ARMY LETTERS FROM AN OFFICER'S WIFE
By Frances M. A. Roe
| [ PREFACE ] [ ARMY LETTERS FROM AN OFFICER'S WIFE ] |
PREFACE
PERHAPS it is not necessary to say that the events mentioned in the letters are not imaginary—perhaps the letters themselves tell that! They are truthful accounts of experiences that came into my own life with the Army in the far West, whether they be about Indians, desperadoes, or hunting—not one little thing has been stolen. They are of a life that has passed—as has passed the buffalo and the antelope—yes, and the log and adobe quarters for the Army. All flowery descriptions have been omitted, as it seemed that a simple, concise narration of events as they actually occurred, was more in keeping with the life, and that which came into it. FRANCES M. A. ROE.
ARMY LETTERS FROM AN OFFICER'S WIFE
KIT CARSON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1871.
IT is late, so this can be only a note—to tell you that we arrived here safely, and will take the stage for Fort Lyon to-morrow morning at six o'clock. I am thankful enough that our stay is short at this terrible place, where one feels there is danger of being murdered any minute. Not one woman have I seen here, but there are men—any number of dreadful-looking men—each one armed with big pistols, and leather belts full of cartridges. But the houses we saw as we came from the station were worse even than the men. They looked, in the moonlight, like huge cakes of clay, where spooks and creepy things might be found. The hotel is much like the houses, and appears to have been made of dirt, and a few drygoods boxes. Even the low roof is of dirt. The whole place is horrible, and dismal beyond description, and just why anyone lives here I cannot understand.
I am all upset! Faye has just been in to say that only one of my trunks can be taken on the stage with us, and of course I had to select one that has all sorts of things in it, and consequently leave my pretty dresses here, to be sent for—all but the Japanese silk which happens to be in that trunk. But imagine my mortification in having to go with Faye to his regiment, with only two dresses. And then, to make my shortcomings the more vexatious, Faye will be simply fine all the time, in his brand new uniform!
Perhaps I can send a long letter soon—if I live to reach that army post that still seems so far away.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1871.
AFTER months of anticipation and days of weary travel we have at last got to our army home! As you know, Fort Lyon is fifty miles from Kit Carson, and we came all that distance in a funny looking stage coach called a "jerkey," and a good name for it, too, for at times it seesawed back and forth and then sideways, in an awful breakneck way. The day was glorious, and the atmosphere so clear, we could see miles and miles in every direction. But there was not one object to be seen on the vast rolling plains—not a tree nor a house, except the wretched ranch and stockade where we got fresh horses and a perfectly uneatable dinner.
It was dark when we reached the post, so of course we could see nothing that night. General and Mrs. Phillips gave us a most cordial welcome—just as though they had known us always. Dinner was served soon after we arrived, and the cheerful dining room, and the table with its dainty china and bright silver, was such a surprise—so much nicer than anything we had expected to find here, and all so different from the terrible places we had seen since reaching the plains. It was apparent at once that this was not a place for spooks! General Phillips is not a real general—only so by brevet, for gallant service during the war. I was so disappointed when I was told this, but Faye says that he is very much afraid that I will have cause, sooner or later, to think that the grade of captain is quite high enough. He thinks this way because, having graduated at West Point this year, he is only a second lieutenant just now, and General Phillips is his captain and company commander.
It seems that in the Army, lieutenants are called "Mister" always, but all other officers must be addressed by their rank. At least that is what they tell me. But in Faye's company, the captain is called general, and the first lieutenant is called major, and as this is most confusing, I get things mixed sometimes. Most girls would. A soldier in uniform waited upon us at dinner, and that seemed so funny. I wanted to watch him all the time, which distracted me, I suppose, for once I called General Phillips "Mister!" It so happened, too, that just that instant there was not a sound in the room, so everyone heard the blunder. General Phillips straightened back in his chair, and his little son gave a smothered giggle—for which he should have been sent to bed at once. But that was not all! That soldier, who had been so dignified and stiff, put his hand over his mouth and fairly rushed from the room so he could laugh outright. And how I longed to run some place, too—but not to laugh, oh, no!
