VI
CROSSING THE RIVER
Two days after my arrival at the Territorial capital I was ordered toproceed alone to Los Pinos, a town two hundred miles south, in thevalley of the Rio Grande, and report to Captain Bayard, commandingofficer of a column preparing for a march to Arizona.
On reaching Algodones, on the eastern bank of the great river, I wasvisited by a Catholic priest. He told me that Manuel Perea, theMexican lad with whom the boy corporals were so friendly at Santa Fe,was a prisoner in the hands of Elarnagan, a chief of the Navajos. Hebegged me to assist in his release, and I promised to do all I could,consistently with my military duty. Two days after arriving at LosPinos, where I found a troop of California volunteer cavalry and alsoanother troop of New Mexican volunteers, the boy corporalsunexpectedly arrived. Colonel Burton had changed his plans and hadallowed them to accompany me. They at once asked to be assigned toduty, and I promised to consult with Captain Bayard.
My interview with him concluded, I returned to my tent and found theboys busy in fitting up two cot bedsteads, spreading mats before them,hanging a small mirror to the rear tent-pole, and arranging theirmarching outfit as they proposed to set it up at every encampmentbetween the Rio Grande and Prescott.
"Did you have this tent pitched for our use, sir?" asked Henry.
"I did not know you were coming, corporal, so that is impossible. Yourtent was placed here some days ago by the post commander, for theaccommodation of visiting officers who have since gone. Captain Bayardhas assigned it to you."
"Then we are to have the tent to ourselves?"
"Yes."
"Isn't that just jolly, Frank?"
"Fine. To-morrow we'll place a short rail across the back for oursaddles and saddle-blankets, two pegs in the tent-pole for bridles,and raise a box somewhere for curry-combs and brushes."
"Can't we have Vic here, too, sir?" asked Henry.
"And leave me all alone?" I replied.
"You wouldn't mind it, would you, sir?"
"Well, I'll leave it to Vic. You may make a bed for her, and we'll seewhich she will occupy--yours, or her old bed near mine."
"All right, sir; we'll try it to-night."
"Now something about yourselves, boys. Your tent is to be alwayspitched on the left of mine; you are to take your meals with theofficers, and your ponies will be taken care of by one of the menwho--"
"That will not do, sir," interrupted Frank. "Father has alwaysrequired us to take care of our arms, clothing, and horses like othersoldiers, just as we always did in the valleys, you know. He says anofficer who rides on a march, particularly an infantry officer, shouldnot require a soldier who has marched on foot to wait upon him."
"Very well; do as you choose."
I returned to my own tent and went to bed. Placing two candles on asupport near my pillow, I tucked the lower edge of the mosquito-barunder the edge of my mattress, and, settling back comfortably,proceeded to read the last instalment of news from "the States"--newswhich had been fifteen days on the way from the Missouri. As I read ofbattle, siege, and march I was conscious that the boys were havingsome difficulty in inducing Vic to remain with them. When at last allwas quiet, except their regular and restful breathing, a soft nose wasthrust up to my pillow, and I opened an aperture in the netting largeenough to exchange affectionate greetings, and Vic cuddled down on herbed beside mine and went to sleep. This was always her customthereafter. While she was very fond of the boys, and spent most of herwaking hours with them, no persuasion or blandishments could preventher, when she knew the boys had dropped into unconsciousness, fromreturning to my tent, offering me a good-night assurance of herunchanged affection, and going to sleep upon her old bed.
The time had now come for us to begin our march to Arizona. Company Fhad arrived, and the boy corporals were again in possession of theirbeautiful horses. Grain, hay, and careful attendance had put newgraces into the ponies' shapes, and kind treatment had developed ineach a warm attachment for its young master.
The first day of our march was spent in crossing the Rio Grande delNorte and making camp four miles beyond the opposite landing. Therewas a ferry-boat at Los Pinos, operated by the soldiers of the post,capable of taking over four wagons at a time.
