dreadful wind-storms. Anson had great big stones piled on all the tent pins, as the ground was not very hard, but the tent shook and flapped until it would have been almost a relief to have had it go over. We went to bed, however, and in about fifteen minutes after, a terrific gust brought the whole thing down with a crash. The worst feature of it was that it tore a piece out of the tent so that it could not be put up again, so we very coolly slept under the ruins all night. This is Tuesday, and we expect to be at Date Creek on Saturday. They say they are making great preparations there, and are going to have a dance, and expect some ladies down from Fort Whipple.March 29th.We came twenty-eight miles today. Wind-storm part of the way, which is heavy enough to make us fear another blow-down, so we are going to sleep in the ambulance. Anson has taken out the seats and we will have the bed right on the floor, which is large enough to be very comfortable. I am in it now and feel perfectly satisfied, as I have none of that nervous, uncomfortable feeling, which the flapping of a tent in the wind is sure to give one.Date Creek, April 1st.Although this is All Fools' Day, what I am going to tell you is no joke, but sober reality. Yesterday found us forty-five miles from the creek, and as Captain Meinhold, Mr. Kimball, one of the wagons and four mounted men were going to make it in one day while the rest of the party would have to be two days, we concluded to go on with the small escort, as everyone assured us there was not the least bit of danger. We rode gaily along, and were within eleven miles of the post, when Anson saw one of the horsemen ride up to something, stop and, taking out his carbine, cock it. He looked again, saw a lot of wagons, and said, "there is a train." We rode a few yards farther and found that a train of five wagons and forty-eight mules had been attacked by Indians (as we afterwards learned only a few hours before we got there). Three miles before we reached there I forgot to tell you that we heard a wailing sort of sound and saw a stray mule. This sound was undoubtedly a signal from an Indian sentinel to the party robbing the train, giving them warning that another party was coming, and for them to get off. The Indians were no doubt at work on the train when we heard this noise. Imagine the feelings of all. We did not know but that Indians were lurking behind every bush. They had cut the harness from all the mules and captured all of them excepting three. They had emptied out sack after sack of flour and carried off the sacks to make clothes, leaving the flour piled all around. Boxes were broken open, and it really was a dreadful sight, when the position of affairs which we were in was thought of, and my being there was the first thing that they all thought of. They concluded to turn 'round and go to meet the rest of the train to give them warning, as well as for the safety of ourselves. For one moment I wanted to cry, the next I laughed actually a little bit, and after that I was not in the least afraid. Anson directed me not to shoot until they got pretty close, if we came across them. I laid the pistol on the seat of the ambulance, and my hand on the pistol, ready to cock it at a moment's warning, and I feel sure if Mr. Lo had made his appearance I should have hurt at least one of them. They supposed by not seeing any bodies lying around that the men had escaped to the post and sent men out after the Indians. We met our train, and camped for the night. The next morning (today) we started for the post. When we came up to where the attack was made we found that soldiers had been sent and were guarding the place. I should have been glad that all this scare happened in order to teach everybody caution, but that it came too late to teach one poor fellow, and perhaps another, for one teamster was killed and another badly wounded, and they were both lying somewhere near when we came up, but the wounded one must have been unconscious or he would have heard usand let us know he was there. There were eight men with this captured train, plenty to have defended it had they been prepared, but in an Indian country, they were traveling with but two guns and three rounds of ammunition. It has taught me one good lesson. I shall never go outside of the post without a sufficient escort, and when we get to Whipple I never mean to go even to Prescott, which is only a mile distant, but mean to stay inside of the post 'til we change stations. Everybody has felt so safe all about here, and ladies from this post would ride with only one gentleman for miles and miles over the hills, but they are well scared now. This train was mostly filled with government stores, and I am very much afraid that the papers will make a big talk about it, and as it was so close to ours, you will think it was ours, and worry unnecessarily about it before you receive my letter. You need have no fears about our safety, as there is no danger of their attacking soldiers that travel in such numbers as we will hereafter.We were very happy in getting a lot of letters today which had been sent down from Whipple. We got three of home written to Halleck, one from Texas, Washington, Kentucky, Columbia, London, Fort Shaw, Fort Laramie. Quite a variety, and as another mail comes in tonight, we expect some more in the morning.I am sorry to hear of dear mother's being so sick after we left, but glad she is well again.Mrs. Ebstein has her sister with her. They are very pleasant and very kind to us. They tell us that Whipple is one of the healthiest of places, and also has about the best quarters in the territory.I forgot to tell you that one of the savages dropped a quiver full of