These soldiers are not nearly as nice as one would suppose them to be, when one sees them dressed up in their blue uniforms with bright brass buttons. And they can make mistakes, too, for yesterday, when I asked that same man a question, he answered, "Yes, sorr!" Then I smiled, of course, but he did not seem to have enough sense to see why. When I told Faye about it, he looked vexed and said I must never laugh at an enlisted man—that it was not dignified in the wife of an officer to do so. And then I told him that an officer should teach an enlisted man not to snicker at his wife, and not to call her "Sorr," which was disrespectful. I wanted to say more, but Faye suddenly left the room.
The post is not at all as you and I had imagined it to be. There is no high wall around it as there is at Fort Trumbull. It reminds one of a prim little village built around a square, in the center of which is a high flagstaff and a big cannon. The buildings are very low and broad and are made of adobe—a kind of clay and mud mixed together—and the walls are very thick. At every window are heavy wooden shutters, that can be closed during severe sand and wind storms. A little ditch—they call it acequia—runs all around the post, and brings water to the trees and lawns, but water for use in the houses is brought up in wagons from the Arkansas River, and is kept in barrels.
Yesterday morning—our first here—we were awakened by the sounds of fife and drum that became louder and louder, until finally I thought the whole Army must be marching to the house. I stumbled over everything in the room in my haste to get to one of the little dormer windows, but there was nothing to be seen, as it was still quite dark. The drumming became less loud, and then ceased altogether, when a big gun was fired that must have wasted any amount of powder, for it shook the house and made all the windows rattle. Then three or four bugles played a little air, which it was impossible to hear because of the horrible howling and crying of dogs—such howls of misery you never heard—they made me shiver. This all suddenly ceased, and immediately there were lights flashing some distance away, and dozens of men seemed to be talking all at the same time, some of them shouting, "Here!" "Here!" I began to think that perhaps Indians had come upon us, and called to Faye, who informed me in a sleepy voice that it was only reveille roll-call, and that each man was answering to his name. There was the same performance this morning, and at breakfast I asked General Phillips why soldiers required such a beating of drums, and deafening racket generally, to awaken them in the morning. But he did not tell me—said it was an old army custom to have the drums beaten along the officers' walk at reveille.
Yesterday morning, directly after guard-mounting, Faye put on his full-dress uniform—epaulets, beautiful scarlet sash, and sword—and went over to the office of the commanding officer to report officially. The officer in command of the post is lieutenant colonel of the regiment, but he, also, is a general by brevet, and one can see by his very walk that he expects this to be remembered always. So it is apparent to me that the safest thing to do is to call everyone general—there seem to be so many here. If I make a mistake, it will be on the right side, at least.
Much of the furniture in this house was made by soldier carpenters here at the post, and is not only very nice, but cost General Phillips almost nothing, and, as we have to buy everything, I said at dinner last evening that we must have some precisely like it, supposing, of course, that General Phillips would feel highly gratified because his taste was admired. But instead of the smile and gracious acquiescence I had expected, there was another straightening back in the chair, and a silence that was ominous and chilling. Finally, he recovered sufficient breath to tell me that at present, there were no good carpenters in the company. Later on, however, I learned that only captains and officers of higher rank can have such things. The captains seem to have the best of everything, and the lieutenants are expected to get along with smaller houses, much less pay, and much less everything else, and at the same time perform all of the disagreeable duties.
Faye is wonderfully amiable about it, and assures me that when he gets to be a captain I will see that it is just and fair. But I happen to remember that he told me not long ago that he might not get his captaincy for twenty years. Just think of it—a whole long lifetime—and always a Mister, too—and perhaps by that time it will be "just and fair" for the lieutenants to have everything!
We saw our house yesterday—quarters I must learn to say—and it is ever so much nicer than we had expected it to be. All of the officers' quarters are new, and this set has never been occupied. It has a hall with a pretty stairway, three rooms and a large shed downstairs, and two rooms and a very large hall closet on the second floor. A soldier is cleaning the windows and floors, and making things tidy generally. Many of the men like to cook, and do things for officers of their company, thereby adding to their pay, and these men are called strikers.
There are four companies here—three of infantry and one troop of cavalry. You must always remember that Faye is in the infantry. With the cavalry he has a classmate, and a friend, also, which will make it pleasant for both of us. In my letters to you I will disregard army etiquette, and call the lieutenants by their rank, otherwise you would not know of whom I was writing—an officer or civilian. Lieutenant Baldwin has been on the frontier many years, and is an experienced hunter of buffalo and antelope. He says that I must commence riding horseback at once, and has generously offered me the use of one of his horses. Mrs. Phillips insists upon my using her saddle until I can get one from the East, so I can ride as soon as our trunks come. And I am to learn to shoot pistols and guns, and do all sorts of things.
