Packing & Driving the Train

Packing the Train for a start—Driving in—Haltering—Putting on the Aparejos and 'Saddling up'—
Synching—Packing on the Load—The way to pack Barrels—Slinging—Roping and Covering—Throwing 
the Riata and fastening it—Our March—The Abandoned Camp—Entering the Timber—'Stringing out' and 
Counting—Mules apt to lie down if halted.

We must now assume that the tents are struck and packed; that the equipment we have been gathering together is 
piled in properly adjusted loads in a straight line, each load being laid on a 'riata' stretched full length upon the 
ground; that the aparejos are arranged in a crescent shape, and that the packers are away in search of the 
bell-mare and her family of mules. 

Whether a hundred mules are to be packed, or five only, exactly the same routine is to be observed. We hear the
distant tinkle, tinkle, of the bell, and presently trotting from out the timber or scampering and playing over the
grassy prairie come the mules. Some follow, others precede the bell, but none of them are allowed to stray far 
away, for the packers know what crafty animals mules invariably are, and that some of the band, usually old 
stagers, have an ugly habit of slipping unobserved in amongst the trees, there to skulk and hide until hunger or 
thirst compels them to show themselves. I have very frequently been delayed an entire day in consequence of a 
mule or two being allowed to stray from the band whilst being driven in. 

On reaching the aparejos the bell-mare is first made fast to the end aparejo on the extreme right, then two or more 
packers (dependent on the number of mules constituting the train) stand in the hollow of the crescent with a 
number of halters hanging on their left arms; other packers drive the mules up to be haltered by the men who are 
waiting for the animals to push their heads over the breastwork of aparejos.

Each mule, as soon as the halter is on its head, is tied with a how knot to its neighbour, the one next the bell being 
fastened to the mare. Except this plan of haltering is adopted, I do not believe a train of fifty mules could be caught 
singly and haltered in a day; and to venture behind a pack mule, or to creep up by its side to put a halter on, is to 
risk getting a taste of hoof not likely to be readily forgotten, but the aparejo being betwixt the man and the mule, 
prevents the latter from striking or kicking. If all the halters are used, of course every mule is present; if there are 
spare halters, then nothing further can be done until the absentees are discovered and brought in.

All present, then the first thing the packers do is to select the riding mules from out the band all haltered together, 
then each man saddles his own annual, and makes it fast to any available object near by. This done, the load 
packer, or packing master, takes his stand upon the centre of the baggage, so that he can look down on the 
'caronas' (you will remember what I told you was the use of the carona), and guided by the pattern, he directs the 
two packers to take the mule they have unfastened to its own aparejo. It will suffice to confine our remarks to the 
saddling and packing of one mule. The mule, led up to its aparejo, is first blinded with the 'tapujo,' which is slipped 
deftly over its ears; then a packer goes on each side and examines the mule's back, and combs out all the sand,
dirt, or matted hair, with a currycomb—a precautionary measure which I would impress upon your mind it is 
essential to look well after, if you wish to avoid sore backs. Packers skulk doing it, unless your own or the pack 
master's eye is overlooking them.

This finished, one packer takes up the aparejo, whilst the other adjusts the cloths, first sweat-cloth, then blankets,
lastly corona. There is a right and wrong way to take hold of an aparejo; it must be grasped by the two angles, at 
the upper or that part of it where the cushions are joined, lifted well above the mule's back, and then allowed to 
drop on the cloths. When on, the off-side man pushes it towards the mule's tail, whilst the near-side man, standing 
well away from the mule, lifts the crupper, pushes his arm under it, seizes the mule's tail, and quickly slips the 
crupper beneath it. This is nearly always a service of danger, demanding much care and caution, especially if a 
mule is suffering from a chafed tail. The aparejo is next pushed back into its proper place, care being taken that 
there are no folds in the cloths—the synch is lastly placed on the aparejo by the near-side man, the off-sider 
passing the end back to his comrade under the mule's belly; and the latter then passes the leather strap three or 
four times through the synch ring (as previously described when speaking of saddles), and hauls away, the 
off-sider taking care that the aparejo does not get pulled on one side.

