"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.
