I started four days before winter, practically without money, to support, from earnings only, myself and dumb partner from New York city to San Francisco.
It required twelve weeks to traverse the Empire State, through a severe season when and where I suffered the most. The delightful part of the journey was while crossing the Rockies. Instead of taking the shortest cut, I had to consider the towns where I might best make expenses, to look for the best roads and desert trails by springs. Three times when lost I traveled far out of my course, once twenty miles into a mountain forest.
It is only five days across by rail. Have you traveled it—in summer? How monotonous grew those seas of alkali, sand (rock waste), cacti and sage as the hours lengthened into days! Yet with comfortable beds, shade, meals served, cool drinks, and books to read, at times feeling yourself speeding through the air a mile to the minute, you wearied of the "voyage." Five days! Multiply them into weeks, then into months, double and add five weeks—forty-nine weeks! Fancy yourself for such a period on a slow burro which walks half your natural pace, and so small that if you wear roller skates while in the saddle you may ease the animal; ride one mile astride; when you feel about to split, ride the second mile side-ways; when your back feels ready to break, ride the third mile Turkish fashion; by this time your legs are benumbed and your feet asleep, so walk a mile and carry the jackass; you will thereby quiet your nerves, rest your bones, and make better time.
If ever you are tempted to ride a donkey overland, refrain. Rather creep across backwards on your hands and knees, or circumnavigate the globe in a washtub. If you still persist, why, ride a donkey twenty miles in a pouring rain, then follow your own judgment. If you wish my donkey's advice, I will introduce him. His head is longer than his ears, which was not the case when he set out with me.
R. P. W.
larger
"I bade my friends farewell."