With all this there has been no useless complaining, no murmuring, and with all our privations, greater than I care to enumerate, or even to think about, we are none of us ill, though a good many feel the effects of their hardships, and are weakened by them. John Stevens walked all the way from the last Pimos village, and declares he never felt better; Henry Mallory, Bob Layton and I have done almost as much walking and are perfectly well.
All along the road we have been told we could trade with the Yumas here, but a few pumpkins seemed to be all they had at this season, and, as our provisions were at the lowest ebb, we left for the crossing of the Colorado.
We had the use of a boat in the crossing, which belonged to a Mr. Harris who came from Texas, near Houston. It was really a large wagon body, made into a scow, and very useful we found it; Mr. Harris treated us with the greatest kindness, and aided us with provisions to the best of his abilities, and we most sincerely wished him and his amiable wife all happiness and comfort.
We found Lieut. Com. Coats most kind and hospitable; with the aid of his sergeant's boat, a wagon body caulked, we crossed with everything, in two days. I found the Indians, who swam our mules, the fastest and most powerful swimmers I ever saw, being able to swim round the horses and guide them with readiness and facility that astonished us all; they swim over-handed. I could find no one willing to sell or trade horses, and we are about to start on this much-heard-of and much-dreaded desert, having lost two mules which were drowned after the company had crossed; they returned to drink, and losing footing could not regain it, and had not sufficient strength to battle against the current.
Last evening I was invited to take supper with Lieut. Coats, which I greatly enjoyed, for seldom have I eaten with such an appetite, and I found the beefsteak excellent, after being without meat for so long a time; for some weeks we have had nothing but an occasional partridge; meat, in the accepted sense of the word, we had only eaten twice since we left Altar, September 12th, to date, October 16th, living on beans, a little rice, and as luck would have it, sixteen pounds of flour we bought from Mr. Stephenson at the hot springs. Lieut. Engineer Whipple,[32] now making observations at the junction of the Gila and Colorado rivers, was very kind to me, and this evening Col. Thorn came up with us; we had been expecting this for some time. Col. Collins [Collier], the collector from San Francisco treated us with great courtesy, and I shall reluctantly bid these gentlemen good-bye, and start across the desert with forty-six men half mounted, one quarter the rations we should have had, mules jaded, but the men, thank God, all in good health.
October 17th. We went only two miles to our first camp, but today came twelve up the river, through a cotton-wood bottom; on the road we heard that Captain Thorn had been drowned. The canoe in which he was making his last trip, was capsized, and one of the Mexicans, who could not swim, seized him in such a manner that he could not shake him off, nor hold him so as to save him, and they went down together. So ends the life of an officer of distinction, whose quiet, gentlemanly manner won from me my admiration and good-fellowship during the few hours of intercourse we had enjoyed.
We passed one or two Indian huts, all Yumas; they were scarcely friendly, and our trading was very limited. I saw three about to cross the river, here like the Ohio when it has low banks, but muddy. They had a float of dried rushes on which they put their few garments; the two men stripped without hesitation, but the squaw seemed a good deal put out at our presence; she commenced undoing her sarape two or three times; eventually with a laugh and joke with her companions, she waded into the muddy stream until the water nearly touched her garment, and then with great rapidity and grace removed it, the same instant sinking into the water so quickly, that her person was not in the least exposed; and she swam the river fully as rapidly as her associates.
October 18th. We encamped a few miles further on with nothing for our horses, and morning saw us tramping over dust and sand, to the sand hills twelve miles distant. When we reached them, I mounted one of them to see how our road lay; immediately the rolling sand hills of the Carolina coasts were brought to mind; there was not a tree to be seen, nor the least sign of vegetation, and the sun pouring down on us made our journey seem twice the length it really was.
[No date.] We encamped at the wells [Cooke's Wells], and started out at two in the morning to go thirty-six miles to the next grass, having given our animals a good feed of musquit beans, which we found in great abundance, about five miles below us. We went on well until we came to the lagoons, and truly here was a scene of desolation. Broken wagons, dead shrivelled-up cattle, horses and mules as well, lay baking in the sun, around the dried-up wells that had been opened, in the hopes of getting water. Not a blade of grass or green thing of any kind relieved the monotony of the parched, ash-colored earth, and the most melancholy scene presented itself that I have seen since I left the Rio Grande.
We turned to our road at twelve o'clock, the sun blazing down on us, and expecting to go nine miles more without water; I feared the mules would never do it, but about two miles further on, we came to good water, and after a short rest on we went for seven more, when we found shade, and a good supper, for the Sergeant's guard here had killed a wild cow, and made us a present of part of it. The thirty-six miles had been made, and the worst part of the road was past.