arrows as he was hurrying off with his plunder, and one of the soldiers gave it to me. The quiver is an ugly thing, but I shall bring you one of the arrows when we come home next time as a memento of our first, and I hope last, Indian scare.April 21. (Fort Whipple, Ariz.)We have been here a week, and both of us like the post very well, although it is far from being a handsome post either on the outside or inside, but you know one's content is measured in a great degree by comparison with others that surround you, so we are more than contented with a log house, when we remember that Fort Whipple is one of the few posts in this territory where they have any quarters at all, almost all being quartered in tents, men, women and children. We have fixed up very comfortably, have the carpet on the parlor and gunny sacks on the dining room and bedroom. We have the damask and lace curtains up at the parlor windows, which are arranged so as to hang a good piece from the windows, making a sort of bow window (bowed the wrong way, however), and as it stands a good way into the room it helps fill up, which is a very good thing, as articles of furniture are very scarce at present; the company carpenter is busily at work. He has made us one table and a place to hang clothes. He was fixing the latter, and after he had finished I gave him some newspapers to read and some oranges, when he informed me that he could make anything I wanted, that he hadn't much to do and might as well do that as anything else. I suppose you would like to see how our house is arranged as to rooms, so I will make a plan of the ground floor, and if you can find any other floor you are smarter than I. I wish I could draw, and I would send you a sketch of the view from our window, which is very beautiful, mountains covered with pine. The wind roaring through the pines sounds just like the cars. Anson has laughed a great deal at me because I vowed that never would I leave Fort Whipple 'til we changed stations or went home, and actually I hadn't been in the post twenty-four hours before I was off for town with Mrs. King, and have been down town once since then. There is no danger between here and town, as it is only a short distance, and before one gets out of calling distance of the post the hospital is reached, and before you get out of sound of that the town is reached. There is notmuch in Prescott to tempt one, and well it is for our pockets that this is so, for the price of some things would make your hair stand on end, although other things are quite reasonable. Luckily for us we can get anything we want almost in the commissary, as it is excellently supplied. Everything has fallen in price even in Prescott, and flour there is now only thirty-six dollars a barrel; it was forty-two a short time ago. We only pay seven dollars in the commissary. Butter is two dollars, eggs the same. I saw some of the commonest kind of heavy Delft soup plates markedfifteendollars a dozen. We bought a lamp in San Francisco for which we paid seventy-five cents. Mrs. King has two just like it which cost five dollars each, and a parlor lamp like that which cost us three dollars in San Francisco was sold here for twenty-five dollars, and kerosene oil is only five dollars a gallon. Mrs. King tells a good joke on the chaplain. She went with him to town one day to assist him in making some purchases. After buying some things and paying for them he spied some quart cans for filling lamps, empty, of course. He wanted one, so asked the price. He was told "seven dollars." The chaplain put down his bundles and money, raised his hands, heaved a deep groan and uttered his favorite ejaculation, "tre-men-jious." There is only one lady here besides myself, and fortunately she is a very pleasant one, Mrs. King. Tell Gussie Porter I met her friend Mrs. King at Camp Halleck, not the Mrs. King who is here, but another one. She met Gussie at Lancaster, and is now in our regiment. She was very pleasant.
March 5th.
My Dear Mother:
As you may imagine, we are very busy making arrangements for our wagon trip. Anson is having our vehicle fixed up 'til a queen might be proud to ride in it. He is having it covered with white canvas, and he bought an elegant greenblanket to line the top to keep off the heat and protect the eyes. It has curtains all 'round to roll up to let the air in, and at night we can take out the seats, make up a bed in the bottom, and there is a large front curtain which shuts everything in and keeps out the damp. He is going to have pockets inside to put little articles in, and altogether it is as convenient and elegant a thing as one could imagine, and I am very proud of it, especially as he got it on purpose for me. We expect to have a very nice time on the route. There are quite a number of officers going, but no other ladies. I am very glad we are going with this party, as we would not have had as good a chance probably for a long time, and very likely would have had to go by stage, which would have been very unpleasant.
Anson is ordered on a court martial at Date Creek, which is on our road, so we will have to stop there. We received a letter from Lieut. Ebstein (you remember his picture in the group), who is at Date Greek, asking us to stop there.
I do not expect to get really settled this year, for there does seem to be some truth in the old saying about the first of January determining the rest of the year.
If possible I will write to you while we are on the march, but if I do not you need not be surprised, although I think I shall, but you know it is very hard to write after riding so far and getting so tired, but I shall try to write to you if it is only a few lines, so as to keep you from being anxious.
