It was a complete surprise to us, as points of
scenery were not much known or talked about then in Arizona.
Ponds and lakes were unheard of. They did not seem to exist in
that drear land of arid wastes. We never heard of water except
that of the Colorado or the Gila or the tanks and basins, and
irrigation ditches of the settlers. But here was a real Italian
lake, a lake as blue as the skies above us. We feasted our eyes
and our very souls upon it.
Bailey and the guide shot some wild turkeys, and as we had
already eaten all the mutton we had along, the ragout of turkey
made by the soldier-cook for our supper tasted better to us tired
and hungry travellers, perhaps, than a canvasback at Delmonico's
tastes to the weary lounger or the over-worked financier.
In the course of the day, we had passed a sort of sign-board,
with the rudely written inscription, "Camp Starvation," and we
had heard from Mr. Bailey the story of the tragic misfortunes at
this very place of the well-known Hitchcock family of Arizona.
The road was lined with dry bones, and skulls of oxen, white and
bleached in the sun, lying on the bare rocks. Indeed, at every
stage of the road we had seen evidences of hard travel, exhausted
cattle, anxious teamsters, hunger and thirst, despair,
starvation, and death.
However, Stoneman's Lake remains a joy in the memory, and far and
away the most beautiful spot I ever saw in Arizona. But unless
the approaches to it are made easier, tourists will never gaze
upon it.
In the distance we saw the "divide," over which we must pass in
order to reach Camp Verde, which was to be our first stopping
place, and we looked joyfully towards the next day's march, which
we expected would bring us there.
We thought the worst was over and, before retiring to our tents
for the night, we walked over to the edge of the high mesa and,
in the gathering shadows of twilight, looked down into the depths
of that beautiful lake, knowing that probably we should never see
it again.
And indeed, in all the years I spent in Arizona afterward, I
never even heard of the lake again.
I wonder now, did it really exist or was it an illusion, a dream,
or the mirage which appears to the desert traveller, to satisfy
him and lure him on, to quiet his imagination, and to save his
senses from utter extinction?
In the morning the camp was all astir for an early move. We had
no time to look back: we were starting for a long day's march,
across the "divide," and into Camp Verde.
But we soon found that the road (if road it could be called) was
worse than any we had encountered. The ambulance was pitched and
jerked from rock to rock and we were thumped against the iron
framework in a most dangerous manner. So we got out and picked
our way over the great sharp boulders.
The Alsatian soldier carried the baby, who lay securely in the
pappoose cradle.
One of the cavalry escort suggested my taking his horse, but I
did not feel strong enough to think of mounting a horse, so great
was my discouragement and so exhausted was my vitality. Oh! if
girls only knew about these things I thought! For just a little
knowledge of the care of an infant and its needs, its nourishment
and its habits, might have saved both mother and child from such
utter collapse.
Little by little we gave up hope of reaching Verde that day. At
four o'clock we crossed the "divide,"and clattered down a road so
near the edge of a precipice that I was frightened beyond
everything: my senses nearly left me. Down and around, this way
and that, near the edge, then back again, swaying, swerving,
pitching, the gravel clattering over the precipice, the six mules
trotting their fastest, we reached the bottom and the driver
pulled up his team. "Beaver Springs!" said he, impressively,
loosening up the brakes.
As Jack lifted me out of the ambulance, I said: "Why didn't you
tell me?" pointing back to the steep road. "Oh," said he, "I
thought it was better for you not to know; people get scared
about such things, when they know about them before hand."
"But," I remarked, "such a break-neck pace!" Then, to the
driver, "Smith, how could you drive down that place at such a
rate and frighten me so?"
"Had to, ma'am, or we'd a'gone over the edge."
I had been brought up in a flat country down near the sea, and I
did not know the dangers of mountain travelling, nor the
difficulties attending the piloting of a six-mule team down a
road like that. >From this time on, however, Smith rose in my
estimation. I seemed also to be realizing that the Southwest was
a great country and that there was much to learn about. Life out
there was beginning to interest me.
Camp Verde lay sixteen miles farther on; no one knew if the road
were good or bad. I declared I could not travel another mile,
even if they all went on and left me to the wolves and the
darkness of Beaver Springs.
We looked to our provisions and took account of stock. There was
not enough for the two families. We had no flour and no bread;
there was only a small piece of bacon, six potatoes, some
condensed milk, and some chocolate. The Baileys decided to go on;
for Mrs. Bailey was to meet her sister at Verde and her parents
at Whipple.