Near-sider having hauled the synch as tight as his strength will admit of, a novice would begin to fancy the mule's 
ribs must be broken, or its stomach so compressed that nothing could pass through it if greater pressure was 
made. Not a bit of it, the packers have not nearly done; round comes offsider, and they jointly lay hold of the leather
strap, and placing each a foot against the mule to increase the purchase, pull away until the mule resembles a 
wasp, or as a lady would look who was given to tight-lacing, if we could suppose her to be converted into a 
quadruped. It seems a cruel proceeding, nevertheless it does not hurt the mules, precludes any chance of the load 
shifting, and prevents galls, which are sure to accrue if the aparejo rocks about. The synch made fast, the blind is 
removed, and the mule tied with its halter to the load we are going to pack upon its back, a proceeding never 
commenced until all the mules are 'saddled up.'

Some of the more refractory mules are turned loose at first, because they kick, plunge, and throw themselves on 
the ground with such determined violence that tying them up would endanger the safety of the other mules. 
'Saddling up' completed, we begin to pack; and, let me tell you, to pack a mule as it ought to be packed, requires an
amount of skill and practice not to be easily acquired. 

Blinding is the first proceeding, next a packer stands on each side of the mule, and the near-side man doubles the 
sling rope and lays it across the aparejo, the loop towards the off-side. Each packer now takes up a package, 
selecting two as nearly equal in weight as it is possible to get them; should one alone be heavy, and all the rest 
light, lighter packages must be tied together so as to counterpoise the heavier one. 

The two men lift each one his package at the same time, then they rest it against the aparejo, and support it with 
the shoulder whilst adjusting the sling-rope; the off-side man flings the loop of the sling-rope to the near-side one,
whose duty it is to pass one end of the rope through the loop, and then to tie the two ends together with a bowknot.

Much care is needed to sling the two packages the proper height; if too low, the load, to employ a packer's 
expression, 'swaggles,' or, in other words, sways about; if too high, it will be very likely to 'topple' over, either in 
ascending or descending a steep hill-side. The grand secret, however, consists in getting the weight of the two 
packages first swung, to rest on the arch of the mule's ribs; a second's reflection will make it plain to any one that if 
the sling-rope is tied too long the weight will in a great measure hang from the rope, and as a matter of course bear 
directly on the backbone of the mule, but if the rope is knotted to the proper length, then the weight comes on the 
convexity of the ribs, thus relieving the back and taking all undue strain from off the rope.

When barrels are packed a different arrangement of the sling-rope is required; the rope must be longer than that 
ordinarily used, and be doubled four times instead of twice. By right, a barrel ought not to weigh more than 150 lbs.,
two of these make a fair load for a sturdy mule. We had an immense number of barrels to convey during the 
Boundary Commission transport, containing ration beef and pork; and I would strongly advise any persons who may
perchance be engaged in similar field-work, never to purchase ration meat, except packed in 100 lb. casks. Add to 
the 100 lbs. of meat the weight of the brine and cask, and it will be found that two of these packages are quite as 
much as a mule ought to carry, if you desire to keep him in good condition. We found from experience that two 150 
lb. casks were too heavy (i.e. containing 150 lbs. of meat exclusive of brine and cask) for the mules, and it was 
more than most of our packers could do to lift one of them on to the aparejo, and keep it there whilst the sling-rope 
was being adjusted. 

Packing a single cask on the centre of a mule's back, a plan I have frequently seen adopted when two casks were 
found to be an overload, is a most reprehensible practice, and one I should advise any owner of mules never to 
permit; the mule must necessarily carry its load in pain, and the least slip may produce a cricked-back, a mishap 
that renders a mule utterly useless for ever after.