This place (Drum Barracks) is on the coast and twenty-five miles from Los Angeles, which latter place is said to be the paradise of the whole United States. A woman came here today from there, and she was carrying in her hand a branch broken from an orange tree, justfullof large oranges, just as we at home might have a branch full of apples.
March 9th.
We actually did leave this morning, and made twenty-five miles, which is a pretty long trip for a first day's march. The day was lovely, and the road a nice, level one, nothing particularly interesting, however, 'til we neared Los Angeles, which has been called the garden of the United States, and then we came to the orange groves with the ripe fruit hanging on the boughs, peach trees in bloom, lemon trees, and we saw in one place some men harvesting barley. Rank green weeds grew all along the roadside, in some cases as high as your head, while pretty little red and yellow wild flowers covered the meadows, and the meadow larks sang so gaily that it inspired Anson to repeat a piece of poetry on the lark, not that I mean to say that my hubby dear mounted the little songster to spout forth the flow of poetic words, but the subject of the piece was "The Lark." My first day's experience in this line has been very pleasant. We are camped in a beautiful spot before getting to which we had to cross one of my much dreaded streams, which was nothing at all and wouldn't scare a chippy. Los Angeles is quite a town, and if any angels take a notion to visit this mundane sphere and namesake, I advise them to put up at the Pico House, where we went in to dinner. The house is a clean, nice place, Brussels carpet, lace curtains, mirrors, piano, etc., in the parlor, and a very nice dinner—fresh peas, cauliflower, etc.; but that which struck my fancy most was an open court in the center of the building in which a fountain was playing, and in a gallery running all 'round the second story, looking down on this fountain, were fastened numerous plants in pots and bird cages. As we left the house three Mexicans were playing on a harp, violin and flageolet, which completed a very romantic picture.
We invested eighteen dollars in apples, lemons and oranges, and Anson also found some freshtomatoes, all, of course, grown in the open air, for it never frosts here. It looks strange to see the tropical fruit growing while snow-capped mountains look down on them.
Our tent is pitched, our bed made down, and everything is very easy; our only regret is that dear Lizzie did not come with us. Anson repeatedly expresses his regret that she did not.
Our carriage is perfectly splendid; in fact Idon'tsee how people can possiblyexistwithout a carriage.
I was made very happy last night by receiving a letter from home, the first one since we left. It was addressed to Drum Barracks. We have not as yet received those directed to Halleck, but they will be forwarded to us. We also got two newspapers, and one the day before, which were devoured.
March 12th.
We are camped in the loveliest spot you ever saw. A little mountain stream runs rapidly down on one side of us, the mountains on another, the wagon road on another, and on the other the valley stretches miles and miles away in the direction where lies our road. The ground (Cocomonga Ranch) belongs to a Mexican who owns a tract of land nine miles square, over fifty thousand acres. One hundred and seventy of it is planted in a vineyard. All of this work is done by Indians, civilized, of course. Anson brought one boy down to see me, or rather for me to see him. They jabbered away in Mexican together at a great rate. Anson can speak a good deal of Spanish, carried on a conversation very well, and is fast relearning what he had forgotten of it.
I forgot to tell you that we saw flying fish and porpoises while we were coming down on the steamship.
Last night Anson and I climbed a mountain, and a mighty steep one it was, but we were rewarded when we reached the summit by a most lovely view on all sides. I think the mountain is probably an extinct volcano, as something like lava was all over it. It also had quantities of wild flowers on it.
The nearer you get to the Indians the less you hear of them. There are no wild Indians this side of the Colorado River, and very few tame ones. It is perfectly safe to travel alone as far as the Colorado River, which is almost half of our journey; after that, an escort is necessary, although the mail coach travels almost all the way with no escort at all. You need have no fears for us, as even if they do not furnish a regular escort in the Indian country, there are enough of usto do without, as there are thirty men in the party. By the time you get this we will probably be at Date Creek, where we stop for a while on that court.
March 21.
