The Desert Home: The Adventures of a Lost Family in the Wilderness

“We were all for a while as if paralysed. Between the shoulders of the ox, and clutching him around the neck, was a large animal. It at first sight appeared to be a mass of brown shaggy hair, and part of the ox himself – so closely was it fastened upon him. As they drew nearer, however, we could distinguish the spreading claws and short muscular limbs of a fearful creature. Its head was down near the throat of the ox, which we could see was torn, and dappled with crimson spots. The mouth of the strange animal was resting upon his jugular vein. It was tearing his flesh, and drinking his blood as he ran!

“The ox, as he came out of the thicket, galloped but slowly, and bellowed with less energy than before. We could perceive that he tottered as he ran, still making for the camp. In a short time, he was in our midst, when, uttering a long moan, he fell to the earth with the death-rattle in his throat!

“The strange animal, roused by the shock, suddenly let go its hold, and raised itself erect over the carcass. Now, for the first time, I saw what it was. It was the fearful carcajou! Now, too, for the first time, it seemed to be aware of our presence, and suddenly placed itself in an attitude to spring. The next moment it had launched its body towards Mary and the children!

“We all three fired as it sprang forward, but our feelings had unnerved us, and the bullets whistled idly away. I drew my knife and rushed after; but Cudjo was before me, and I saw the blade of his spear glancing towards it like a flash of light, and burying itself in the long hair. With a hoarse growl, the monster turned, and, to my joy, I saw that it was impaled upon the spear, which had passed through the skin of its neck. Instead of yielding, however, it rushed up the shaft, until Cudjo was compelled to drop the weapon, to save himself from being torn by its long, fierce claws. Before it could clear itself from the spear, I had drawn my large pistol, and fired directly into its breast. The shot proved mortal; and the shaggy monster rolled over, and struggled for some minutes in the agonies of death. We were saved; but our poor ox, that was to have drawn us out of the Desert, lay upon the grass a lifeless and almost bloodless carcase!”

Chapter Fifteen.

A fruitless Search for a Trail

“Our hopes of being able to get away from the oasis valley were thus crushed in a moment. The horse could not of himself draw the wagon, and how could we travel without it? Even could we have crossed the Desert on foot, he would hardly suffice to carry our food and water. But for us to pass one of those terrible stretches of wilderness – by the Spaniards called ‘jornadas’ – on foot was out of the question. Even the strongest and hardiest of the trappers often perish in such attempts; and how should we succeed – one of us being a delicate female – and having two children that must be carried in our arms? The thing was plainly impossible; and as I reflected upon it, the thoughts of its impossibility filled me with despair.

“But were we never to escape from that lonely spot? What prospect was before us of ever being able to leave it? No human beings might come to our relief. Perhaps no human foot except our own had ever made its track in that remote valley! This was not at all improbable; and indeed a party of hunters or Indians, on their journey across the Desert, might visit the mountain without discovering the valley, – so strangely was it hollowed out of the plain.

“I had but little hope that any caravan or party of traders would pass that way. The Desert that surrounded us was a sufficient barrier against that; besides, I knew that the mountain was far to the southward of the trails usually followed by the prairie traders. There was but one hope that I could cling to with any degree of confidence: that was, that the Desert might not stretch so far to the south or west as it appeared to do; and by breaking up the wagon, and making a light cart out of it, we might still be able to cross it. I was determined, therefore, first to go alone, and explore the route in both these directions. If it should appear practicable, I could return, and put this design into execution.

“Next morning, having loaded my horse with provisions, and as much water as he could well carry, I took an affectionate leave of my wife and little ones; and, commending them to the protection of God, I mounted, and rode off toward the west. I headed in this direction for a day and a half, and still the waste stretched to the horizon before me. I had made but a short journey, for the path led through ridges and hillocks of moving sand, and my horse sank to the knees at every step. In the afternoon of the second day, I turned back from the attempt, fearful that I should not be able to regain the valley. But I succeeded at length, – both myself and horse almost dead with thirst on arriving there.

