With the grief which comes only at that time in one's life, and which sees no end and no limit, I parted from my friends at Camp MacDowell. Two years together, in the most intimate companionship, cut off from the outside world, and away from all early ties, had united us with indissoluble bonds,—and now we were to part,—forever as I thought.
We all wept; I embraced them all, and Jack lifted me into the ambulance; Mrs. Kendall gave a last kiss to our little boy; Donahue, our soldier-driver, loosened up his brakes, cracked his long whip, and away we went, down over the flat, through the dark MacDowell canon, with the chollas nodding to us as we passed, across the Salt River, and on across an open desert to Florence, forty miles or so to the southeast of us.
At Florence we sent our military transportation back and staid over a day at a tavern3 to rest. We met there a very agreeable and cultivated gentleman, Mr. Charles Poston, who was en route to his home, somewhere in the mountains nearby. We took the Tucson stage at sundown, and travelled all night. I heard afterwards more about Mr. Poston: he had attained4 some reputation in the literary world by writing about the Sun-worshippers of Asia. He had been a great traveller in his early life, but now had built himself some sort of a house in one of the desolate5 mountains which rose out of these vast plains of Arizona, hoisted6 his sun-flag on the top, there to pass the rest of his days. People out there said he was a sun-worshipper. I do not know. "But when I am tired of life and people," I thought, "this will not be the place I shall choose."
Arriving at Tucson, after a hot and tiresome7 night in the stage, we went to an old hostelry. Tucson looked attractive. Ancient civilization is always interesting to me.
Leaving me at the tavern, my husband drove out to Fort Lowell, to see about quarters and things in general. In a few hours he returned with the overwhelming news that he found a dispatch awaiting him at that post, ordering him to return immediately to his company at Camp MacDowell, as the Eighth Infantry8 was ordered to the Department of California.
Ordered "out" at last! I felt like jumping up onto the table, climbing onto the roof, dancing and singing and shouting for joy! Tired as we were (and I thought I had reached the limit), we were not too tired to take the first stage back for Florence, which left that evening. Those two nights on the Tucson stage are a blank in my memory. I got through them somehow.
In the morning, as we approached the town of Florence, the great blue army wagon9 containing our household goods, hove in sight—its white canvas cover stretched over hoops10, its six sturdy mules11 coming along at a good trot12, and Sergeant13 Stone cracking his long whip, to keep up a proper pace in the eyes of the Tucson stage-driver.
Jack called him to halt, and down went the Sergeant's big brakes. Both teams came to a stand-still, and we told the Sergeant the news. Bewilderment, surprise, joy, followed each other on the old Sergeant's countenance14. He turned his heavy team about, and promised to reach Camp MacDowell as soon as the animals could make it. At Florence, we left the stage, and went to the little tavern once more; the stage route did not lie in our direction, so we must hire a private conveyance15 to bring us to Camp MacDowell. Jack found a man who had a good pair of ponies16 and an open buckboard. Towards night we set forth17 to cross the plain which lies between Florence and the Salt River, due northwest by the map.
When I saw the driver I did not care much for his appearance. He did not inspire me with confidence, but the ponies looked strong, and we had forty or fifty miles before us.
After we got fairly into the desert, which was a trackless waste, I became possessed18 by a feeling that the man did not know the way. He talked a good deal about the North Star, and the fork in the road, and that we must be sure not to miss it.
It was a still, hot, starlit night. Jack and the driver sat on the front seat. They had taken the back seat out, and my little boy and I sat in the bottom of the wagon, with the hard cushions to lean against through the night. I suppose we were drowsy19 with sleep; at all events, the talk about the fork of the road and the North Star faded away into dreams.
I awoke with a chilly20 feeling, and a sudden jolt21 over a rock. "I do not recollect22 any rocks on this road, Jack, when we came over it in the ambulance," said I.
"Neither do I," he replied.
I looked for the North Star: I had looked for it often when in open boats. It was away off on our left, the road seemed to be ascending23 and rocky: I had never seen this piece of road before, that I was sure of.
"We are going to the eastward," said I, "and we should be going northwest."
"My dear, lie down and go to sleep; the man knows the road; he is taking a short cut, I suppose," said the Lieutenant24. There was something not at all reassuring25 in his tones, however.
The driver did not turn his head nor speak. I looked at the North Star, which was getting farther and farther on our left, and I felt the gloomy conviction that we were lost on the desert.
