The fine damask, brought from Germany for
my linen chest, was a mass of mildew; and when the books came to
light, I could have wept to see the pretty editions of Schiller,
Goethe, and Lessing, which I had bought in Hanover, fall out of
their bindings; the latter, warped out of all shape, and some of
them unrecognizable. I did the best I could, however, not to show
too much concern, and gathered the pages carefully together, to
dry them in the sun.
They were my pride, my best beloved possessions, the links that
bound me to the happy days in old Hanover.
I went to Fisher for everything - a large, well-built American,
and a kind good man. Mrs. Fisher could not endure the life at
Ehrenberg, so she lived in San Francisco, he told me. There were
several other white men in the place, and two large stores where
everything was kept that people in such countries buy. These
merchants made enormous profits, and their families lived in
luxury in San Francisco.
The rest of the population consisted of a very poor class of
Mexicans, Cocopah, Yuma and Mojave Indians, and half-breeds.
The duties of the army officer stationed here consisted
principally in receiving and shipping the enormous quantity of
Government freight which was landed by the river steamers. It was
shipped by wagon trains across the Territory, and at all times
the work carried large responsibilities with it.
I soon realized that however much the present incumbent might
like the situation, it was no fit place for a woman.
The station at Ehrenberg was what we call, in the army, "detached
service." I realized that we had left the army for the time
being; that we had cut loose from a garrison; that we were in a
place where good food could not be procured, and where there were
practically no servants to be had. That there was not a woman to
speak to, or to go to for advice or help, and, worst of all, that
there was no doctor in the place. Besides all this, my clothes
were all ruined by lying wet for a fortnight in the boxes, and I
had practically nothing to wear. I did not then know what useless
things clothes were in Ehrenberg.
The situation appeared rather serious; the weather had grown
intensely hot, and it was decided that the only thing for me to
do was to go to San Francisco for the summer.
So one day we heard the whistle of the "Gila" going up; and when
she came down river, I was all ready to go on board, with
Patrocina and Jesusita,* and my own child, who was yet but five
months old. I bade farewell to the man on detached service, and
we headed down river. We seemed to go down very rapidly,
although the trip lasted several days. Patrocina took to her bed
with neuralgia (or nostalgia); her little devil of a child
screamed the entire days and nights through, to the utter
discomfiture of the few other passengers. A young lieutenant and
his wife and an army surgeon, who had come from one of the posts
in the interior, were among the number, and they seemed to think
that I could help it (though they did not say so).
*Diminutive of Jesus, a very common name amongst the Mexicans.
Pronounced Hay-soo-se-ta.
Finally the doctor said that if I did not throw Jesusita
overboard, he would; why didn't I "wring the neck of its
worthless Mexican of a mother?" and so on, until I really grew
very nervous and unhappy, thinking what I should do after we got
on board the ocean steamer. I, a victim of seasickness, with this
unlucky woman and her child on my hands, in addition to my own!
No; I made up my mind to go back to Ehrenberg, but I said
nothing.
I did not dare to let Doctor Clark know of my decision, for I
knew he would try to dissuade me; but when we reached the mouth
of the river, and they began to transfer the passengers to the
ocean steamer which lay in the offing, I quietly sat down upon my
trunk and told them I was going back to Ehrenberg. Captain Mellon
grinned; the others were speechless; they tried persuasion, but
saw it was useless; and then they said good-bye to me, and our
stern-wheeler headed about and started for up river.
Ehrenberg had become truly my old man of the sea; I could not get
rid of it. There I must go, and there I must stay, until
circumstances and the Fates were more propitious for my
departure.
CHAPTER XIX
SUMMER AT EHRENBERG
The week we spent going up the Colorado in June was not as
uncomfortable as the time spent on the river in August of the
previous year. Everything is relative, I discovered, and I was
happy in going back to stay with the First Lieutenant of C
Company, and share his fortunes awhile longer.
Patrocina recovered, as soon as she found we were to return to
Ehrenberg. I wondered how anybody could be so homesick for such a
God-forsaken place. I asked her if she had ever seen a tree, or
green grass (for I could talk with her quite easily now). She
shook her mournful head. "But don't you want to see trees and
grass and flowers?"
Another sad shake of the head was the only reply.
Such people, such natures, and such lives, were incomprehensible
to me then. I could not look at things except from my own
standpoint.
She took her child upon her knee, and lighted a cigarette; I took
mine upon my knee, and gazed at the river banks:
