Francisco we had heard the story, oft
repeated, of the poor soldier who died at Fort Yuma, and after
awhile returned to beg for his blankets, having found the regions
of Pluto so much cooler than the place he had left. But the fort
looked pleasant to us, as we approached. It lay on a high mesa to
the left of us and there was a little green grass where the post
was built.
None of the officers knew as yet their destination, and I found
myself wishing it might be our good fortune to stay at Fort Yuma.
It seemed such a friendly place.
Lieutenant Haskell, Twelfth Infantry, who was stationed there,
came down to the boat to greet us, and brought us our letters
from home. He then extended his gracious hospitality to us all,
arranging for us to come to his quarters the next day for a meal,
and dividing the party as best he could accommodate us. It fell
to our lot to go to breakfast with Major and Mrs. Wells and Miss
Wilkins.
An ambulance was sent the next morning, at nine o'clock, to bring
us up the steep and winding road, white with heat, which led to
the fort.
I can never forget the taste of the oatmeal with fresh milk, the
eggs and butter, and delicious tomatoes, which were served to us
in his latticed dining-room.
After twenty-three days of heat and glare, and scorching winds,
and stale food, Fort Yuma and Mr. Haskell's dining-room seemed
like Paradise.
Of course it was hot; it was August, and we expected it. But the
heat of those places can be much alleviated by the surroundings.
There were shower baths, and latticed piazzas, and large ollas
hanging in the shade of them, containing cool water. Yuma was
only twenty days from San Francisco, and they were able to get
many things direct by steamer. Of course there was no ice, and
butter was kept only by ingenious devices of the Chinese
servants; there were but few vegetables, but what was to be had
at all in that country, was to be had at Fort Yuma.
We staid one more day, and left two companies of the regiment
there. When we departed, I felt, somehow, as though we were
saying good-bye to the world and civilization, and as our boat
clattered and tugged away up river with its great wheel astern, I
could not help looking back longingly to old Fort Yuma.
CHAPTER VI
UP THE RIO COLORADO
And now began our real journey up the Colorado River, that river
unknown to me except in my early geography lessons - that mighty
and untamed river, which is to-day unknown except to the
explorer, or the few people who have navigated its turbulent
waters. Back in memory was the picture of it on the map; here was
the reality, then, and here we were, on the steamer "Gila,"
Captain Mellon, with the barge full of soldiers towing on after
us, starting for Fort Mojave, some two hundred miles above.
The vague and shadowy foreboding that had fluttered through my
mind before I left Fort Russell had now also become a reality and
crowded out every other thought. The river, the scenery, seemed,
after all, but an illusion, and interested me but in a dreamy
sort of way.
We had staterooms, but could not remain in them long at a time,
on account of the intense heat. I had never felt such heat, and
no one else ever had or has since. The days were interminable. We
wandered around the boat, first forward, then aft, to find a cool
spot. We hung up our canteens (covered with flannel and dipped in
water), where they would swing in the shade, thereby obtaining
water which was a trifle cooler than the air. There was no ice,
and consequently no fresh provisions. A Chinaman served as
steward and cook, and at the ringing of a bell we all went into a
small saloon back of the pilothouse, where the meals were served.
Our party at table on the "Gila" consisted of several unmarried
officers, and several officers with their wives, about eight or
nine in all, and we could have had a merry time enough but for
the awful heat, which destroyed both our good looks and our
tempers. The fare was meagre, of course; fresh biscuit without
butter, very salt boiled beef, and some canned vegetables, which
were poor enough in those days. Pies made from preserved peaches
or plums generally followed this delectable course. Chinamen, as
we all know, can make pies under conditions that would stagger
most chefs. They may have no marble pastry-slab, and the lard may
run like oil, still they can make pies that taste good to the
hungry traveller.
But that dining-room was hot! The metal handles of the knives
were uncomfortably warm to the touch; and even the wooden arms of
the chairs felt as if they were slowly igniting. After a hasty
meal, and a few remarks upon the salt beef, and the general
misery of our lot, we would seek some spot which might be a
trifle cooler. A siesta was out of the question, as the
staterooms were insufferable; and so we dragged out the weary
days.
At sundown the boat put her nose up to the bank and tied up for
the night. The soldiers left the barges and went into camp on
shore, to cook their suppers and to sleep. The banks of the river
offered no very attractive spot upon which to make a camp; they
were low, flat, and covered with underbrush and arrow-weed, which
grew thick to the water's edge. I always found it interesting to
watch the barge unload the men at sundown.