When I last wrote to you we had gone ten miles on the desert; we have now gone one hundred and twenty-three miles over the same desert, only some was worse, and I suppose it is the same thing until we reach the Rio Colorado, which is now only forty-nine miles. To fully describe the trip since my letter would be impossible, for one can have but a faint idea of it unless they were to go over the same country. I had no idea that such a forlorn district was comprised within the limits of the United States. To begin at the beginning, after leaving the Sulphur Springs of which I told you, we traveled eighteen miles through deep sand, which is the hardest thing imaginable on the poor mules, for their feet being very small sink deep in, the last few miles being through choking dust. We reached Indian Wells, a large station consisting of one house, or, more properly speaking, hovel, where theysellwater. There are some poor Indians here whom one can not help but pity. They had heard that the government intended moving them away onto a reservation, and when they found our train was coming said they wanted to see an officer. The chief and the interpreter (who spoke Indian and Spanish) came down, and Anson went over to talk to them. The poor old chief said he did not want to harm any one, but he was born in that place, and he wanted to die there, which assertion you would wonder at, could you but see the place and know that they have not even tents or huts to live in, but lie down in the sand. Anson brought them over to our tent to give them something to eat. The old chief was, I suppose, gotten up for the occasion, and was attired in a clean white shirt and a hat, that's all, which was at the same time unique and cool. They both shook hands with Anson on leaving, and trudged off, barefooted, through the sand and cactus to their home (?). It made me feel badly to see them, the descendants of Montezuma, reduced to such a state of humiliation. They have a strange custom in regard to their dead. They burn the body, and then break over the ashes all the oyas or earthen jars which once belonged to him. The next day we went eighteen miles through a dreadful sand-storm, which blinded and choked men and mules. After reaching Martinez, however, the sand stopped blowing over us, or we might have been compelled to eat for dinner the same kind of pies which we used to make when we were children—mud pies.
The next day we traveled 26 miles to "Dos Palmas," which means two palms; but someone burnt up one of them, so the name is hardly proper now. Anson told me to be sure to tell you that we have seen a real palm tree, and he went bathing under its foliage. It was indeed an oasis in the desert to see this beautiful tree standing alone in its glory. I wish you could have seen it, for it was most lovely. Something else there was not quite so lovely; we had some rolls baked by the man who keeps the station house, and for ten large rolls he charged three dollars in coin. The next day at half past five we were on our way again, traveled sixteen miles, where they rested and watered the mules, and then on again to a dry camp, which explains itself, there being no water for the mules. We could carry with us enough to drink, but in the morning we rubbed off our faces with a wet towel, for we could not spare water for a greater ablution. We were off very early next morning, for the mules could get no water 'til we had traveled twenty-four miles. There is a stretch here of thirty-five miles where they always have to make a dry camp. Three more days and we reach the river, where we rest a few days, and then only six more days. At Martinez, one of the mules had a great big piece taken out of its breast by a bull dog, and Anson actually turned Vet. and sewed it up, and did it well, too. A horse died at this place last night, and today the Indians are making merry over its carcass, eating it. I was interrupted while writing this letter by the tent blowing down.
March 28.
We camped at Ehrenberg four days, during that time had two dreadful wind-storms. Anson had great big stones piled on all the tent pins, as the ground was not very hard, but the tent shook and flapped until it would have been almost a relief to have had it go over. We went to bed, however, and in about fifteen minutes after, a terrific gust brought the whole thing down with a crash. The worst feature of it was that it tore a piece out of the tent so that it could not be put up again, so we very coolly slept under the ruins all night. This is Tuesday, and we expect to be at Date Creek on Saturday. They say they are making great preparations there, and are going to have a dance, and expect some ladies down from Fort Whipple.
March 29th.
We came twenty-eight miles today. Wind-storm part of the way, which is heavy enough to make us fear another blow-down, so we are going to sleep in the ambulance. Anson has taken out the seats and we will have the bed right on the floor, which is large enough to be very comfortable. I am in it now and feel perfectly satisfied, as I have none of that nervous, uncomfortable feeling, which the flapping of a tent in the wind is sure to give one.
Date Creek, April 1st.