The first two packages we have properly slung, and these form, so to speak, the foundation on which the 
superstructure, consisting of the odds and ends, which make up the load, is to be built. This performance needs
only a little management in order to keep the weight cleverly balanced. Over all, the packers now throw a painted 
canvas cover or 'tarpaulin,' which is for the purpose of keeping the load dry in case of rain. If you do not look 
sharply after the packers they will invariably put this cover under the aparejo rather than over the load; the reason 
they give, if you ask them why they do it, is that there is no chance of rain. Never believe them, it is not the truth; 
'roping' a load over a tarpaulin is rather more trouble, hence they would rather save themselves extra labour and 
indulge their own idleness than save your goods and chattels from getting saturated.

I always adopt that good maxim with my tarpaulins that the wise Quaker did with his umbrella, I put them on when 
the sun shines, to be at all times in readiness for the storm; thunder-showers have a disagreeable habit of coming 
on when one least expects them, and should your tarpaulin be carefully stowed away underneath, instead of being 
spread over the baggage, the latter, as a matter of course, gets a soaking; what care the packers, so they get their
evening ration? I know of few misfortunes more depressing to the spirits than to look on whilst your rations and 
camp equipment are being poured on as if Aquarius had capsized his watering-pot immediately over the mule train. 

To travesty an old conundrum, rain and clouds, when the baggage covers have been purposely stowed away, 
appear to affect a wanderer's hilarity as they do his goods, the sun, and his boots — they effectually take the shine 
out of all three.

The near-side man now 'throws the riata.' How to make this system of 'roping' on the load intelligible is somewhat a 
puzzling task; I am quite certain that watching the process is of no practical use. I have myself, when a novice, 
narrowly scanned every bend of the rope, as the ready-handed packers twisted it in mazy, incomprehensible turns, 
round, over, and under the load, and have amused myself by observing other novices alike uninitiated try the same
expedient in order to learn the art of 'roping a load,' with a like unsuccessful result.

You may keep sentry day after day for a fortnight, or longer if your patience holds out, and if some kind magi lent 
you the eyes of Argus, even with these added to your own, you would no more be able to adjust and tie a riata 
'secundmn artem,' by simply seeing others do it, than you could learn to play a sonata of Beethoven's on the flute or 
violin, or rattle off difficult music at sight on a pianoforte, by watching the fingers of an accomplished musician. How 
much more then impossible appears the task of making this complicated affair comprehensible by description. I say 
complicated, but, after all, it only appears to be so because the way to do it is not understood. 

I could teach any person in half-an-hour with a rope, a chair for a mule, and an old trunk for luggage, but how I am 
to commence the lesson by writing it I no more know than I should know the way to picture the phosphorescence of 
a tropical sea, or describe the ever-varying scintillations of the aurora borealis. I wish some simple plan would 
suggest itself to extricate me from this difficulty; the puzzled reporter, who was suddenly called upon to describe a
rocket, hastily wrote — 'a flash, a bang, a stink, and it is all over; 'What could he say more? But I am afraid what 
may answer as descriptive of fireworks will not be similarly efficacious in regard to 'riatas.' Well, all I can do is to try 
my best to make this roping problem understandable.

As the 'riata' lies on the ground, the near-side man takes hold of it, about 20 feet from the end of the rope, with his 
right hand; with his left lie gathers up the remainder in coils, the right-hand end is obviously double, because the 
slack end hangs loose; this double portion he throws over the load to the off-sider, who catches it, and quickly 
passes the loop back again under the mule's belly. Near-sider next passes the short end through the loop, brings it 
up against the aparejo, then twists the end three or four times round the rope to prevent it from slipping. The 
off-side man now hauls away upon the rope; mind it is double on his side, which is continuous with the long end. 
This process, you will clearly see, always supposing I am understood, tightens the rope encircling the load as would
a circingle or the synch around the aparejo. As the off-side man hauls, the near-side gathers in the slackrope, and 
prevents it from running back; the whole secret is to pull this encircling rope as tight as it is practicable for human
strength to accomplish. There is not the slightest additional pressure on the mule's belly, because the edges of the 
aparejo take all the strain, and keep the rope clear away from touching the animal — a fault I complain so much of 
in the cross-tree pack-saddle, as previously pointed out. 

