Pacific Crest Trail Stories ~ Chapter Interludes |
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Contents |
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Story 2 ~ With Col. Kearney's Dragoons ~ Page 40 |
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3 December 1846
With Col. Kearny's Dragoons
Warners, California
My Dearest Cousin;
This is to answer the many letters I know you have written, and to ask who R.K.P. is. Irony of ironies, we just received some mail with our dispatches, and the only communication I had from home was from this unnamed gentleman, who speaks of meeting you. Our Lord and you only know who he is. I don't. I shall use his letter for gun wadding.
To bring you up to date from my last dispatch. We are now over the desert. Even with our illustrious scout, Kit Carson, we suffered much from bad water, or no water at all. Once, after going without a drop to drink for man or beast, what we found imparted such an infernal smell to my canteen, that I fear I shall never be able to purify it again.Upon meeting up with our scout, his first action was to convince the Col. that it was impossible to drag our wagons further. I must say we took this news not too well, nor his statement that St. Diego was 60 forced marching days away overland. The measure of this man is that everything he said proved all too true. It is plain luck that he came along, as we would not have made it otherwise.
However, packing mules is anything but bliss. While supervising my hospital animal, he ran off and broke my panniers all to the devil. We had trouble camping where there was no water or grass. As soon as their ropes were untied they all tried to back track. If your eyes were off them for one minute, you found the mules gone, making their way to yesterday's camp.
We had our little revenge on one of the worst offenders of this trick. When our mess was reduced to a bread of flour, salt and boiled corn, one particularly stupid animal was made into provisions.
We arrived at Warner's Ranchero, after passing through country particularly barren, in a snow storm.
This place can be considered the extreme frontier settlement in California. Thanks to an absentee host, we are living quite comfortably. This poor chap, an American from Connecticut, is suspected of favoring the wrong side, by both the Mexicans and Americans. He is at present a prisoner in St. Diego. His menials, consequently, do not really know what to make of our presence, and have been acting accordingly.
We have had reports that Commodore Stockton and his sailors have captured all of California, but other rumors have it that we may expect a brisk round of skirmishes with the Mexicans in arms at the Pueblo de Los Angelos. Time and history will tell.
Your humble, cold, loving cousin
John S. Griffin, Assistant Surgeon.
With Col. Kearny's Dragoons
Warners, California
My Dearest Cousin;
This is to answer the many letters I know you have written, and to ask who R.K.P. is. Irony of ironies, we just received some mail with our dispatches, and the only communication I had from home was from this unnamed gentleman, who speaks of meeting you. Our Lord and you only know who he is. I don't. I shall use his letter for gun wadding.
To bring you up to date from my last dispatch. We are now over the desert. Even with our illustrious scout, Kit Carson, we suffered much from bad water, or no water at all. Once, after going without a drop to drink for man or beast, what we found imparted such an infernal smell to my canteen, that I fear I shall never be able to purify it again.Upon meeting up with our scout, his first action was to convince the Col. that it was impossible to drag our wagons further. I must say we took this news not too well, nor his statement that St. Diego was 60 forced marching days away overland. The measure of this man is that everything he said proved all too true. It is plain luck that he came along, as we would not have made it otherwise.
However, packing mules is anything but bliss. While supervising my hospital animal, he ran off and broke my panniers all to the devil. We had trouble camping where there was no water or grass. As soon as their ropes were untied they all tried to back track. If your eyes were off them for one minute, you found the mules gone, making their way to yesterday's camp.
We had our little revenge on one of the worst offenders of this trick. When our mess was reduced to a bread of flour, salt and boiled corn, one particularly stupid animal was made into provisions.
We arrived at Warner's Ranchero, after passing through country particularly barren, in a snow storm.
This place can be considered the extreme frontier settlement in California. Thanks to an absentee host, we are living quite comfortably. This poor chap, an American from Connecticut, is suspected of favoring the wrong side, by both the Mexicans and Americans. He is at present a prisoner in St. Diego. His menials, consequently, do not really know what to make of our presence, and have been acting accordingly.
We have had reports that Commodore Stockton and his sailors have captured all of California, but other rumors have it that we may expect a brisk round of skirmishes with the Mexicans in arms at the Pueblo de Los Angelos. Time and history will tell.
Your humble, cold, loving cousin
John S. Griffin, Assistant Surgeon.
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