Although this is All Fools' Day, what I am going to tell you is no joke, but sober reality. Yesterday found us forty-five miles from the creek, and as Captain Meinhold, Mr. Kimball, one of the wagons and four mounted men were going to make it in one day while the rest of the party would have to be two days, we concluded to go on with the small escort, as everyone assured us there was not the least bit of danger. We rode gaily along, and were within eleven miles of the post, when Anson saw one of the horsemen ride up to something, stop and, taking out his carbine, cock it. He looked again, saw a lot of wagons, and said, "there is a train." We rode a few yards farther and found that a train of five wagons and forty-eight mules had been attacked by Indians (as we afterwards learned only a few hours before we got there). Three miles before we reached there I forgot to tell you that we heard a wailing sort of sound and saw a stray mule. This sound was undoubtedly a signal from an Indian sentinel to the party robbing the train, giving them warning that another party was coming, and for them to get off. The Indians were no doubt at work on the train when we heard this noise. Imagine the feelings of all. We did not know but that Indians were lurking behind every bush. They had cut the harness from all the mules and captured all of them excepting three. They had emptied out sack after sack of flour and carried off the sacks to make clothes, leaving the flour piled all around. Boxes were broken open, and it really was a dreadful sight, when the position of affairs which we were in was thought of, and my being there was the first thing that they all thought of. They concluded to turn 'round and go to meet the rest of the train to give them warning, as well as for the safety of ourselves. For one moment I wanted to cry, the next I laughed actually a little bit, and after that I was not in the least afraid. Anson directed me not to shoot until they got pretty close, if we came across them. I laid the pistol on the seat of the ambulance, and my hand on the pistol, ready to cock it at a moment's warning, and I feel sure if Mr. Lo had made his appearance I should have hurt at least one of them. They supposed by not seeing any bodies lying around that the men had escaped to the post and sent men out after the Indians. We met our train, and camped for the night. The next morning (today) we started for the post. When we came up to where the attack was made we found that soldiers had been sent and were guarding the place. I should have been glad that all this scare happened in order to teach everybody caution, but that it came too late to teach one poor fellow, and perhaps another, for one teamster was killed and another badly wounded, and they were both lying somewhere near when we came up, but the wounded one must have been unconscious or he would have heard usand let us know he was there. There were eight men with this captured train, plenty to have defended it had they been prepared, but in an Indian country, they were traveling with but two guns and three rounds of ammunition. It has taught me one good lesson. I shall never go outside of the post without a sufficient escort, and when we get to Whipple I never mean to go even to Prescott, which is only a mile distant, but mean to stay inside of the post 'til we change stations. Everybody has felt so safe all about here, and ladies from this post would ride with only one gentleman for miles and miles over the hills, but they are well scared now. This train was mostly filled with government stores, and I am very much afraid that the papers will make a big talk about it, and as it was so close to ours, you will think it was ours, and worry unnecessarily about it before you receive my letter. You need have no fears about our safety, as there is no danger of their attacking soldiers that travel in such numbers as we will hereafter.
We were very happy in getting a lot of letters today which had been sent down from Whipple. We got three of home written to Halleck, one from Texas, Washington, Kentucky, Columbia, London, Fort Shaw, Fort Laramie. Quite a variety, and as another mail comes in tonight, we expect some more in the morning.
I am sorry to hear of dear mother's being so sick after we left, but glad she is well again.
Mrs. Ebstein has her sister with her. They are very pleasant and very kind to us. They tell us that Whipple is one of the healthiest of places, and also has about the best quarters in the territory.
I forgot to tell you that one of the savages dropped a quiver full of arrows as he was hurrying off with his plunder, and one of the soldiers gave it to me. The quiver is an ugly thing, but I shall bring you one of the arrows when we come home next time as a memento of our first, and I hope last, Indian scare.
April 21. (Fort Whipple, Ariz.)