“I found my little party all well, as I had left them; but I had brought them no glad tidings, and I sat down in the midst of them with a feeling of despair.

“My next reconnoissance was to be to the south; and I only waited until my jaded horse might be sufficiently rested for another journey.

“Another day passed, and I was sitting upon a log near the fire, reflecting upon the dark future that lay before us. I was filled with despondency, and took no note of what was passing around. When I had sat in this way for some time, I felt a light hand touching me upon the shoulder; and, looking up, I saw that Mary had seated herself upon the log beside me, while a smile of cheerfulness and composure was playing upon her features.

“I saw that she had something in her mind that she was about to communicate to me.

“‘What is it, Mary?’ I asked.

“‘Is not this a lovely spot?’ said she, waving her hand so as to indicate the whole scene by which we were surrounded. My eyes, along with hers, roamed for a moment over the fair picture, and I could not do otherwise than answer in the affirmative. It was, indeed, a lovely spot. The open glade, with the golden sun streaming down upon its green herbage, and vivid flowers – the varied tints of the forest frondage, now dressed in the brilliant lively of autumn – the cliffs beyond, contrasting with it in colour from their lining of dark-green cedars and pines – and, higher still, the snow-white summit, as it towered against the blue sky, sparkling under the sun, and lending a delicious coolness to the air – all these objects formed a panorama that was indeed lovely to look upon. And there were sweet sounds falling upon the ear – the murmur of distant waters – the light rustling of leaves, stirred by a soft breeze that blew past laden with the aromatic odours of buds and flowers – the music of birds that sang to each other in the groves, or uttered their joyous calls as they flapped their bright wings over the open glade.

“‘Yes, Mary,’ I replied, ‘it is indeed a lovely spot.’

“‘Then, Robert,’ said she, with a look of strange meaning, ‘why should we be so anxious to leave it?’

“‘Why?’ I repeated mechanically after her, wondering at the question.

“‘Yes, why?’ continued my wife. ‘We are in search of a home – why not make this our home? Where can we find a better? How know we that in that land whither we were going, we may find one so good – if, indeed, they give us a home at all?’

“‘But, dear Mary,’ said I, ‘how could you live away from the world – you who have been brought up in the midst of society and its refinements?’

“‘The world!’ replied she, ‘what care we for the world? Have we not our children with us? They will be our world, and we can be society enough for each other. Moreover,’ continued she, ‘remember how little we have in that world, – remember how it has used us so far. Have we been happy in it? No, I have enjoyed more happiness here than I ever did in the midst of that society, of which you speak. Think, Robert! reflect before we rashly leave this lovely spot – this sweet home – into which I can almost believe the hand of God has guided us.’

“‘But, Mary, you have not thought of the difficulties, the hardships to which such a life may expose you.’

“‘I have,’ she replied. ‘I have thought of all these while you were absent. I can see no difficulty in our procuring a subsistence here. The Creator has bountifully stocked this singular oasis. We may easily obtain all the necessaries of life – for its luxuries I care but little. We can live without them.’

“Her words produced a strange effect upon me. Up to that moment the idea of remaining in the oasis had never entered my mind. I had only occupied myself with speculating on the means by which we could escape from it. Now, however, a sudden change came over my thoughts; and I began to think seriously of following the counsel of my self-sacrificing companion. The harsh treatment we had received at the hands of civilised man – buffeted about by ill fortune – continually deceived, and at every step becoming poorer and more dependent, all had their effect in blunting that desire I should otherwise have felt to get back to the world. I was not averse then to the idea, but rather ready to fall at once into the plan.

“I remained silent for a length of time, casting over in my mind the possibility of our carrying out such a scheme – the chances of our being able to procure subsistence. It was evident there was plenty of game in the valley. We had occasionally seen deer of different species, and we had also discovered the tracks of other animals. There were pheasants and turkeys, too, in abundance. We had our rifles, and by good fortune a large stock of ammunition – for, besides my own, Harry and Frank had powder-horns containing nearly a pound each. But this in time would be expended – what then? Oh, what then? Before that I should find out some other mode of capturing our game. Besides, the valley might contain many other things intended to sustain life – roots and fruits. We had already found some indications of this; and Mary, who was an accomplished botanist, could tell the uses of them all. We should find both food and water. What more could we ask from the hand of Nature?