We are to remain with General and Mrs. Phillips several days, while our own house is being made habitable, and in the meantime our trunks and boxes will come, also the colored cook. I have not missed my dresses very much—there has been so much else to think about. There is a little store just outside the post that is named "Post Trader's," where many useful things are kept, and we have just been there to purchase some really nice furniture that an officer left to be sold when he was retired last spring. We got only enough to make ourselves comfortable during the winter, for it seems to be the general belief here that these companies of infantry will be ordered to Camp Supply, Indian Territory, in the spring. It must be a most dreadful place—with old log houses built in the hot sand hills, and surrounded by almost every tribe of hostile Indians.
It may not be possible for me to write again for several days, as I will be very busy getting settled in the house. I must get things arranged just as soon as I can, so I will be able to go out on horseback with Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1871.
WHEN a very small girl, I was told many wonderful tales about a grand Indian chief called Red Jacket, by my great-grandmother, who, you will remember, saw him a number of times when she, also, was a small girl. And since then—almost all my life—I have wanted to see with my very own eyes an Indian—a real noble red man—dressed in beautiful skins embroidered with beads, and on his head long, waving feathers.
Well, I have seen an Indian—a number of Indians—but they were not Red Jackets, neither were they noble red men. They were simply, and only, painted, dirty, and nauseous-smelling savages! Mrs. Phillips says that Indians are all alike—that when you have seen one you have seen all. And she must know, for she has lived on the frontier a long time, and has seen many Indians of many tribes.
We went to Las Animas yesterday, Mrs. Phillips, Mrs. Cole, and I, to do a little shopping. There are several small stores in the half-Mexican village, where curious little things from Mexico can often be found, if one does not mind poking about underneath the trash and dirt that is everywhere. While we were in the largest of these shops, ten or twelve Indians dashed up to the door on their ponies, and four of them, slipping down, came in the store and passed on quickly to the counter farthest back, where the ammunition is kept. As they came toward us in their imperious way, never once looking to the right or to the left, they seemed like giants, and to increase in size and numbers with every step.
Their coming was so sudden we did not have a chance to get out of their way, and it so happened that Mrs. Phillips and I were in their line of march, and when the one in the lead got to us, we were pushed aside with such impatient force that we both fell over on the counter. The others passed on just the same, however, and if we had fallen to the floor, I presume they would have stepped over us, and otherwise been oblivious to our existence. This was my introduction to an Indian—the noble red man!
As soon as they got to the counter they demanded powder, balls, and percussion caps, and as these things were given them, they were stuffed down their muzzle-loading rifles, and what could not be rammed down the barrels was put in greasy skin bags and hidden under their blankets. I saw one test the sharp edge of a long, wicked-looking knife, and then it, also, disappeared under his blanket. All this time the other Indians were on their ponies in front, watching every move that was being made around them.
There was only the one small door to the little adobe shop, and into this an Indian had ridden his piebald pony; its forefeet were up a step on the sill and its head and shoulders were in the room, which made it quite impossible for us three frightened women to run out in the street. So we got back of a counter, and, as Mrs. Phillips expressed it, "midway between the devil and the deep sea." There certainly could be no mistake about the "devil" side of it!
It was an awful situation to be in, and one to terrify anybody. We were actually prisoners—penned in with all those savages, who were evidently in an ugly mood, with quantities of ammunition within their reach, and only two white men to protect us. Even the few small windows had iron bars across. They could have killed every one of us, and ridden far away before anyone in the sleepy town found it out.
Well, when those inside had been given, or had helped themselves to, whatever they wanted, out they all marched again, quickly and silently, just as they had come in. They instantly mounted their ponies, and all rode down the street and out of sight at race speed, some leaning so far over on their little beasts that one could hardly see the Indian at all. The pony that was ridden into the store door was without a bridle, and was guided by a long strip of buffalo skin which was fastened around his lower jaw by a slipknot. It is amazing to see how tractable the Indians can make their ponies with only that one rein.
