About this time we entered the Comanche Indian country, and on September 2 camped on Cottonwood Creek. The Indians were said to be very hostile, yet we had no trouble with them. I think it was here that we began to see signs of buffalo, and the prairie dog villages. Timber was very scarce, and the country was more uninviting than that we had passed over.
Shortly after Lieutenant Colonel Smith took command we were drawn up in line, and some military laws were read to us. At the end of almost every sentence there was the word death, as punishment for infraction of the law. We were then talked to in a most offensive and domineering manner, until some of us began to wonder what we had done to merit such severity and downright abuse.
We were tired and footsore, and suffered much from lack of water. The country showed such a sameness of forbidding features that the journey became very monotonous and tiresome. Fuel was so scarce that we had to dig trenches two or three feet long, and eight or ten inches wide and a foot deep, fill these with dry grass, and start a fire and pile on buffalo chips, with which to do our cooking. The result was our food often was half raw and badly smoked, and many of the men were brought down with severe diarrheal complaints. As many had traveled the road in advance of us, even buffalo chips for fuel were so scarce that often we had to go for miles to gather them.
When we reached Pawnee Fork we found it a very difficult stream to cross. The wagons had to be let down the steep bank with ropes, by the men, and had to be taken up the opposite bank in the same manner.
The events narrated here will indicate that it is not all of a soldier's duty when on a long march to tramp all day with musket and accoutrements and knapsack, but the soldier on such a journey as we had must push and pull wagons up hill, hold them back when going down hill, haul them through deep sands, and help them and the teams out of quicksands; he must stand guard and night-herd stock; must press on, over rough or smooth ground, rain or shine; must wade rivers, and when crossing streams is not allowed to take off his clothing, but has to plunge into the water, and then travel on in wet clothes; besides, there are many other experiences that are far from pleasant.
We pushed along the best we could to the Arkansas River, through a very uninviting country, in which we began to find brackish water and saleratus. We traveled up the broad river bottoms of the Arkansas eighty to one hundred miles, the water being poor and unhealthy. Many were added to the corps of "Jim along, Joseys," and had to be led or carried by their comrades to the unfeeling doctor, many times to be cursed at by him, and then to take a dose from his nauseating spoon. Quite a number of the sick were badly salivated by the drugs given them.
About September 15 or 16, we crossed the river where the roads fork, one going toward Fort Benton, and the other leading to Santa Fe. There we parted with Captain Nelson Higgins, he having been detailed to take a small squad of men and the families to a Spanish town called Pueblo, some hundred miles away, there to winter. Meanwhile, we pushed our way over barren plains and sandy deserts to the Cimmaron River. We saw deceptive rivers, ponds and lakes; we chased after them for miles sometimes, till we found that, like jack o' lantern or will o' the wisp, we could not get nearer to them. Finally we learned that they were mirages—a peculiar reflection of the sun upon the great plains or sandy deserts. It seemed impossible for the inexperienced to discern the difference between the mirage and a body of real water.
In this barren country we saw immense herds of buffalo; in our long march we came to ponds of water made perfectly filthy by the buffalo, and rendered offensive by the broiling hot sun, the liquid being almost as thick as gruel; but we were so terribly famished with thirst that we were glad to get even such foul water.
When the Cimmaron River was reached, there was good water, and good feed for our stock, but our rations were reduced one-third, and we were pretty well worn down.
On the 18th or 19th of September it was my place to be on guard. I had stood the journey very well, but by this time had become affected by the alkali, and that day was so badly afflicted with diarrhea as to be almost unable to drag myself into camp. But rather than march to "Jim along, Josey," I took my place on guard. That night there came on one of the most terrible storms I ever have experienced. I had to brace myself with my musket to stand. From that date I have never been free from pain in the right limb, near the instep, caused by the severe exposure. Next day it became necessary to go on the sick list, to remain several days.