The near-side man, when everything is hauled tight, passes the longer end of the rope first under the foremost
comer or angle of the aparejo, brings it along underneath the edge, then from under the hindermost angle, and 
along the edge of the arparejo to the centre of the animal's back, or perhaps the centre of the load will be the 
better comprehended. Here he passes it betwixt the double rope we have just been tightening, brings it out towards 
himself, or, in other words, towards the mule's tail, and gives it to the off-side man, who takes it down the edge of 
the aparejo, and follows precisely the same course with it under the angles and lower edge as did the near-sider, 
brings it up the front of the aparejo and passes it through the double rope, but brings it out towards the mule's 
head. Here the nearside man again takes it; now off-sider goes back and seizes the rope where it was passed over 
to him at first, at the hinder part of the load, and laying well back tugs at it with all his might and main. This done, 
the near-side man performs a similar feat with the end of the rope passed to him in front, makes it fast, and the 
packing is completed.

In this system of fastening, the double rope acts in the first place similar to a girth, and it is rendered immensely 
tight by the strain of the fore and hind purchase, brought to act upon it by the longer end of the riata, acting directly
from the angles and lower edges of the aparejo (however tight the rope is hauled it can never in the smallest 
degree bear upon or injure the mule), and in the second place the double portion of rope is to some extent spread 
open by the strain upon its sides, and thus serves to maintain the built-up portion of the load the more firmly in its 
place. There is no knot or anything to untie that can by possibility draw tight, and thus hinder the packers when 
unloading, the fastening at the finish being only that of passing the end under the tightened portion of the riata.

Do not imagine that passing this long riata round and over the load, as I have endeavoured to describe it, is a slow 
and tedious process; not a bit of it. If skilful packers are at their work, the rope is caught up, whirled over to the 
near-sider, passed back under, hauled on and slipped betwixt the double part almost as rapidly as your eye can 
follow the nimble-handed packers. When the riata is finally fastened the blind is removed, and the loaded mule 
turned loose. As the above description applies with equal force to numbers as to a single animal, let us suppose the
train to be all packed and ready for a start.

Our march shall not be along an even trail, because the system of 'working' a pack train can be better explained by 
assuming our course to skirt rugged hillsides, to wind along gorges and river valleys, where streams must be forded
or swam by the mules, and the goods, men, and aparejos, crossed either by means of a canoe, raft, or temporary 
bridge, then to follow the trail as it twists in a serpentine manner up a craggy mountainside to reach a pass whereby
we can cross its serried heights and safely descend its opposite slope. This is no imaginary picture, but one we had
to encounter often during the working season when employed in making the Boundary-line. All the difficulties 
enumerated might, and indeed I may truly say often did, occur in a single march, but they cease to be difficulties 
when the wanderer knows the right way to surmount them, and it must be a very steep mountain, swift torrent, and
thick forest that a practised hand could not work a mule train over and through.

The cook, belonging to the pack-train, or some outsider attached to the party, has mounted the bell-mare, and 
slowly rides away after the packmaster, who has already preceded him; the tinkling bell grows fainter in the 
distance, the mules, one by one, in single file, march on after its sound; the packers are all mounted, and 
flourishing their blinds, or 'tapujos,' ride, after the manner of field-officers on a review day, up and down by the side 
of the slowly-moving train. Behind there is very little to be seen, save the smouldering heaps of ashes marking the 
whereabouts of the camp-fires, trodden grass, and wild flowers crushed, broken, and despoiled of all their native 
loveliness. Perhaps a prowling wolf or coyote may be visible, creeping stealthily from out the timber in hope of 
pilfering a bone or a discarded piece of meat from the whisky-jack (Canada jay), already in possession, whilst over-
head soar vultures, impatiently waiting to pounce upon anything left behind suited to their filthy tastes.