The storekeeper told us that those Indians were Utes, and were greatly excited because they had just heard there was a small party of Cheyennes down the river two or three miles. The Utes and Cheyennes are bitter enemies. He said that the Utes were very cross—ready for the blood of Indian or white man—therefore he had permitted them to do about as they pleased while in the store, particularly as we were there, and he saw that we were frightened. That young man did not know that his own swarthy face was a greenish white all the time those Indians were in the store! Not one penny did they pay for the things they carried off. Only two years ago the entire Ute nation was on the warpath, killing every white person they came across, and one must have much faith in Indians to believe that their "change of heart" has been so complete that these Utes have learned to love the white man in so short a time.
No! There was hatred in their eyes as they approached us in that store, and there was restrained murder in the hand that pushed Mrs. Phillips and me over. They were all hideous—with streaks of red or green paint on their faces that made them look like fiends. Their hair was roped with strips of bright-colored stuff, and hung down on each side of their shoulders in front, and on the crown of each black head was a small, tightly plaited lock, ornamented at the top with a feather, a piece of tin, or something fantastic. These were their scalp locks. They wore blankets over dirty old shirts, and of course had on long, trouserlike leggings of skin and moccasins. They were not tall, but rather short and stocky. The odor of those skins, and of the Indians themselves, in that stuffy little shop, I expect to smell the rest of my life!
We heard this morning that those very savages rode out on the plains in a roundabout way, so as to get in advance of the Cheyennes, and then had hidden themselves on the top of a bluff overlooking the trail they knew the Cheyennes to be following, and had fired upon them as they passed below, killing two and wounding a number of others. You can see how treacherous these Indians are, and how very far from noble is their method of warfare! They are so disappointing, too—so wholly unlike Cooper's red men.
We were glad enough to get in the ambulance and start on our way to the post, but alas! our troubles were not over. The mules must have felt the excitement in the air, for as soon as their heads were turned toward home they proceeded to run away with us. We had the four little mules that are the special pets of the quartermaster, and are known throughout the garrison as the "shaved-tails," because the hair on their tails is kept closely cut down to the very tips, where it is left in a square brush of three or four inches. They are perfectly matched—coal-black all over, except their little noses, and are quite small. They are full of mischief, and full of wisdom, too, even for government mules, and when one says, "Let's take a sprint," the others always agree—about that there is never the slightest hesitation.
Therefore, when we first heard the scraping of the brake, and saw that the driver was pulling and sawing at the tough mouths with all his strength, no one was surprised, but we said that we wished they had waited until after we had crossed the Arkansas River. But we got over the narrow bridge without meeting more than one man, who climbed over the railing and seemed less anxious to meet us than we were to meet him. As soon as we got on the road again, those mules, with preliminary kicks and shakes of their big heads, began to demonstrate how fast they could go. We had the best driver at the post, and the road was good and without sharp turns, but the ambulance was high and swayed, and the pace was too fast for comfort.
The little mules ran and ran, and we held ourselves on our seats the best we could, expecting to be tipped over any minute. When we reached the post they made a wonderful turn and took us safely to the government corral, where they stopped, just when they got ready. One leader looked around at us and commenced to bray, but the driver was in no mood for such insolence, and jerked the poor thing almost down.
Three tired, disheveled women walked from the corral to their homes; and very glad one of them was to get home, too! Hereafter I shall confine myself to horseback riding—for, even if John is frisky at times, I prefer to take my chances with the one horse, to four little long-eared government mules! But I have learned to ride very well, and have a secure seat now. My teachers, Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin, have been most exacting, but that I wanted. Of course I ride the army way, tight in the saddle, which is more difficult to learn. Any attempt to "rise" when on a trot is ridiculed at once here, and it does look absurd after seeing the splendid and graceful riding of the officers. I am learning to jump the cavalry hurdles and ditches, too. I must confess, however, that taking a ditch the first time was more exciting than enjoyable. John seemed to like it better than I did.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, November, 1871.
IN many of my letters I have written about learning to ride and to shoot, and have told you, also, of having followed the greyhounds after coyotes and rabbits with Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin. These hunts exact the very best of riding and a fast horse, for coyotes are very swift, and so are jack-rabbits, too, and one look at a greyhound will tell anyone that he can run—and about twice as fast as the big-eared foxhounds in the East. But I started to write you about something quite different from all this—to tell you of a really grand hunt I have been on—a splendid chase after buffalo!