We rose at an earlier hour than usual, and by daybreak our train ofeighty-nine wagons, drawn by five hundred and thirty-four mules, wason its way to the river. The two boy corporals joined me as I followedthe last wagon. Mounted on their handsome animals, with carbines ontheir right hips, revolvers in their belts, portmanteaus behind theirsaddles, and saddle-pouches on each side, they were, indeed, verywarlike in appearance.
The two detachments of cavalry and their officers, accompanied by apaymaster and a surgeon, proceeded at once to the river, crossed andwent into camp, leaving the infantry and its officers to perform thelabor of transferring, from one shore to the other, wagons and mules,a herd of three hundred beef cattle, and a flock of eight hundredsheep. The boy corporals also remained behind to act as messengers,should any be required.
Mules and oxen swam the stream, but the sheep were boated across. Onthe last trip over our attention was attracted by a sudden shoutingup-stream, followed by a rapid discharge of fire-arms. In the river,less than a quarter of a mile distant, were several objects makingtheir way towards the western shore. When near the bank, and inshoaling water, we saw the objects rise, until three Indians and threeponies stood revealed. As soon as they reached the shore the mensprang into their saddles and rode rapidly away.
A shout from our rear caused us to look towards the shore we had justleft, and we saw the post-adjutant sitting on his horse on theembankment. He said: "Three Navajos have escaped from the guard. Sendword to Captain Bayard to try to recapture them. If they get away theywill rouse their people against you, and your march through theircountry will be difficult."
"MOUNTED, THE BOYS PRESENTED A WARLIKE APPEARANCE"]
I wrote a brief message, handed it to Corporal Frank, and when theboat touched the western landing he dashed off at full speed in thedirection of camp.
The afternoon was well advanced when Henry and I, with the infantry,entered the first camp of our march. We found Frank awaiting ourarrival, and learned from him that Captain Bayard had sent twodetachments of cavalry in pursuit of the Indians, and that they hadreturned after a fruitless attempt to follow the trail.
On our first evening in camp many of the officers and civiliansgathered in groups about the fires for protection against themosquitoes, to smoke, to discuss the route, and to relate incidents ofother marches. Captain Bayard took from his baggage a violin, and,retiring a little apart, sawed desperately at a difficult andapparently unconquerable exercise. There I found him at the end of atour of inspection of train and animals, and obtained his sanction toa plan for the employment of the boy corporals.
I proceeded to tell the boys what their duties would be. CorporalFrank was to see to the providing of wood, water, and grass while wewere on the march. He was further instructed that he was to conformhis movements to mine, and act as my messenger between the train, themain body, and the rear guard. These were to be his regular duties,but he was to hold himself in readiness for other service, and be onthe alert for any emergency.
The odometer with which to measure the distance to Prescott was placedin charge of Corporal Henry, and he was told to strap this to thespokes near the hub of the right hind wheel of the last wagon in thetrain, taking care that the wagon should start from the same pointwhere it had turned from the main road into camp the previous day. Hewas to report the distance we had marched to the commanding officer atguard-mounting, which, on the march, always takes place in the eveninginstead of morning, as at posts and permanent camps. After reachingFort Wingate, and taking up the march beyond, he would ride with theadvance, and act as messenger of communication with the rear; butuntil then he would ride with his brother and me.
The next morning found all ready for a start at three o'clock. The boycorporals found it a hardship
to be wakened out of a sound sleep towash and dress by starlight and sit down to a breakfast-table lightedby dim lanterns. There was little conversation. All stood about thecamp-fires in light overcoats or capes, for Western nights are alwayscool.
When the boys and I started to ride out of camp we were, for a fewmoments, on the flank of the infantry company. It was noticeable thatalthough the men were marching at "route step," when they are notrequired to preserve silence, few of them spoke, and very rarely, andthey moved quite slowly. Corporal Henry, at the end of a prolongedyawn, asked, "Are we going to start at this hour every morning, sir?"
"Yes, usually," I replied.
"How far do we go to-day, Frank?"
"Eighteen miles is the scheduled distance," answered Frank.
"How fast do men march?"
"Three miles an hour," said I.
"Then we shall be in camp by ten o'clock. I don't see the sense ofyanking a fellow out of bed in the night."
"Of course, Henry, there's a good reason for everything done in thearmy," observed Frank, with soldierly loyalty.
"Where's the sense of marching in the dark when the whole distance canbe done in six hours, and the sun rises at five and sets at seven? Iprefer daylight."
Evidently our youngest corporal had not had his sleep out, and was outof humor.
"Will you please explain, sir?" asked Frank.
"With pleasure," I answered. "It is more comfortable to march in theearly morning, when it is cool. Marches rarely exceed fifteen ortwenty miles a day, except where the distance between watering-placesis more than that. Sometimes we are obliged to march forty miles aday."
"Seems to me the officers are very tender of the men," observed thesleepy Henry. "Fifteen and twenty miles a day, and five or six hourson the road, can't tire them much."
"Why not try a march on foot, Henry?" suggested his brother. "It mightprove a useful experience."
"Let me suggest something better," said I. "Tie your pony to the backof that wagon, and crawl in on top of the bedding and have your napout."
Henry disdained to reply, but with a long and shivering yawn relapsedinto silence.
In a little more than six hours we reached the Rio Puerco, and fordedits roily, brackish current to a camping-place on the other side.Harry, who with daylight and warmth had recovered his good-humor,examined the odometer and reported the distance travelled to be 18.65miles. He entered in his note-book that the Spanish name Puerco meant,as a noun, hog, and as an adjective, dirty. He thought the river wellnamed. He also mentioned that on the eastern side of the stream therewas an excellent camping-place, but that much pains had been taken toford it to a very poor one. After pondering this apparentlyunreasonable movement he asked: "Why did we not camp on that grassypark on the opposite side?"
"I suppose it appears to you there can be no good reason for crossingto this side?" I asked, in reply.
"It does seem even more absurd than starting on a march just aftermidnight--something like going into a wood-shed to rest on a wood-pilewhen one could as well go into a parlor and rest on a divan."
"And certainly," added Frank, "we have gained nothing in distance incrossing. The march is to be short to-morrow."
"Still, boys, there is quite as good a reason for doing this as forstarting early to avoid the heat of the day. These Far Western streamshave a trick of rising suddenly; very rarely, to be sure, butfrequently enough to cause commanding officers to be on their guard. Arainfall fifty or seventy-five miles up-stream might send down avolume of water that would make it impassable for several hours orseveral days, according as the fall is large or small; so the rule inthe army is, 'cross a stream before camping.'"
"Have you ever been caught by a rise, sir?"
"Twice. Once on this very stream, near its mouth. I was in command ofa small escort to a train. The wagon-master advised me to cross, but Iwas tempted by a fine meadow on the lower side, in contrast to a roughplace on the opposite side, to take my chances. I was compelled toremain there five days. The other delay was on the Gallina; but thatwas rising when we approached and we had no choice about crossing. Wewere delayed that time but two days."
"I heard the paymaster and surgeon grumbling about the folly ofcrossing just now," said Frank.
"Very likely; this is their first march in the Far West."
"The captain and lieutenants heard them, but did not explain, as youhave. Why was that?"
"There are two reasons. One is that in the army, as well as out of it,'tenderfeet' are left to learn by experience; the other is that oursurgeon resents being cautioned or advised. Now, boys, after dinneryou had better take a _siesta_. By doing so you will find it lessdifficult to make an early start to-morrow morning."
"Thank you," replied Frank. "Tom Clary and George Hoey have told usthat a nap is the correct thing after dinner on the march. Henry and Iare going to try it."
"I am sorry, sir," added Henry, "that I was so ill-humored thismorning. I will try to do as the soldiers do when they first startout--say nothing till day breaks."
"The early start was a surprise to you; you will be prepared for ithereafter."
A reverberating peal of thunder interrupted our conversation andcaused us to glance towards the west. There we saw a mass of darkclouds rolling down upon us. Bolt after bolt of lightning zigzaggedacross the sky and from sky to earth, and peal after peal of thundercrashed upon our ears.
Captured by the Navajos Page 6
