For eighteen hundred miles the Mormon Battalion members had made a hard and weary march. Starting from Nauvoo, on the Mississippi River—the "father of waters"—as exiles, they had passed over a lovely country, yet at a season of the year when travel was difficult, to the Missouri River. At the latter point the battalion was mustered into service, and moved over an excellent country two hundred miles to Fort Leavenworth; thence through what is now the state of Kansas, passing over a goodly land to the Great Plains, a timberless country, where water is scarce. There they began to be footsore and leg-weary, and to suffer severely from heat and thirst. Soon they came to the desert, and for nine days tried cooking their shortened rations over "buffalo chip" fires, with fuel even scarcer than it was poor; often having very little water, and that brackish, so that men and hearts began to grow weak and ill.
At this point in the long journey they commenced passing the open graves of soldiers, many of whom laid down their lives in the advance companies. Their graves were open for the reason that wolves had dug up the dead bodies and devoured the flesh from the bones; the blankets in which the bodies were wrapped were torn to shreds, while in some instances the carcass still hung together, except that the fingers and toes had been eaten off by wild beasts. The road was also strewn with dead horses and cattle, so that as the battalion advanced the gruesome sights became more frequent and therefore excited less comment. And in turn the battalion contributed a share of dead to the lonely graves of the plains.
Then, on the sandy roads, there was the rough order to put the shoulder to the wheel and help the jaded teams; and the battalion waded creeks and rivers with quicksand bottoms, or lifted or pulled at ropes in lowering or raising their wagons over rough and precipitous places—in what appeared at that time a rough and worthless country, which may not have changed greatly since.
At times they were called forward to tramp sand roads for teams, and then to return and pull at ropes or push at wagons which, without assistance, the teams could not control. Then when Santa Fe was passed the journey was proceeded upon with reduced rations, down the difficult country along the Rio Grande del Norte. Onward the struggle continued, over sandy deserts and through a rough, mountainous region, where the hardships were intense, and where there seemed no eye to pity and no hand to pass even a drop of water to moisten the parching tongue. It was not human capability, it was the divine power that sustained them in such extremities as they had to endure.
It was thus the renowned Mormon Battalion toiled and struggled on their journey to the summit of the lofty Rocky Mountain range—the crest of the continent—a journey whose details of privation, and peril, and patient courage, cannot be told in human words, and never can be realized except by those who experienced it. So many lofty mountain spurs had been crossed, that the final ascent seemed quite gradual.
Leaving now this general survey of the past, I recall that from the lofty eminence we had reached on our march, the descent was very abrupt and difficult, through the rugged defiles to the west. But with the battalion it was a case of life and death. That was no place to remain, there was no earthly help at hand, no way to life open but to trust in God and persevere in the onward movement. So with the pick-axe and crow-bar we commenced to clear the most feasible road down by chopping away the shrubbery and brush and removing that and the rocks.
After much of the baggage had been taken down the mountain one way by pack animals, long ropes and guy-ropes were attached to the wagons and the descent with them began by another way. The wagons were lowered for a distance of half a mile or so, men standing as best they could on the mountain side, letting the vehicle down gradually, then holding it till other men could get a fresh footing and lower it still further. Thus one by one the wagons were let down in safety, all but one. By some mishap that got adrift from the men, and to save their lives they had to let it go until there was nothing of it but scrap-iron and kindling-wood. As there was already an abundance of the latter around us, no one was desirous of descending to the rugged depths of the ravine to secure even a relic of that terrible descent.
It was thought by our commander and guides that it would require from six to eight days to make the descent, but thanks to the tact and skill of some of our men who had been accustomed to frontier life, the work was done in two days, and we were again where the wagons could stand on partially level ground.
In a very brief space of time we found ourselves plunged into a warm climate, where we could not see any plant or shrub that we had been acquainted with before. There was some small, scrubby ash, sycamore and black walnut, but everything, even to the rocks, had a strange appearance. We also had entered the land of wild horses and cattle, which roamed the hills by thousands. The wild cattle became excited at the rumbling wagons, and gathered thickly along our way.
At last the muskets commenced to rattle, partly through fear, and partly because we wanted beef. Finally a herd of wild cattle charged our line, tossed some men into the air, pierced others with their horns, knocking some down, and ran over others, attacking one light wagon, the hind end of which was lifted clear from the road. One large bull plunged into a six-mule team, ran his head under the off-swing mule, throwing him entirely over the near one and thrusting his horn into the mule's vitals, injuring our animal so it had to be left on the ground, where it expired in a few minutes. There were several men and mules roughly used and bruised, just the number I do not now recall. The attacking party lost twenty or twenty-five of their number killed, with many others badly or slightly wounded.
We had plenty of beef for a few days, and might have secured much more. I never understood the reason why we were not allowed to lay by and "jerk" an abundance of meat for the subsequent use of the command, but the stop was not permitted. Many of the men felt greatly disappointed and indignant because we were denied the privilege of availing ourselves of this splendid opportunity of replenishing our scanty rations. We were half starving at the time, and perhaps if we had been allowed to lay by a few days we would have gorged ourselves to our injury. It may be that would have been more serious than to have stormed, as some did, at being ordered to march on. It is possible this was the view taken by our commander, though we never knew.
Continuing our advance to lower levels, the climate was mild and pleasant. Our course was northwesterly until we passed a deserted ranch called San Bernardino, in what is now Arizona, and followed down the San Pedro River. I think this was the south fork of the Gila River. There was some good country along this lovely stream. It was there we first saw the mescal and mesquit, the former being the plant from which the Mexicans distil their whisky (pulque), the latter a tree somewhat resembling the black locust, but growing with a very spreading habit, making it difficult to travel among. In many places it had to be cut down and cleared away before we could proceed. There was another scrubby tree-growth which the Spaniards call chapparal. This brush grew very thick in places, so that in cutting it away travel became very tedious.
Here the guides told Colonel Cooke that if we followed along the stream it would be a hundred miles farther than if we cut across the bend, but if we took the latter route we would have to pass through a Mexican fortified town, where a body of soldiers had been left to guard it as an outpost. At that time it was impossible for us to learn the strength of the place; but it was thought that we might get some supplies of provisions and some animals. At the same time there was considerable risk that we would have to fight, and perhaps get defeated, in which case it would be not only a loss of property but of life as well.
On December 12 and 13 we followed down the San Pedro, our course being nearly due north, near the base of a mountain extending towards the Gila River. The guide, Leroux, with others, returned from an exploration of the table-land to the west, leading to Tucson. They found a party of Apache Indians and some Mexicans distilling mescal, and learned from them that the Mexican garrison at Tucson numbered about two hundred men. The interpreter with the guides, Dr. Foster, had thought it proper to go to Tucson, and Leroux told the Mexicans to inform the commander at Tucson that an American army was approaching en route to California;