A week or so ago it was decided that a party of enlisted men should be sent out to get buffalo meat for Thanksgiving dinner for everybody—officers and enlisted men—and that Lieutenant Baldwin, who is an experienced hunter, should command the detail. You can imagine how proud and delighted I was when asked to go with them. Lieutenant Baldwin saying that the hunt would be worth seeing, and well repay one for the fatigue of the hard ride.
So, one morning after an early breakfast, the horses were led up from the stables, each one having on a strong halter, and a coiled picket rope with an iron pin fastened to the saddle. These were carried so that if it should be found necessary to secure the horses on the plains, they could be picketed out. The bachelors' set of quarters is next to ours, so we all got ready together, and I must say that the deliberate way in which each girth was examined, bridles fixed, rifles fastened to saddles, and other things done, was most exasperating. But we finally started, about seven o'clock, Lieutenant Baldwin and I taking the lead, and Faye and Lieutenant Alden following.
The day was very cold, with a strong wind blowing, so I wore one of Faye's citizen caps, with tabs tied down over my ears, and a large silk handkerchief around my neck, all of which did not improve my looks in the least, but it was quite in keeping with the dressing of the officers, who had on buckskin shirts, with handkerchiefs, leggings, and moccasins. Two large army wagons followed us, each drawn by four mules, and carrying several enlisted men. Mounted orderlies led extra horses that officers and men were to ride when they struck the herd.
Well, we rode twelve miles without seeing one living thing, and then we came to a little adobe ranch where we dismounted to rest a while. By this time our feet and hands were almost frozen, and Faye suggested that I should remain at the ranch until they returned; but that I refused to do—to give up the hunt was not to be thought of, particularly as a ranchman had just told us that a small herd of buffalo had been seen that very morning only two miles farther on. So, when the horses were a little rested, we started, and, after riding a mile or more, we came to a small ravine, where we found one poor buffalo, too old and emaciated to keep up with his companions, and who, therefore, had been abandoned by them, to die alone. He had eaten the grass as far as he could reach, and had turned around and around until the ground looked as though it had been spaded.
He got up on his old legs as we approached him, and tried to show fight by dropping his head and throwing his horns to the front, but a child could have pushed him over. One of the officers tried to persuade me to shoot him, saying it would be a humane act, and at the same time give me the prestige of having killed a buffalo! But the very thought of pointing a pistol at anything so weak and utterly helpless was revolting in the extreme. He was such an object of pity, too, left there all alone to die of starvation, when perhaps at one time he may have been leader of his herd. He was very tall, had a fine head, with an uncommonly long beard, and showed every indication of having been a grand specimen of his kind.
We left him undisturbed, but only a few minutes later we heard the sharp report of a rifle, and at once suspected, what we learned to be a fact the next day, that one of the men with the wagons had killed him. Possibly this was the most merciful thing to do, but to me that shot meant murder. The pitiful bleary eyes of the helpless old beast have haunted me ever since we saw him.
We must have gone at least two miles farther before we saw the herd we were looking for, making fifteen or sixteen miles altogether that we had ridden. The buffalo were grazing quietly along a meadow in between low, rolling hills. We immediately fell back a short distance and waited for the wagons, and when they came up there was great activity, I assure you. The officers' saddles were transferred to their hunters, and the men who were to join in the chase got their horses and rifles ready. Lieutenant Baldwin gave his instructions to everybody, and all started off, each one going in a different direction so as to form a cordon, Faye said, around the whole herd. Faye would not join in the hunt, but remained with me the entire day. He and I rode over the hill, stopping when we got where we could command a good view of the valley and watch the run.
It seemed only a few minutes when we saw the buffalo start, going from some of the men, of course, who at once began to chase them. This kept them running straight ahead, and, fortunately, in Lieutenant Baldwin's direction, who apparently was holding his horse in, waiting for them to come. We saw through our field glasses that as soon as they got near enough he made a quick dash for the herd, and cutting one out, had turned it so it was headed straight for us.