The driver jerked his ponies up, and, with a sullen27 gesture, said, "We must have missed the fork of the road; this is Picket28 Post."
"Great Heavens!" I cried; "how far out of the way are we?"
"About fifteen miles," he drawled, "you see we shall have to go back to the place where the road forks, and make a new start."
I nearly collapsed29 with discouragement. I looked around at the ruined walls and crumbling30 pillars of stone, so weird31 and so grey in the dawning light: it might have been a worshipping place of the Druids. My little son shivered with the light chill which comes at daybreak in those tropical countries: we were hungry and tired and miserable32: my bones ached, and I felt like crying.
We gave the poor ponies time to breathe, and took a bite of cold food ourselves.
Ah! that blighted33 and desolate place called Picket Post! Forsaken34 by God and man, it might have been the entrance to Hades.
Would the ponies hold out? They looked jaded35 to be sure, but we had stopped long enough to breathe them, and away they trotted36 again, down the mountain this time, instead of up.
It was broad day when we reached the fork of the road, which we had not been able to see in the night: there was no mistaking it now.
We had travelled already about forty miles, thirty more lay before us; but there were no hills, it was all flat country, and the owner of these brave little ponies said we could make it.
As we neared the MacDowell canon, we met Captain Corliss marching out with his company (truly they had lost no time in starting for California), and he told his First Lieutenant he would make slow marches, that we might overtake him before he reached Yuma.
We were obliged to wait at Camp MacDowell for Sergeant Stone to arrive with our wagonful of household goods, and then, after a mighty37 weeding out and repacking, we set forth once more, with a good team of mules and a good driver, to join the command. We bade the Sixth Cavalry38 people once more good-bye, but I was so nearly dead by this time, with the heat, and the fatigue39 of all this hard travelling and packing up, that the keener edge of my emotions was dulled. Eight days and nights spent in travelling hither and thither40 over those hot plains in Southern Arizona, and all for what?
Because somebody in ordering somebody to change his station, had forgotten that somebody's regiment was about to be ordered out of the country it had been in for four years. Also because my husband was a soldier who obeyed orders without questioning them. If he had been a political wire-puller, many of our misfortunes might have been averted41. But then, while I half envied the wives of the wire-pullers, I took a sort of pride in the blind obedience42 shown by my own particular soldier to the orders he received.
After that week's experience, I held another colloquy43 with myself, and decided44 that wives should not follow their husbands in the army, and that if I ever got back East again, I would stay: I simply could not go on enduring these unmitigated and unreasonable45 hardships.
The Florence man staid over at the post a day or so to rest his ponies. I bade him good-bye and told him to take care of those brave little beasts, which had travelled seventy miles without rest, to bring us to our destination. He nodded pleasantly and drove away. "A queer customer," I observed to Jack.
"Yes," answered he, "they told me in Florence that he was a 'road agent' and desperado, but there did not seem to be anyone else, and my orders were peremptory46, so I took him. I knew the ponies could pull us through, by the looks of them; and road agents are all right with army officers, they know they wouldn't get anything if they held 'em up."
"How much did he charge you for the trip?" I asked.
"Sixteen dollars," was the reply. And so ended the episode. Except that I looked back to Picket Post with a sort of horror, I thought no more about it.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
jack
|
|
| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
regiment
|
|
| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
tavern
|
|
| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
attained
|
|
| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
hoisted
|
|
| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
tiresome
|
|
| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
infantry
|
|
| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
wagon
|
|
| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
hoops
|
|
| n.箍( hoop的名词复数 )；（篮球）篮圈；（旧时儿童玩的）大环子；（两端埋在地里的）小铁弓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
mules
|
|
| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
trot
|
|
| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
sergeant
|
|
| n.警官，中士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
conveyance
|
|
| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
ponies
|
|
| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
drowsy
|
|
| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
chilly
|
|
| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
jolt
|
|
| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
recollect
|
|
| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
ascending
|
|
| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
lieutenant
|
|
| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
reassuring
|
|
| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
picket
|
|
| n.纠察队；警戒哨；v.设置纠察线；布置警卫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
collapsed
|
|
| adj.倒塌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
crumbling
|
|
| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
weird
|
|
| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
blighted
|
|
| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
Forsaken
|
|
| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
jaded
|
|
| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
trotted
|
|
| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
cavalry
|
|
| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
thither
|
|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
averted
|
|
| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
obedience
|
|
| n.服从，顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
colloquy
|
|
| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
unreasonable
|
|
| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
peremptory
|
|
| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |