“We found that there were those among the Apaches who were ready to tear us in pieces when we left, and they only wanted a few more to unite with them, to put an end to our lives at once. They now broke forth in the most insulting language to us, and to the remainder of the tribe for bargaining us away. Some laughed, a few among the children, who had received a care and attention from us denied by their natural parents, cried, and a general pow-wow rent the air as we started upon another three hundred miles’ trip.”
CHAPTER IV.
The Journey of three hundred and fifty Miles to the Mohave Valley—The Means of Subsistence during the Time—The Conduct of the Mohaves compared with the Apaches—Arrive at the Valley—The Village—The Chief’s Residence—Their Joy at the Return of Topeka, their Daughter—The Greeting of the new Captives—One Year of Labor and Suffering—The Overflowing of the Colorado—Their Dependence upon it—Their Habits—Cultivation of the Soil—Scarcity of Provisions—Starvation—Mary Ann—Her Decline—Olive’s Care, Grief, and Efforts to save her life—Dies of Famine—Many of the Indian Children die—Burial of Mary Ann—The Sympathy and Sorrow of the Chief’s Wife.
“We were informed at the outset that we had three hundred and fifty miles before us, and all to be made on foot. Our route we soon found to be in no way preferable to the one by which the Apache village had been reached. It was now about the first day of March, 1852. One year had been spent by us in a condition the most abject, the most desolate, with treatment the most cruel that barbarity and hate could invent, and this all endured without the privilege of a word from ourselves to turn the scale in this direction or that, in a rugged, rocky country, filled with bare mountains or lesser hills with slight vegetation, and that tame and tasteless, or irregular piles of boulders and gravel beds; we were now being hurried on under Indian guardianship alone, we knew not where nor for what purpose. We had not proceeded far ere it was painfully impressed upon our feet, if not our aching hearts, that this trail to a second captivity was no improvement on the first, whatever might be the fate awaiting us at its termination. We had been under tutorage for one whole year in burden bearing, and labor even beyond our strength, but a long walk or run, as this proved, we had not been driven to during that time.
“Mary Ann, poor girl, entered upon this trip with less strength or fortitude to encounter its hardships than the one before. She had not proceeded far before I saw plainly that she would not be able to stand it long. With the many appearances of kindness that our present overseers put on, yet they seemed to be utterly destitute of any heart or will to enter into the feelings of those who had been brought up more delicately than themselves, or to understand their inability to perform the task dictated by their rough and hardy habits. Our feet soon became sore, and we were unable, on the second day after about noon, to keep up with their rapid pace. A small piece of meat was put into our hands on starting, and this with the roots we were allowed to dig, and these but few, was our sole subsistence for ten days.
“With much complaining, and some threatening from our recent captors, we were allowed to rest on the second day a short time. After this we were not compelled to go more than thirty-five miles any one day, and pieces of skins were furnished for our feet, but not until they had been needlessly bruised and mangled without them. The nights were cool, and, contrary to our expectations, the daughter of the chief showed us kindness throughout the journey by sharing her blankets with us at each camp.
“Of all rough, uncouth, irregular, and unattractive countries through which human beings trail, the one through which that ten days’ march led us, must remain unsurpassed.
“On the eleventh day, about two hours before sunset, we made a bold steep ascent (and of such we had been permitted to climb many) from which we had an extensive view on either side.
“Before us, commencing a little from the foot of our declivity, lay a narrow valley covered with a carpet of green, stretching a distance, seemingly, of twenty miles. On either side were the high, irregularly sloped mountains, with their foot hills robed in the same bright green as the valley, and with their bald humpbacks and sharp peaks, treeless, verdureless, and desolate, as if the tempests of ages had poured their rage upon their sides and summits.