We have been here a week, and both of us like the post very well, although it is far from being a handsome post either on the outside or inside, but you know one's content is measured in a great degree by comparison with others that surround you, so we are more than contented with a log house, when we remember that Fort Whipple is one of the few posts in this territory where they have any quarters at all, almost all being quartered in tents, men, women and children. We have fixed up very comfortably, have the carpet on the parlor and gunny sacks on the dining room and bedroom. We have the damask and lace curtains up at the parlor windows, which are arranged so as to hang a good piece from the windows, making a sort of bow window (bowed the wrong way, however), and as it stands a good way into the room it helps fill up, which is a very good thing, as articles of furniture are very scarce at present; the company carpenter is busily at work. He has made us one table and a place to hang clothes. He was fixing the latter, and after he had finished I gave him some newspapers to read and some oranges, when he informed me that he could make anything I wanted, that he hadn't much to do and might as well do that as anything else. I suppose you would like to see how our house is arranged as to rooms, so I will make a plan of the ground floor, and if you can find any other floor you are smarter than I. I wish I could draw, and I would send you a sketch of the view from our window, which is very beautiful, mountains covered with pine. The wind roaring through the pines sounds just like the cars. Anson has laughed a great deal at me because I vowed that never would I leave Fort Whipple 'til we changed stations or went home, and actually I hadn't been in the post twenty-four hours before I was off for town with Mrs. King, and have been down town once since then. There is no danger between here and town, as it is only a short distance, and before one gets out of calling distance of the post the hospital is reached, and before you get out of sound of that the town is reached. There is notmuch in Prescott to tempt one, and well it is for our pockets that this is so, for the price of some things would make your hair stand on end, although other things are quite reasonable. Luckily for us we can get anything we want almost in the commissary, as it is excellently supplied. Everything has fallen in price even in Prescott, and flour there is now only thirty-six dollars a barrel; it was forty-two a short time ago. We only pay seven dollars in the commissary. Butter is two dollars, eggs the same. I saw some of the commonest kind of heavy Delft soup plates markedfifteendollars a dozen. We bought a lamp in San Francisco for which we paid seventy-five cents. Mrs. King has two just like it which cost five dollars each, and a parlor lamp like that which cost us three dollars in San Francisco was sold here for twenty-five dollars, and kerosene oil is only five dollars a gallon. Mrs. King tells a good joke on the chaplain. She went with him to town one day to assist him in making some purchases. After buying some things and paying for them he spied some quart cans for filling lamps, empty, of course. He wanted one, so asked the price. He was told "seven dollars." The chaplain put down his bundles and money, raised his hands, heaved a deep groan and uttered his favorite ejaculation, "tre-men-jious." There is only one lady here besides myself, and fortunately she is a very pleasant one, Mrs. King. Tell Gussie Porter I met her friend Mrs. King at Camp Halleck, not the Mrs. King who is here, but another one. She met Gussie at Lancaster, and is now in our regiment. She was very pleasant.
Nannie describes this journey so completely I can add little to it.
Mr. Lummis, librarian of the Los Angeles Public Library, asked me, in 1908, as one having something to do with the development of the country, to write something descriptive of its wonderful growth, to be placed in an album for strangers visiting the library. I contributed the following:
In 1871, as Captain 3d Cavalry, with the headquarters and band, my wife in an ambulance, I traveled from San Pedro to Whipple Barracks, Prescott, Arizona. The route lay through Los Angeles, then a small adobe village, where we stopped March 9th at the Little Pico House, then by the now beautiful City of Redlands, at that time a waterless cactus desert, and through the Salton Sink.In all the tide of time I think there has not been a more instructive example of the efforts of man to "replenish the earth" than shown by the brave men of Southern California in the intervening thirty-seven years.To those who may look over this volume of autographs in the future, I think this simple statement of facts will be more interesting than any literary effort I could possibly render.
In 1871, as Captain 3d Cavalry, with the headquarters and band, my wife in an ambulance, I traveled from San Pedro to Whipple Barracks, Prescott, Arizona. The route lay through Los Angeles, then a small adobe village, where we stopped March 9th at the Little Pico House, then by the now beautiful City of Redlands, at that time a waterless cactus desert, and through the Salton Sink.
In all the tide of time I think there has not been a more instructive example of the efforts of man to "replenish the earth" than shown by the brave men of Southern California in the intervening thirty-seven years.
To those who may look over this volume of autographs in the future, I think this simple statement of facts will be more interesting than any literary effort I could possibly render.
The desert over which we traveled, purchasing water at twenty-five cents a bucket, is now productive and beautiful. The Salton Sink, through which we passed, is a depression in the earth one hundred and fifty miles long by seventy-five wide, with its lowest point two hundred and fifty-six feet below sea level. It was formerly the northern end of the Gulf of California, but ages past was cut off by the sand and silt deposited by floods of the Colorado River, the water evaporating in the arid atmosphere and extreme heat. Immense deposits of salt from evaporated sea water were visible, and we saw on the foot of the adjacent mountains the water-mark of the sea level.
