We also had enough unnecessaries to
bring us to grief in a couple of weeks. Our wagons were
loaded to the roof. And seeing there was no road nor so much
as a track, that there were frequent swamps and small rivers
to be crossed, that our Comanche mules were wilder than the
Indians who had owned them, it may easily be believed that
our rate of progress did not average more than six or seven
miles a day; sometimes it took from dawn to dusk to cross a
stream by ferrying our packages, and emptied wagons, on such
rafts as could be extemporised. Before the end of a
fortnight, both wagons were shattered, wheels smashed, and
axles irreparable. The men, who were as refractory as the
other animals, helped themselves to provisions, tobacco and
whisky, at their own sweet will, and treated our
remonstrances with resentment and contempt.
Heroic measures were exigent. The wagons were broken up and
converted into pack saddles. Both tents, masses of
provisions, 100 lbs. of lead for bullets, kegs of powder,
warm clothing, mackintoshes, waterproof sheeting, tarpaulins,
medicine chest, and bags of sugar, were flung aside to waste
their sweetness on the desert soil. Not one of us had ever
packed a saddle before; and certainly not one of the mules
had ever carried, or to all appearances, ever meant to carry,
a pack. It was a fight between man and beast every day -
twice a day indeed, for we halted to rest and feed, and had
to unpack and repack our remaining impedimenta in payment for
the indulgence.
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