Vanished Arizona: Recollections of the Army Life by a New England WomanSummerhayes, Martha
History
Vanished Arizona: Recollections of the Army Life by a New England Woman
Summerhayes, Martha
Arizona -- Biography; Arizona -- Description and travel; Summerhayes, Martha, 1844-1926; United States. Army -- Military life
I had been brought up in a flat country down near the sea, and I did not
know the dangers of mountain travelling, nor the difficulties attending
the piloting of a six-mule team down a road like that. From this time
on, however, Smith rose in my estimation. I seemed also to be realizing
that the Southwest was a great country and that there was much to learn
about. Life out there was beginning to interest me.
Camp Verde lay sixteen miles farther on; no one knew if the road were
good or bad. I declared I could not travel another mile, even if
they all went on and left me to the wolves and the darkness of Beaver
Springs.
We looked to our provisions and took account of stock. There was not
enough for the two families. We had no flour and no bread; there was
only a small piece of bacon, six potatoes, some condensed milk, and some
chocolate. The Baileys decided to go on; for Mrs. Bailey was to meet her
sister at Verde and her parents at Whipple. We said good-bye, and their
ambulance rolled away. Our tent was pitched and the baby was laid on the
bed, asleep from pure exhaustion.
The dread darkness of night descended upon us, and the strange odors of
the bottom-lands arose, mingling with the delicious smoky smell of the
camp-fire.
By the light of the blazing mesquite wood, we now divided what
provisions we had, into two portions: one for supper, and one for
breakfast. A very light meal we had that evening, and I arose from the
mess-table unsatisfied and hungry.
Jack and I sat down by the camp-fire, musing over the hard times we were
having, when suddenly I heard a terrified cry from my little son. We
rushed to the tent, lighted a candle, and oh! horror upon horrors!
his head and face were covered with large black ants; he was wailing
helplessly, and beating the air with his tiny arms.
"My God!" cried Jack, "we're camped over an ant-hill!"
I seized the child, and brushing off the ants as I fled, brought him out
to the fire, where by its light I succeeded in getting rid of them all.
But the horror of it! Can any mother brought up in God's country with
kind nurses and loved ones to minister to her child, for a moment
imagine how I felt when I saw those hideous, three-bodied, long-legged
black ants crawling over my baby's face? After a lapse of years, I
cannot recall that moment without a shudder.
The soldiers at last found a place which seemed to be free from
ant-hills, and our tent was again pitched, but only to find that the
venomous things swarmed over us as soon as we lay down to rest.
And so, after the fashion of the Missouri emigrant, we climbed into the
ambulance and lay down upon our blankets in the bottom of it, and tried
to believe we were comfortable.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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