“As I ran these thoughts through my mind, the project became every moment more feasible. In fact, I grew quite as enthusiastic about it as my wife.

“Cudjo, Frank, and Harry, were brought into our council; and they, too, received the idea with delight. The faithful Cudjo was contented, as he alleged, with any lot, so long as he might share it with us. As for the boys they were in raptures with the thought of such a free wild life.

“We did not fully resolve upon anything for that day. We were determined not to act rashly, but to reflect seriously upon it, and to renew our deliberations on the following morning.

“During that night, however, a circumstance occurred, which at once fixed my resolution to remain in the valley – at least until some unforeseen chance might enable us to leave it with a better prospect of safety.”

Chapter Sixteen.

The Mysterious Flood

“Well, my friends, I shall now detail to you the strange incident, which at once decided me to adopt the suggestion of my wife, and make our home in the valley. Perhaps we did not, at the time, contemplate staying here for the remainder of our lives – but only for a few years. However, we resolved to remain for the present, and give our lonely life a fair trial, leaving the future an open question.

“The reason why I had hesitated at all upon the subject was this: – I could not think of settling down with no prospect of improving our condition; for, however much we might exercise our industry, its products could not enrich us beyond the satisfying of our own wants. We should have no market, thought I, for any superfluous produce, even could we cultivate the whole valley. We could, therefore, become no richer, and would never be in any fitter state to return to civilised society – for, in spite of all, a thought of this still remained in my mind.

“Mary, who was of a far more contented disposition than I, still persisted in arguing that as our happiness did not depend upon possessing riches, we would never desire to leave that lovely spot, and that, consequently, we should stand in no need of wealth.

“Perhaps hers was the true philosophy – at all events, it was the natural one. But the artificial wants of society implant within us the desire of accumulating individual property; and I could not rid myself of this provident feeling. ‘If we could only find some object,’ said I, ‘upon which we might be exercising our industry, so that our time should not be wasted, and by which we might prepare ourselves for returning to society, then might we live most happily here.’

“‘Who knows?’ said Mary, in reply to this; ‘there may be objects in this valley that may occupy us, and enable us to lay up the very store you speak of, as well as if we were to continue on to New Mexico. What opportunities should we have there better than here? We have nothing now to begin life with anywhere. Here we have food and land, which I think we may fairly call our own; there we should have neither. Here we have a home; and how know you, Robert, that we may not yet make a fortune in the Desert?’

“We both laughed at the idea; which, of course, Mary had meant only as a jest in order to render our prospects more cheering.

“It was now near midnight, for we had sat up to that late hour deliberating on what we should do. As I have said, we agreed to leave the matter undecided until the morrow. The moon was just appearing over the eastern cliff; and we were about rising to retire to our resting-places, when our eyes fell upon an object that caused us all at the same time to cry out with astonishment.

“I have said, that when we first entered this valley there was no lake here. Where you now see one, was a green sward, with here and there a coppice of trees, forming part of the little prairie in which we were encamped. The stream ran across it, as it still does through the lake; but at this point there were scarcely any banks, as the water flowed over a wide and shallow channel. On previous nights, when the moon was shining into the valley, as we sat around our camp fire, we had noticed the stream winding like a silver thread through the dark-green herbage. Now, to our extreme wonder, instead of the narrow line, a broad sheet of water glistened before us! It seemed to cover a space of several hundred yards in extent, reaching far up the glade towards our camp. Could it be water, or was it only the mirage– the fata morgana? No; it was not the latter. We had witnessed this before, on our passage across the great plains. We had witnessed it on several occasions, and it was nothing like what we now saw. There is a filmy, whitish appearance about the illusions of the mirage by which the experienced traveller can always distinguish it from the real. But there was nothing of that in the present instance. It was water that spread before us, – for the moon, that had now risen above the cliff, was plainly reflected upon its calm and glassy surface. Yes; it could be nothing but a sheet of water!” But we were determined not to trust to our eyes alone. We all ran towards it – Cudjo, the boys, and myself, – and in a few seconds we stood upon its edge – upon the edge of what appeared to be a large lake, formed as if by some magical influence!

