Book: Vanished Arizona,

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CHAPTER VIII

LEARNING HOW TO SOLDIER

"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 great
tarantulas, not forgetting lizards, snakes, and 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, and at the
young officers whose uniforms were white with dust, and Frau
Weste's words about glaenzendes Elend came to my mind. I fell to
thinking: was the army life, then, only "glittering misery," and
had I 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 washbodices. 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 outlines 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 refreshing 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 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 prosaic name. I realized that Arizona was not a land of
romance; and when Jack came to the ambulance, 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 Williams'
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 Fort 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 hopefully and ended pleasantly. To be sure, the
roads 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 peaceful
tribes of the Yumas, Cocopahs and Mojaves, 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 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
companionship 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
destination. 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 entertained. 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 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
commanded 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: "I 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, however, 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 travelling, 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 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. Wilhelm, 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, received 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 everything, 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
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 deplorably 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 comparatively
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.




CHAPTER IX

ACROSS THE MOGOLLONS

It was a fine afternoon in the latter part of September, 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 unknown 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 pretend 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, 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 railroads 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 ambulances 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 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 swerving 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 actually got so far as to believe what Jack had told me about
the swearing being necessary, for I saw impossible 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, who 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, distinguish 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 uncanny. 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, nonchalantly; "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.

"Look 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, 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
thirty-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 mysterious 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' indifference to danger, was
already half asleep, replied: "Just before daylight, usually, but
do not worry, I say; there aren't any Injuns in this
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 campaigning, and
sleep was not so easy.

Just before dawn, as I had fallen into a light slumber, 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 frightened 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.





CHAPTER X

A PERILOUS ADVENTURE

One fine 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 turkeys. 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 settled over the camp. Then they began to signal, by
discharging their rifles; the officers went out in various
directions, giving "halloos," and firing at intervals, 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.

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 vastnesses of the
mountains.

A desperate situation, indeed! Some time afterwards, 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.




CHAPTER XI

CAMP APACHE

By the fourth of October we had crossed the range, and began to
see something which looked like roads. Our animals were fagged to
a state of exhaustion, 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 cutler's store. We were
entertained for a day or two, and then quarters were 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.

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