Waters, we sat down and let the swift current
flow by us. We dared not go deeper; we could feel the round
stones grinding against each other as they were carried down, and
we were all afraid. It was difficult to keep one's foothold, and
Capt. Mellon's words were ever ringing in my ears, "He who
disappears below the surface of the Colorado is never seen
again." But we joined hands and ventured like children and played
like children in these red waters and after all, it was much
nicer than a tub of muddy water indoors.
A clump of low mesquite trees at the top of the bank afforded
sufficient protection at that hour; we rubbed dry, slipped on a
loose gown, and wended our way home. What a contrast to the
limpid, bracing salt waters of my own beloved shores!
When I thought of them, I was seized with a longing which
consumed me and made my heart sick; and I thought of these poor
people, who had never known anything in their lives but those
desert places, and that muddy red water, and wondered what they
would do, how they would act, if transported into some beautiful
forest, or to the cool bright shores where clear blue waters
invite to a plunge.
Whenever the river-boat came up, we were sure to have guests, for
many officers went into the Territory via Ehrenberg. Sometimes
the "transportation" was awaiting them; at other times, they were
obliged to wait at Ehrenberg until it arrived. They usually lived
on the boat, as we had no extra rooms, but I generally asked them
to luncheon or supper (for anything that could be called a dinner
was out of the question) .
This caused me some anxiety, as there was nothing to be had; but
I remembered the hospitality I had received, and thought of what
they had been obliged to eat on the voyage, and I always asked
them to share what we could provide, however simple it might be.
At such times we heard all the news from Washington and the
States, and all about the fashions, and they, in their turn,
asked me all sorts of questions about Ehrenberg and how I managed
to endure the life. They were always astonished when the Cocopah
Indian waited on them at table, for he wore nothing but his
gee-string, and although it was an every-day matter to us, it
rather took their breath away.
But "Charley" appealed to my aesthetic sense in every way. Tall,
and well-made, with clean-cut limbs and features, fine smooth
copper-colored skin, handsome face, heavy black hair done up in
pompadour fashion and plastered with Colorado mud, which was
baked white by the sun, a small feather at the crown of his head,
wide turquoise bead bracelets upon his upper arm, and a knife at
his waist - this was my Charley, my half-tame Cocopah, my man
about the place, my butler in fact, for Charley understood how to
open a bottle of Cocomonga gracefully, and to keep the glasses
filled.
