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 shipping 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 dreadful 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.
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.
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 of 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 congratulated 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 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!
______________________________________________________
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".
______________________________________________________
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
time 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 merged itself into the desert
beyond.
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.