As the bell-mare and her rider enter the timber and leave the open ground, on which we had our camp, the 
packmaster reins in his mule, and carefully counts the mules, as one after another they march past him; he never 
attempts to count the mules after they are packed until, as the packers' term is, ' they are strung out.' As he counts 
them, a second in command also reins up and takes the tally likewise. If, on comparing notes, the full number are 
present so much the better, if contrariwise some are missing, then never halt the train, but send one or two packers
to discover and drive on the truants. 

It is a very bad plan ever to halt a mule train on the march unless to unpack for the purpose of camping or to cross 
a stream. When loaded mules are stopped they are apt to lie down directly they halt, and should the grass be long 
or the halting-spot be near or amidst timber and thick underbrush, mules when once down amongst it are most 
difficult to find, and if not discovered, the result will — at any rate very probably may — cost you a mule or two, and 
the loss of the loads added to it. The heavy weight, together with the pressure of the 'synch,' prevents a mule, if at 
all feeble or stiff, from getting on its legs after it has lain down, hence if the packers fail to discover them die they 
must, and I have very often been myself searching with a most skilled herder and finder of mules, close by the side 
of a mule which had lain down with its load, and yet we were neither of us able to see it until a grunt or a groan 
betrayed the animal's hiding-place. For these reasons I make it a fixed mile when travelling never to halt a train 
after commencing my morning's start, unless, as I have previously said, a river has to be crossed which is too deep
to ford, until camping time arrives, and the mule's work for the day is at an end.

During the operation of counting, the packmaster also takes particular note of every mule, judging from the 
evidences of pain exhibited by suffering mules, as already pointed out, whether the load is evenly balanced or if 
anything is galling, if the cruppers are too long or too short, if the ropes are tight, in a word if everything is 
ship-shape and as it ought to be. If he detects anything wrong that needs altering, two packers at a signal ride up, 
dismount, seize the mule pointed out by the halter, drop on the blind, and rapidly adjust whatever is out of the way, 
the mule loosed trots after the train, and falls in to the rearward place. We are entering on a narrow rocky trail, 
which leads along the face of a cliff, overlooking a stream surging on some two hundred feet below us.

Narrow Trails—Packmaster goes ahead of the Bell-mare—Mountain Passes—Bridge-making'—Crossing 
Swamps—Dangerous Corners.

The packmaster now goes on a head of the bell-mare, because it is quite impossible to turn back on these very
narrow trails, often little better than mere ledges of rock. Hence it is essential to the safety of the train that there be 
no obstruction, to hinder or impede the steady progress of the mules; so the packmaster rides some distance in 
front to warn any mounted Indians, or perchance another pack-train, in time for them either to halt at the widest 
place discoverable, or get up on or into a siding.

The packers all ride up close to the bell, and still carefully watch each mule as it enters on the narrow trail, in order 
to make sure that the ropes and synches are tight, and that none of the loads have shifted. Then one by one the 
packers file in with the train, keeping a distance of five mules betwixt each other, one man bringing up the rear. By 
adopting this precaution the mules are prevented from halting, the danger of which in a narrow trail I have 
previously pointed out; more than this, anything slipping is at once seen and remedied. I may mention incidentally, 
that at one place west of the Cascade mountains, the provisions and camp equipments for a large detachment of 
men and several officers of the Boundary Commission had to be conveyed over a mountain - with almost vertical 
slopes. One of the surveying officers pronounced it impossible to construct a trail up which a loaded mule would be 
able to walk. This place is named now the Diamond-tree Pass. One thing was clear enough — if the necessary
materials could not be transported to the level ground beyond this pass, the work of marking the Boundary line 
must be abandoned for a considerable distance. It of course fell to my lot to go and see the pass, and to decide the
matter one way or another. It certainly was an awful place up which to make a trail that should be available for 
packed mules, and, to add to the difficulty, a good-sized stream of water tumbled rather than ran down the hill-side. 
The distance from the base to the summit in a straight line was not more than three quarters of a mile, but it was 
rocky and densely timbered. The difficulty too was the more complicated, inasmuch as the prairie leading to the 
pass was intersected by several streams, not fordable, and two swamps that must be crossed.