We arrived at Fort Whipple on April 14th, only to be ordered to Fort McDowell on the Verde River, one hundred and twenty-five miles distant, over an almost impassable road. Nannie tells the story of that journey:
May 12 (New River).Our first three days' travel was very pleasant, as we had good roads, and it is much better to travel with one's own company. We have four mules in our ambulance, the back seatof which I occupy alone in my glory as Anson rides his horse. We have five six-mule wagons, a teamster, of course, to each, and over seventy men, so you see we have a very large escort. Our fourth day's travel was a little the worst of anything I have ever seen. Anson and Mr. Wessels have traveled a great deal and over very bad roads, but they both say that this was the worst one that they have ever seen. You may judge how bad it was when we were from seven o'clock in the morning 'til six at night going about fifteen miles, and the wagons were an hour later. The first nine miles was over rocks that jolted the ambulance so that I could hardly sit in the seat, and I was almost wearied out. The rest of the road was up hill and down hill, and the most terrible hills that I ever saw—they were almost perpendicular. I walked several miles, because the hills were so bad I was afraid to ride. Anyone living in the States would think it an utter impossibility to take vehicles up some places where we went. One wagon was upset, and that of course caused a delay. You would have been amused to see how they brought one wagon up a hill. The wagons were all lightly loaded and had six mules; they put an extra pair of mules in, one man rode one of the wheel mules, another walked on one side with a whip, and two boys were on the other with stones, pelting the mules, and with a volley of oaths and cracking of whips, up they came. One wagon was eased down a hill by twenty men taking hold of a rope behind, and another was helped up with the men's assistance. It was a wearisome day for men and mules. This morning, when we were about a mile out, the lead bar of our ambulance broke, which caused another delay to fix. Mr. Wessels' horse got lame, and a horse kicked one of the mules so badly that they couldn't use him. We have had a chapter of accidents for two days, and in addition, today we ran across a fresh moccasin track, evidently made today.May 18th (Camp McDowell).We reached here on the 15th, being just seven days on the road. The day before we got in we rested a day, as one ofthe men who had been over the road said there was a thirty-five miles march without water, and the weather being warm the men and animals can do with less water by traveling at night, so we left our last camp at about five o'clock in the evening and traveled 'til midnight, then rested for four hours, spreading our bedding in the sand and with the sky for a covering, then at four in the morning starting again, and got in the post at six, finding that the man had made a mistake in the distance, as it was only twenty-three miles. One of the mules strayed away and was not found again.We lived very well on the road, as we had quails, fresh fish, and best of all, Anson shot a large deer with his revolver. It was a mighty good shot, as the deer was a hundred yards off. It weighed over a hundred pounds dressed. We had one hind quarter, kept the other one for Major Dudley, who is in command here, and the rest made a meal for all the men, teamsters and laundresses, so you see it was a pretty large one. I told Anson father would have enjoyed it. You know you thought it would be so unpleasant for us to be without vegetables, well today for dinner we had peas, lettuce, and young onions out of the government farm. Anyone can have a garden here if he chooses to take the trouble.Our quarters are very comfortable; the houses are built of adobe and have three rooms and a kitchen. On first entering the quarters you would say, "It would be folly to put down carpets or attempt in any way to fix up here, for it would only serve to make the rest look worse," but you have no idea how much good a little fixing up does. The floors are mud, which is as hard and as dry as a bone. I have spread the curtains out to hide as much of the wall as possible, and as there is only one window I have arranged the remaining curtains in festoons over and around the front door, which is half of glass. The parlor is only twelve by twelve, so I ripped off one breadth of the carpet and turned it in over a yard on the length. The post is almost destitute of furniture, so we have a large barrel covered with a board, then a red blanket which, with Anson'sdesk on top, makes a respectable piece of furniture; then a chest with the ambulance cushions on top and covered with the carriage blanket, does duty as a divan, which, with two tables and three chairs furnishes (?) the parlor, the bedroom being luxuriously filled with a bedstead and a washstand, and the dining room being amply furnished withone table. The worst of it is there is no lumber in the post to make any of. I have sent by one of the wagons that went back to Whipple for a few articles of furniture I left in the house, as they have plenty of wood up there to make more. I do not know whether I will get it or not, as it is not customary to send furniture from one post to another. They have also sent there for lumber, so we will be able to have things made.
May 12 (New River).
Our first three days' travel was very pleasant, as we had good roads, and it is much better to travel with one's own company. We have four mules in our ambulance, the back seatof which I occupy alone in my glory as Anson rides his horse. We have five six-mule wagons, a teamster, of course, to each, and over seventy men, so you see we have a very large escort. Our fourth day's travel was a little the worst of anything I have ever seen. Anson and Mr. Wessels have traveled a great deal and over very bad roads, but they both say that this was the worst one that they have ever seen. You may judge how bad it was when we were from seven o'clock in the morning 'til six at night going about fifteen miles, and the wagons were an hour later. The first nine miles was over rocks that jolted the ambulance so that I could hardly sit in the seat, and I was almost wearied out. The rest of the road was up hill and down hill, and the most terrible hills that I ever saw—they were almost perpendicular. I walked several miles, because the hills were so bad I was afraid to ride. Anyone living in the States would think it an utter impossibility to take vehicles up some places where we went. One wagon was upset, and that of course caused a delay. You would have been amused to see how they brought one wagon up a hill. The wagons were all lightly loaded and had six mules; they put an extra pair of mules in, one man rode one of the wheel mules, another walked on one side with a whip, and two boys were on the other with stones, pelting the mules, and with a volley of oaths and cracking of whips, up they came. One wagon was eased down a hill by twenty men taking hold of a rope behind, and another was helped up with the men's assistance. It was a wearisome day for men and mules. This morning, when we were about a mile out, the lead bar of our ambulance broke, which caused another delay to fix. Mr. Wessels' horse got lame, and a horse kicked one of the mules so badly that they couldn't use him. We have had a chapter of accidents for two days, and in addition, today we ran across a fresh moccasin track, evidently made today.