“We had at first regarded the phenomenon only with feelings of wonder; but our wonder was now changed to consternation, when we perceived that the water was still rising! It ran in about our feet while we stood, rippling slowly against the gentle ascent like the influx of a tide.

“‘What could it mean?’ we asked of each other, with looks that betrayed our fears. Was it a flood – an inundation – a sudden swelling of the stream? This it plainly was, but what could have caused it? There had been no rain for several days before, and no great heat to have caused any unusual melting of the snow upon the mountain. What, then, could be the origin of this sudden and singular freshet? What could it mean?

“We stood for some time silent, with hearts beating audibly, – each looking at the others for an answer to this question. The solution seemed to strike us all at the same time, and a fearful one it was. Some terrible convulsion – the falling of the precipice perhaps – had dammed the cañon below; no doubt, had blocked up the great fissure by which the stream found its way from the valley. If such were the case, then, the valley would soon fill with water, not only to cover the ground occupied by our camp, but the tops of the highest trees!

“You will easily conceive the terror with which this thought was calculated to inspire us. We could think of no other cause for the strange inundation; nor, indeed, did we stay longer to consider of any, but ran back to the camp, determined to escape from the valley as soon as we could. Cudjo caught the horse, Mary awoke the children, and brought them out of the wagon, while the boys and I busied ourselves in collecting a few necessary things, that we might be enabled to carry along with us.

“Up to this time we had not thought of the difficulty – much less the impossibility – of escaping from the valley. To our horror, that now became clear as the sun at noon-day; for we perceived that the road by which we had entered the glade, and which lay along the stream, was completely covered, and the rising water reached far beyond it! There was no other path by which we could get out. To attempt cutting one through the thick tangled woods would be the work of days; moreover, we remembered that we had crossed the stream on the way to our camp, and that, of course, would now be swollen below, so that to re-cross it would be impossible. We had no doubt but that the valley, at its lower end, was by this time filled with water, and our retreat in that direction completely cut off! We knew of no other path!

“I cannot describe the state of mind into which we were thrown, when these facts became evident to one and all of us. We were about to start out from the camp, each of us carrying our burden; but it was plainly of no use making the attempt, and we let fall the various utensils with a feeling of despair. The water was still rising —the lake was growing larger!

“The wolves howled, driven from their lair by the encroaching element – birds, roused from their sleep, screamed and fluttered among the trees – our dogs barked at the strange sight – and, in the clear moonlight, we could see deer, and other wild animals, rushing, as if terrified, through the open glade. O God! were we to be engulfed, and perish in this mysterious flood?

“What was to be done? Should we climb into the trees? That would not save us. If the great channel was blocked up below, I knew that that would not save us; for its jaws were higher than the tops of the highest trees, and the rising flood would soon wash us from the branches. It might prolong our lives, and with them our despair; but what – ‘Ha!’ The thought, heaven-directed, at this moment entered my mind.

“‘A raft! a raft! we shall yet be saved!’

“My companions at once understood my meaning. Cudjo seized the axe, while Mary hastened to the wagon to collect such ropes and cords as were in it. I knew there would not be enough of these for our purpose; and, spreading out the great elk-skin, I proceeded to cut it into stripes.

“There were several logs lying close to our camp. They were the trunks of tall straight trees, that, from time to time, had fallen, and were now quite dead and dry. They were the trunks of the beautiful rhododendrons, or tulip-trees, out of which the Indians always make their canoes, when they can get them of sufficient size. This, because their wood is extremely soft and light – weighing only twenty-six pounds to the cubic foot. While busy myself, I directed Cudjo to cut a number of these logs into equal lengths. Cudjo knew how to handle an axe with any man; and the logs were soon of the proper dimensions. We now rolled them together, and, by the aid of our ropes and cross pieces, lashed them firmly to one another; and our raft was completed. Upon this we placed our great chest containing the jerked meat, with our blankets, and such utensils as were necessary to be saved. We laid in no stock of water for the expected voyage – we had no fear about our having enough of that.