I thought the matter carefully over, climbed up and down the hill, and recalling the words of Napoleon: 'Impossible, 
c'est le mot d'un fou,' finally made up my mind to do it. By describing how this apparent impossibility was overcome, I 
shall give all the practical hints relating to trail-making, bridge-building, and fording swamps, which a wanderer can 
require, after which we will resume our march where we left off. 

I selected a trail-party of ten men, packed up tents, provisions for fourteen days, axes, augers, picks, shovels, and 
plenty of spare rope, and camped on the bank of the first stream too deep to be forded, in order to bridge it. There 
are many ways of making a bridge over which mules can pass with their loads. If it happens that large trees grow on 
the bank of the stream to be bridged, then all you have to do is to look out for one that leans towards the water, and
which is of sufficient length to reach from side to side. Put the axeman to work, or do it yourself if single-handed, 
always remembering to make the first notch very wide, and facing the water. If the tree-top does not break in falling, 
your bridge, when the tree lies across the stream, is half made.

The next thing to do is to walk along on the fallen tree and axe off all the branches, which fall into the river and are 
washed away. Now look out for a clump of young fir or cotton-wood trees, that in size run each about four inches in 
diameter, chop down a good lot of them, trim and get them to the fallen tree, where they must be axed into regular 
lengths (the length of these pieces will in some degree depend upon the girth of the fallen tree), but as a rule from 
twelve to fourteen feet for each piece will be found to answer every purpose. 

From the centre of each length take off a good-sized chip with the axe, and bore two holes through the place you 
have chipped with a three-inch auger. So far so good. Cast round now for a dead pine-tree, with its wood sound in 
the grain; failing this, take a living one, and chop off a log three feet long, split it as I have before told you how, first 
into two, then into smaller sections; round these with the axe, and you have your 'trenails ' made in no time. 

Lastly, begin to work on the end of the tree nearest to you by first laying transversely on the tree, at its extreme 
end, one of the lengths you have chipped and bored. Put the auger again through the hole, and bore well down into
the substance of the tree, then drive home the trenail with the axehead as hard as you can; adopt the same course
with hole No. 2, this crosspiece is then completed; in like manner lay cross-piece after cross-piece until you reach 
the other side of the stream. No side rail is requisite to bridges of this primitive construction.

I have worked our mule trains over the most fearful chasms on these tree-bridges; mules never hesitate to cross on 
them; and I need hardly say, with a party of men skilled in and accustomed to the work, a bridge is made on this 
plan in a very short space of time. 

But the stream we have to cross on the prairie has no timber near it, excepting a belt of cotton-wood trees (Populus 
tremuloides), and thus we are compelled to resort to another scheme. We will suppose ourselves to have measured 
or estimated the width of the stream — say it is one hundred feet, found its depth with a plumb-line, and calculated 
the force of the current.

The next proceeding is to examine the timber nearest the place to be bridged. A person's judgment must in a great 
degree guide him as to the necessary strength of the poles intended for 'stringers,' or side poles to support the 
cross-pieces. If the poles available are of fair size, say from ten inches to a foot in diameter, they can be used of a 
good length; if smaller, the lengths must be lessened. Having made this mental estimate, you begin to construct two 
or three 'cradles;' the number will be dependent on the poles, whether long or short; the longer the 'stringers' the 
fewer cradles are needed.