Now, being on a buffalo hunt a safe distance off, was one thing, but to have one of those huge animals come thundering along like a steam engine directly upon you, was quite another. I was on one of Lieutenant Baldwin's horses, too, and I felt that there might be danger of his bolting to his companion, Tom, when he saw him dashing by, and as I was not anxious to join in a buffalo chase just at that time, I begged Faye to go with me farther up the hill. But he would not go back one step, assuring me that my horse was a trained hunter and accustomed to such sights.
Lieutenant Baldwin gained steadily on the buffalo, and in a wonderfully short time both passed directly in front of us—within a hundred feet, Faye said. Lieutenant Baldwin was close upon him then, his horse looking very small and slender by the side of the grand animal that was taking easy, swinging strides, apparently without effort and without speed, his tongue lolling at one side. But we could see that the pace was really terrific—that Lieutenant Baldwin was freely using the spur, and that his swift thoroughbred was stretched out like a greyhound, straining every muscle in his effort to keep up. He was riding close to the buffalo on his left, with revolver in his right hand, and I wondered why he did not shoot, but Faye said it would be useless to fire then—that Lieutenant Baldwin must get up nearer the shoulder, as a buffalo is vulnerable only in certain parts of his body, and that a hunter of experience like Lieutenant Baldwin would never think of shooting unless he could aim at heart or lungs.
My horse behaved very well—just whirling around a few times—but Faye was kept busy a minute or two by his, for the poor horse was awfully frightened, and lunged and reared and snorted; but I knew that he could not unseat Faye, so I rather enjoyed it, for you know I had wanted to go back a little!
Lieutenant Baldwin and the buffalo were soon far away, and when our horses had quieted down we recalled that shots had been fired in another direction, and looking about, we saw a pathetic sight. Lieutenant Alden was on his horse, and facing him was an immense buffalo, standing perfectly still with chin drawn in and horns to the front, ready for battle. It was plain to be seen that the poor horse was not enjoying the meeting, for every now and then he would try to back away, or give a jump sideways. The buffalo was wounded and unable to run, but he could still turn around fast enough to keep his head toward the horse, and this he did every time Lieutenant Alden tried to get an aim at his side.
There was no possibility of his killing him without assistance, and of course the poor beast could not be abandoned in such a helpless condition, so Faye decided to go over and worry him, while Lieutenant Alden got in the fatal shot. As soon as Faye got there I put my fingers over my ears so that I would not hear the report of the pistol. After a while I looked across, and there was the buffalo still standing, and both Faye and Lieutenant Alden were beckoning for me to come to them. At first I could not understand what they wanted, and I started to go over, but it finally dawned upon me that they were actually waiting for me to come and kill that buffalo! I saw no glory in shooting a wounded animal, so I turned my horse back again, but had not gone far before I heard the pistol shot.
Then I rode over to see the huge animal, and found Faye and Lieutenant Alden in a state of great excitement. They said he was a magnificent specimen—unusually large, and very black—what they call a blue skin—with a splendid head and beard. I had been exposed to a bitterly cold wind, without the warming exercise of riding, for over an hour, and my hands were so cold and stiff that I could scarcely hold the reins, so they jumped me up on the shoulders of the warm body, and I buried my hands in the long fur on his neck. He fell on his wounded side, and looked precisely as though he was asleep—-so much so that I half expected him to spring up and resent the indignity he was being subjected to.
Very soon after that Faye and I came on home, reaching the post about seven o'clock. We had been in our saddles most of the time for twelve hours, on a cold day, and were tired and stiff, and when Faye tried to assist me from my horse I fell to the ground in a heap. But I got through the day very well, considering the very short time I have been riding—that is, really riding. The hunt was a grand sight, and something that probably I will never have a chance of seeing again—and, to be honest, I do not want to see another, for the sight of one of those splendid animals running for his life is not a pleasant one.
The rest of the party did not come in until several hours later; but they brought the meat and skins of four buffalo, and the head of Lieutenant Alden's, which he will send East to be mounted. The skin he intends to take to an Indian camp, to be tanned by the squaws. Lieutenant Baldwin followed his buffalo until he got in the position he wanted, and then killed him with one shot. Faye says that only a cool head and experience could have done that. Much depends upon the horse, too, for so many horses are afraid of a buffalo, and lunge sideways just at the critical moment.