“We had been occupied nearly two hours in constructing the raft; but during all this time we had been so busy, that we had hardly looked in the direction of the flood – only to see that it still continued to rise. As soon as our arrangements were completed, I ran down to the water’s edge. After watching it for a few minutes, to my great joy I perceived that the flood was at a stand! I shouted the glad news to my companions, who, on hearing it, hastened to join me, and assure themselves by actual observation. For half-an-hour, we all stood upon the shore of the new-formed lake, until we became convinced that its waters were rising no higher. We saw, too, that they did not subside, but remained stationary. ‘It has reached the top of whatever has dammed it,’ thought we, ‘and is now flowing over.’

“‘What a pity, Massa Roff,’ said Cudjo, as we wended our way back to the camp; ‘what a pity we make dat fine raff for nuffin!’

“‘Ah, Cudjo,’ rejoined my wife, ‘we should never regret having performed that which is a work of precaution; and we must remember that the raft – although it may not be required as we intended it – has already far more than repaid us for the labour bestowed upon it. Remember the misery we were suffering but a short time since, and from which the idea of this raft at once relieved us. Measures of precaution, however irksome, should always be adopted. It is only the slothful and vacillating who either neglect or regret them.’

“‘Dat’s true, Missa – dat’s berry true,’ said Cudjo, in a serious tone, for he well knew how to appreciate the teachings of his noble mistress.

“It was now very late, or rather very early, and Mary, with the children, returned to their usual resting-place in the wagon. Cudjo and I, fearing to trust to the capricious water, determined – lest it might take another turn, and ‘catch us napping’ – to keep watch on it till the morning.”

Chapter Seventeen.

The Beavers and Wolverene

“When daylight came, the mysterious flood was still standing at its full height. I call it mysterious, for as yet we knew nothing of what had so suddenly created it. We could think of no other cause than the falling in of the precipice below. I had determined, as soon as the day fairly broke, to make my way through the woods, and remove all doubt – for we still felt some uneasiness in regard to this strange phenomenon.

“Leaving Cudjo with his long spear, and the boys with their rifles, to guard the camp, I set forth alone. I took with me my gun, as well as a small hatchet which we had, to clear away a track through the brushwood.

“I struck at once into the woods, and guiding myself by an occasional glimpse of the sun that had now risen, I kept on in a south-easterly course. It was my intention to get out on the edge of the flood some distance below, when I could then skirt around it. After cutting my way through the brambles to the distance of nearly a mile, I came suddenly out upon the bank of the rivulet; and guess my surprise, on seeing that the stream was not only not swollen, but there was even less water than usual running in its channel! I noticed, however, that the water was muddy, and that green leaves and fresh broken twigs were floating down upon its current.

“Of course, I now turned my face up-stream, knowing that the dam must be in that direction; but, for my life, I could not imagine how any accident of Nature could have stopped up the channel above. The falling of trees could not possibly have produced such an effect; and there were no high bluffs abutting on the rivulet, that could have fallen into its bed. I began to believe that human hands had been at work; and I looked for the prints of human feet. I saw none, but the tracks of animals were numerous. Thousands of them, at least – great broad feet, webbed like those of a duck, but with sharp claws – were impressed in the sand and mud, all along the banks of the stream.

“I moved forward very cautiously; for, although I could not discover their tracks, I was still fearful that Indians, and of course enemies, were near. At length, I reached a bend in the stream, above which I remembered that the channel was narrower, and ran between banks of a considerable height. I remembered it well – for, on first entering the valley, we had been obliged at this place to draw the wagon out of the bed of the rivulet, and cut a way for it through the adjacent woods. No doubt, then, I would there find the obstacle that had so mysteriously intercepted the current.