These so-called 'cradles' are rough square baskets, made by trenailing poles together, the size being regulated in 
accordance with the strength of the current; if swift, very large cradles will be required. When these cradles are 
completed, cut down and trim four 'stringers,' and get both these and the cradles down to the stream; make fast a 
rope to one of the cradles, and if no tree is near drive a picket into the ground and fasten the rope to it. This is a 
necessary precaution. Once or twice I have lost my 'cradle' in a swift current by neglecting it. Now launch the cradle,
and when, by the aid of poles, you have guided it, as it floats to the spot where you intend to sink it (which should 
not be farther from the bank of the stream than a man can conveniently pitch stones, or shovel earth and shingle 
into it), fill it as fast as you can with stones, earth, or anything heavy — and let me impress upon young wanderers 
how necessary it is to think of trifling details if they intend to bridge a stream as we are now doing it. Make sure, 
before you select a spot to camp on, that shingle or stones, or both, are within easy reach.

Well, we have sunk our cradle No. 1, and having taken care to make it sufficiently capacious to hold rubble, the 
weight of which is equal to resisting the force of the current, we lay two 'stringers' side by side from the bank to the 
cradle. You can now walk over them to reach the latter; next, see that all is safe and the cradle firm; if you are 
working with a party of men, the one who is on the cradle need not return to the shore. Separate the stringers about
six feet from each other, trenail the ends securely to the cradle, and fasten those on the land by driving in strong 
stakes on either side of them. This done, trenail cross-pieces to the stringers as close together as you can place 
them; split poles answer best, the convex side uppermost; mules do not slip on them. Now you can work from the 
shore to cradle No. 1, and proceed exactly in the same way with cradles No. 2 and 3, if it need so many.

These two systems of bridge-making I have found to answer every useful purpose, Whenever streams are too wide 
and too swift of current to render either of these plans practicable, then I always raft or take the baggage and men 
in canoes, and swim the mules. We have crossed over the first stream by our cradle bridge, and two more are 
similarly managed, and we reach the edge of the swamp, which is so soft that were a mule to venture to cross over 
to the opposite side, down beneath the mud and weeds it would most assuredly go, and be suffocated to a 
certainty. There is no going round it; the rocky hill prevents you on one side, and the river skirts it on the other; no, 
over it the mules have to go, and to enable them to do so we must 'cord' it. 

This is very easily accomplished if you know how. Poles about six or eight inches in diameter are first laid along 
upon the swampy ground six to eight feet apart, and trenailed firmly together at the ends, so as to form two 
continuous poles, so to speak, reaching from one side of the swamp to the other — I have often corded two and
three miles of swamp in one place. Next cut crosspieces rather more than seven feet long, so that the ends project 
beyond the poles on which they are to be laid; cut also a set of lighter poles than those laid on the swamp, but in 
number sufficient to be of equal length with the others. This done, place your crosspieces on the under poles, close
together, side by side, until you reach across the swamp; you can walk on them then without risking 'miring' down. 
Now take the lighter set of poles and lay them on the others; by doing this you save the labour of trenailing each
cross-piece, because the pieces are jammed between the upper and tinder poles; these being trenailed firmly
together at short distances, keep the cord-trail as firm as a ladder; two or more smart hands will cord a long piece of
swamp in a day. Over this cordway the mules walk as safely as if it were macadamised road.

All the impediments which intervened betwixt the first stream and the pass I have to get over being surmounted, I 
make my camp at the base of the hill, and commence with some of my men to cut down the timber as I 'blaze' the 
way before them. All lines are marked through timber by 'blazing,' which has nothing to do with fire, be it known, but 
is of kindred meaning to the word blazon in heraldry, 'to set to show.' 