Several experienced hunters tell marvelous tales of how they have stood within a few yards of a buffalo and fired shot after shot from a Springfield rifle, straight at his head, the balls producing no effect whatever, except, perhaps, a toss of the head and the flying out of a tuft of hair. Every time the ball would glance off from the thick skull. The wonderful mat of curly hair must break the force some, too. This mat, or cushion, in between the horns of the buffalo Lieutenant Alden killed, was so thick and tangled that I could not begin to get my fingers in it.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, December, 1871.
OUR first Christmas on the frontier was ever so pleasant, but it certainly was most vexatious not to have that box from home. And I expect that it has been at Kit Carson for days, waiting to be brought down. We had quite a little Christmas without it, however, for a number of things came from the girls, and several women of the garrison sent pretty little gifts to me. It was so kind and thoughtful of them to remember that I might be a bit homesick just now. All the little presents were spread out on a table, and in a way to make them present as fine an appearance as possible. Then I printed in large letters, on a piece of cardboard, "One box—contents unknown!" and stood it up on the back of the table. I did this to let everyone know that we had not been forgotten by home people. My beautiful new saddle was brought in, also, for although I had had it several weeks, it was really one of Faye's Christmas gifts to me.
They have such a charming custom in the Army of going along the line Christmas morning and giving each other pleasant greetings and looking at the pretty things everyone has received. This is a rare treat out here, where we are so far from shops and beautiful Christmas displays. We all went to the bachelors' quarters, almost everyone taking over some little remembrance—homemade candy, cakes, or something of that sort.
I had a splendid cake to send over that morning, and I will tell you just what happened to it. At home we always had a large fruit cake made for the holidays, long in advance, and I thought I would have one this year as near like it as possible. But it seemed that the only way to get it was to make it. So, about four weeks ago, I commenced. It was quite an undertaking for me, as I had never done anything of the kind, and perhaps I did not go about it the easiest way, but I knew how it should look when done, and of course I knew precisely how it should taste. Eliza makes delicious every-day cake, but was no assistance whatever with the fruit cake, beyond encouraging me with the assurance that it would not matter in the least if it should be heavy.
Well, for two long, tiresome days I worked over that cake, preparing with my own fingers every bit of the fruit, which I consider was a fine test of perseverance and staying qualities. After the ingredients were all mixed together there seemed to be enough for a whole regiment, so we decided to make two cakes of it. They looked lovely when baked, and just right, and smelled so good, too! I wrapped them in nice white paper that had been wet with brandy, and put them carefully away—one in a stone jar, the other in a tin box—and felt that I had done a remarkably fine bit of housekeeping. The bachelors have been exceedingly kind to me, and I rejoiced at having a nice cake to send them Christmas morning. But alas! I forgot that the little house was fragrant with the odor of spice and fruit, and that there was a man about who was ever on the lookout for good things to eat. It is a shame that those cadets at West Point are so starved. They seem to be simply famished for months after they graduate.
It so happened that there was choir practice that very evening, and that I was at the chapel an hour or so. When I returned, I found the three bachelors sitting around the open fire, smoking, and looking very comfortable indeed. Before I was quite in the room they all stood up and began to praise the cake. I think Faye was the first to mention it, saying it was a "great success"; then the others said "perfectly delicious," and so on, but at the same time assuring me that a large piece had been left for me.
For one minute I stood still, not in the least grasping their meaning; but finally I suspected mischief, they all looked so serenely contented. So I passed on to the dining room, and there, on the table, was one of the precious cakes—-at least what was left of it, the very small piece that had been so generously saved for me. And there were plates with crumbs, and napkins, that told the rest of the sad tale—and there was wine and empty glasses, also. Oh, yes! Their early Christmas had been a fine one. There was nothing for me to say or do—at least not just then—so I went back to the little living-room and forced myself to be halfway pleasant to the four men who were there, each one looking precisely like the cat after it had eaten the canary! The cake was scarcely cold, and must have been horribly sticky—and I remember wondering, as I sat there, which one would need the doctor first, and what the doctor would do if they were all seized with cramps at the same time. But they were not ill—not in the least—which proved that the cake was well baked. If they had discovered the other one, however, there is no telling what might have happened.
At half after ten yesterday the chaplain held service, and the little chapel was crowded—so many of the enlisted men were present. We sang our Christmas music, and received many compliments. Our little choir is really very good. Both General Phillips and Major Pierce have fine voices. One of the infantry sergeants plays the organ now, for it was quite too hard for me to sing and work those old pedals. Once I forgot them entirely, and everybody smiled—even the chaplain!