May 18th (Camp McDowell).
We reached here on the 15th, being just seven days on the road. The day before we got in we rested a day, as one ofthe men who had been over the road said there was a thirty-five miles march without water, and the weather being warm the men and animals can do with less water by traveling at night, so we left our last camp at about five o'clock in the evening and traveled 'til midnight, then rested for four hours, spreading our bedding in the sand and with the sky for a covering, then at four in the morning starting again, and got in the post at six, finding that the man had made a mistake in the distance, as it was only twenty-three miles. One of the mules strayed away and was not found again.
We lived very well on the road, as we had quails, fresh fish, and best of all, Anson shot a large deer with his revolver. It was a mighty good shot, as the deer was a hundred yards off. It weighed over a hundred pounds dressed. We had one hind quarter, kept the other one for Major Dudley, who is in command here, and the rest made a meal for all the men, teamsters and laundresses, so you see it was a pretty large one. I told Anson father would have enjoyed it. You know you thought it would be so unpleasant for us to be without vegetables, well today for dinner we had peas, lettuce, and young onions out of the government farm. Anyone can have a garden here if he chooses to take the trouble.
Our quarters are very comfortable; the houses are built of adobe and have three rooms and a kitchen. On first entering the quarters you would say, "It would be folly to put down carpets or attempt in any way to fix up here, for it would only serve to make the rest look worse," but you have no idea how much good a little fixing up does. The floors are mud, which is as hard and as dry as a bone. I have spread the curtains out to hide as much of the wall as possible, and as there is only one window I have arranged the remaining curtains in festoons over and around the front door, which is half of glass. The parlor is only twelve by twelve, so I ripped off one breadth of the carpet and turned it in over a yard on the length. The post is almost destitute of furniture, so we have a large barrel covered with a board, then a red blanket which, with Anson'sdesk on top, makes a respectable piece of furniture; then a chest with the ambulance cushions on top and covered with the carriage blanket, does duty as a divan, which, with two tables and three chairs furnishes (?) the parlor, the bedroom being luxuriously filled with a bedstead and a washstand, and the dining room being amply furnished withone table. The worst of it is there is no lumber in the post to make any of. I have sent by one of the wagons that went back to Whipple for a few articles of furniture I left in the house, as they have plenty of wood up there to make more. I do not know whether I will get it or not, as it is not customary to send furniture from one post to another. They have also sent there for lumber, so we will be able to have things made.
En routewe stopped to examine an ancient fort of eight rooms with embrasures on all sides for defense probably for bows and arrows. The walls were twelve feet high, but the roof had been destroyed. Inside one of the rooms was a scrubby cedar tree, perhaps a hundred years old. While walking around on these walls, which were made of thin broad granite rocks, evidently once held in place by mortar, I displaced a stone which rolled down the mound, frightening a large deer, which I killed with my pistol. Tied to my horse's tail after the fashion of the Indians, I dragged it to the train. It is this deer of which Nannie writes.
At Cave Creek, where there were many cougars (Mexican lions), I found in a cave near the spring, which was some distance from our camp, the remains of many deer which had been caught by these lions, dragged into the cave and devoured, some of them being only partly eaten.
McDowell was the most unhappy post at which we ever served. Its commander was of an overbearing, tyrannical disposition, and much addicted to drink. The post traders abetted him and brought about many quarrels between the commander and the officers so that, in the garrison of five companies, there were few friendships.
At this unhappy station Nannie lost about twenty and I thirty pounds in weight.
One day she said to me, "Anson, I am going to Europe some day."
"Whom are you going with?" I asked. It was a joy for me to see her so much more cheerful than I.
"You," she replied.
I never had any such hope, but, as will be seen later, she actually accomplished it. (Text, 178.)
Nannie was for about a year the only lady in the post. On December 1, 1871, to our great relief, we received orders to exchange posts with the 2d Cavalry, at Fort McPherson, Nebraska, the regiments exchanging horses to save transportation.