With a small belt-axe the person marking the route to be followed by others cuts out a fair-sized chip from the trees 
as he goes along, first on the right hand and then on the left; these marks being made into the white timber, are 
readily seen by contrast with the brown bark of the trees. My only chance is to 'zig-zag' the trail up the most 
accessible places; to accomplish this I have to cross and recross the stream seven times on small bridges. The 
timber cleared, I next take a digging party, and with picks and spades make a regular path about six feet wide, on an
average; but at short distances I also make platforms, if I may so term them, by digging away the hill-side and then 
shoring up the earth with fascines staked down — the use of these you will learn anon — also where the earth was 
loose and likely to give way, or where a jutting point of rock had to be rounded, there also I constructed artificial 
ground with fascines and poles covered with earth.

There was one place near the summit which well-nigh beat me. The rocks ran out to a sharp craggy point, below 
which was a precipice; by breaking away rock and adding earth, which was kept from slipping over by poles and 
bundles of wood, I made a path round the point, but it was fearfully dangerous, for if a mule by chance should strike
its load against the jutting rock, the chances were a hundred to one it would be knocked over and killed. To obviate 
any risk I had ropes twisted together to make them of sufficient strength, and then securely fastened to a tree 
growing immediately over this point of rocks. To the loose end of the twisted ropes I had a wooden hook attached; 
the bridging was next done, and so far my work was complete. 

I tried a mule with nothing on it, at first; up it went all right; next I tried one with an aparejo only, with a similar 
success; then I began to breathe and hope, tried a light load and did it. Whilst I continued with the men making the 
trail along the level ground, at the summit of the hill, a messenger went back to the depot to report that the way was 
clear, and to order on a loaded train. They came in due time over the bridges and across the 'corded' swamps to 
the foot of the pass, and now for failure or success. I knew getting up a train was a very different affair to driving a 
single mule with a light load. I had fifty loads to get over the pass, and I determined on working five mules only at a
time. You will see as we get up the mountain that to have risked a greater number would have been fatal to my 
plans. The bell-mare I had led by a man whom I could trust to wait when needed and to go on slowly. I made each 
packer — I took four to the five mules — carry a bag of stones, and now we are off.

As the mules reach the platforms the bell-mare is halted; here they can rest, recover their wind, and furthermore 
afford the packers room to adjust the loads and tighten the ropes. By slow degrees we get safely along over the 
bridges and past the shelving rocks and ugly comers. You ask what I make the packers carry stones for? Why, to 
throw at the mules when they attempt to stop. Betwixt the platforms the men cannot get near enough to use a stick 
or the all-potent blind; hence stones are invaluable assistants, and I know from experience that stones are like 
policemen, you can never find one when you want it. 

As we near our dangerous corner I halt the mules on the platform nearest to it below, then muffle the bell to prevent 
the resting mules from hearing it, have the mare led round the corner, and make two packers, one before and one 
behind, bring up a mule. I stand by in readiness, slip the hook under the 'riata,' and then let the mule run up to the 
mare, which is waiting, so as to allow the mule to reach her without any strain upon the rope. I have to keep the
rope clear of the rock by a cross-pole, then the mule passes the mare on the siding, is unhooked and is soon upon 
the level; so, one by one, I get the first five safely round, and with their loads they are on the summit.

These are now unpacked and turned to feed, whilst the men and bell-mare go down for other five. In this way, save 
with one accident arising from carelessness — a mule rolled over at the corner and was killed — the fifty loads were
got to the top, and as many more a fortnight later. I had just as difficult a task to bring all the camp gear down again,
which I did on the day preceding Christmas-day, spending my Christmas-eve at the foot of the Diamond-tree pass. I 
have related this little bit of trail-engineering because I thought it the best plan for supplying such practical hints as I
am desirous to impart for the benefit of younger wanderers. 

We resume our march, having crept safely along the narrow trail. A river four hundred yards wide is ahead of us; 
this we shall have to raft, and swim our mules across.

End of Excerpt.
This (complete) title is available in the SSRsi Survival Library

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