Col. Webb went over to Camargo to report himself and the company to the Alcalde and returned at night with a Mr. Nimons, and it was arranged that they should go next day to China[11] to purchase mules. Rob Benson was sergeant of the guard that night, and I took a few turns around our camp with him and turned in, but about eleven was called to see J. Booth Lambert, who was very sick. Dr. Trask began to fear his illness might be cholera, but it was not in every respect like what he had seen of that disease in the north. At three o'clock, however, he seemed much easier and more composed, alas, the composure of cholera. What does it foretell? But in this instance to me "ignorance was bliss." At five I was up again, mustard plasters, rubbing and a tablespoonful of brandy every half hour, with camphor, etc., were faithfully administered, but all we knew and did was without avail, and at one o'clock he was gone. Poor fellow, he was kind to his companions, cheerful at his work, and twenty-four hours previously, was, to all appearance, perfectly well, and playing a game of whist with his brother and uncle.
For the last six or eight hours of his illness all the camp seemed to keep aloof from him, and all the tents on that side of the camp were deserted except Simson's and Harrison's, and those I ordered off. When Hinckley, Liscomb and Walsh came back from Rio Grande City with his coffin, I had prepared him for burial, for his brother was too prostrated with grief to do anything.
At five o'clock fifty of us followed him to the grave. As we thought he would have wished, and knew his friends would prefer, we buried him on the American side, in the grave-yard back of Davis' Rancho. Sadly we walked back with a feeling that this might not be the only case of the dread disease.
No time, however, was left for thought; as soon as I entered the camp Lambert's messmates came to beg me not to put them again in his tent. I told them I had no idea of doing so, gave them a new tent, struck his, levelled the ditches around it, and burned the withered boughs that had been put to shelter it. This done I went to rest if I could, being on this night of March 15th more anxious than I had been for years. I had just dropped into a troubled sleep, when I was called to look at Boden, one of the most athletic, regular men we had, who complained of great weakness and nausea. We had, of course, talked over Lambert's case, and as men will always try to assign causes for everything, whether they understand matters or not, we had said Lambert was always delicate and had overworked himself, but, here was Boden, a most robust, well-formed man, who had not exposed himself in any way to illness, and so we tried not to fear for him, but morning, March 16th, found him too weak to stand, and he showed signs of all the horrors of this dreadful disease. His broad forehead was marked with the blue and purple streaks of coagulated blood, and down both sides of the nose and blackening his whole neck the veins and arteries told that it was all over with him. "What hurts you, Ham?" I asked, as I saw distress in his face. "My wife and children hurt me, Mr. John," was his answer, which sent a thrill to my heart; I, too, had wife and children. I said what I could to console him, poor enough, doubtless, but from my heart, God knows, and with tears in my eyes, turned away to go to attend to Liscomb and Whittlesey, both just taken.
I gave proper directions and at Dr. Trask's suggestion went to Col. Webb's tent to tell him we must strike tents and leave the place at once. I met with a decided refusal at first, but on my repeating my request and stating the facts for a second time, he consented. The company was called and told that as previously arranged Col. Webb was going on to China to purchase mules, and that I was in charge of the camp, and would at once make arrangements to remove all the men who were well.
Providence here sent the steamer "Tom McKenny" passing on her way to Roma. I went on board and made the agreement that for one hundred dollars all who could go should be taken to Roma, and we at once set to work to pack and hurry everything on board, retaining only what I thought necessary for the three, now dying, men I had with me. I called for volunteers who responded instantly, and more than were needed, to remain with me; those who were finally decided upon for the sad duties before us, were Robert Simson, Howard Bakewell, W. H. Harrison, Robert Benson, Leffert Benson, John Stevens, James Clement, Nicholas Walsh, Tallman and Follen, with the two Bradys who were friends of Boden, A. T. Shipman, W. H. Liscomb and Justin Ely.
As Dr. Trask could be of no further use, we insisted on his going on board the boat, as Follen was with us and knows a great deal about medicine, though leaving home just before taking his degree as a physician, deprives him of a title. All arrangements being made, I only waited for the boat to come up, and in a few minutes I had the gratification of hearing her last bell, and seeing her push off from our miserable camp for Rio Grande City.
When the order was given to go on board and take all the luggage, many started with only their saddlebags, either in terror, or in apathy, from the effect of the air on their systems. Scarcely more than twenty men were willing to take provisions enough to feed on for even one day. David Hudson showed himself one of the most energetic and helpful and there were some twenty others, but I was too anxious and too hurried in directing and working as well, to notice any but the most faithful, and the most unfaithful.
I took Langdon Havens on board, never expecting to see him again, he looked pale, yellow, blue, black, all colors at once, the large blood vessels of the neck swollen and black, showing how rapidly the disease was gaining on him, and begged Trask to do all he could for him. Then I came ashore and saw the boat off, turned away and stood for a moment to draw a long breath and wipe my streaming face, the mercury was 99 degrees in the shade. I looked at the group of good men who had reluctantly left me and had assembled in the stern of the boat to bid me good-bye; in silence they took off their hats, not a sound was heard but the escapement of the steam. Sorrow filled my heart for the probable fate of so fine a body of men, but it was no time now for reflections, I had three dying men on my hands, and the business of the camp to attend to.
I went to the sick tents; poor young Liscomb worn out and heart broken sat leaning against the tent where his father lay dying, looking as pallid and exhausted as the sick man, and almost asleep; I roused him and sent him to my tent to get some rest. Edward Whittlesey was next, looking as if he had been ill for months; his dog, a Newfoundland, was walking about him, licking his hands and feet and giving evidence of the greatest affection; from time to time smelling his mouth for his breath, but it was gone.