From the chapel we—that is, the company officers and their wives—went to the company barracks to see the men's dinner tables. When we entered the dining hall we found the entire company standing in two lines, one down each side, every man in his best inspection uniform, and every button shining. With eyes to the front and hands down their sides they looked absurdly like wax figures waiting to be "wound up," and I did want so much to tell the little son of General Phillips to pinch one and make him jump. He would have done it, too, and then put all the blame upon me, without loss of time.
The first sergeant came to meet us, and went around with us. There were three long tables, fairly groaning with things upon them: buffalo, antelope, boiled ham, several kinds of vegetables, pies, cakes, quantities of pickles, dried "apple-duff," and coffee, and in the center of each table, high up, was a huge cake thickly covered with icing. These were the cakes that Mrs. Phillips, Mrs. Barker, and I had sent over that morning. It is the custom in the regiment for the wives of the officers every Christmas to send the enlisted men of their husbands' companies large plum cakes, rich with fruit and sugar. Eliza made the cake I sent over, a fact I made known from its very beginning, to keep it from being devoured by those it was not intended for.
The hall was very prettily decorated with flags and accoutrements, but one missed the greens. There are no evergreen trees here, only cottonwood. Before coming out, General Phillips said a few pleasant words to the men, wishing them a "Merry Christmas" for all of us. Judging from the laughing and shuffling of feet as soon as we got outside, the men were glad to be allowed to relax once more.
At six o'clock Faye and I, Lieutenant Baldwin, and Lieutenant Alden dined with Doctor and Mrs. Wilder. It was a beautiful little dinner, very delicious, and served in the daintiest manner possible. But out here one is never quite sure of what one is eating, for sometimes the most tempting dishes are made of almost nothing. At holiday time, however, it seems that the post trader sends to St. Louis for turkeys, celery, canned oysters, and other things. We have no fresh vegetables here, except potatoes, and have to depend upon canned stores in the commissary for a variety, and our meat consists entirely of beef, except now and then, when we may have a treat to buffalo or antelope.
The commanding officer gave a dancing party Friday evening that was most enjoyable. He is a widower, you know. His house is large, and the rooms of good size, so that dancing was comfortable. The music consisted of one violin with accordion accompaniment. This would seem absurd in the East, but I can assure you that one accordion, when played well by a German, is an orchestra in itself. And Doos plays very well. The girls East may have better music to dance by, and polished waxed floors to slip down upon, but they cannot have the excellent partners one has at an army post, and I choose the partners!
The officers are excellent dancers—every one of them—and when you are gliding around, your chin, or perhaps your nose, getting a scratch now and then from a gorgeous gold epaulet, you feel as light as a feather, and imagine yourself with a fairy prince. Of course the officers were in full-dress uniform Friday night, so I know just what I am talking about, scratches and all. Every woman appeared in her finest gown. I wore my nile-green silk, which I am afraid showed off my splendid coat of tan only too well.
The party was given for Doctor and Mrs. Anderson, who are guests of General Bourke for a few days. They are en route to Fort Union, New Mexico. Mrs. Anderson was very handsome in an elegant gown of London-smoke silk. I am to assist Mrs. Phillips in receiving New Year's day, and shall wear my pearl-colored Irish poplin. We are going out now for a little ride.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, January, 1872.
WHEN we came over on the stage from Kit Carson last fall, I sat on top with the driver, who told me of many terrible experiences he had passed through during the years he had been driving a stage on the plains, and some of the most thrilling were of sand storms, when he had, with great difficulty, saved the stage and perhaps his own life. There have been ever so many storms, since we have been here, that covered everything in the houses with dust and sand, but nothing at all like those the driver described. But yesterday one came—a terrific storm—and it so happened that I was caught out in the fiercest part of it.
As Faye was officer of the day, he could not leave the garrison, so I rode with Lieutenant Baldwin and Lieutenant Alden. The day was glorious—sunny, and quite warm—one of Colorado's very best, without a cloud to be seen in any direction. We went up the river to the mouth of a pretty little stream commonly called "The Picket Wire," but the real name of which is La Purgatoire. It is about five miles from the post and makes a nice objective point for a short ride, for the clear water gurgling over the stones, and the trees and bushes along its banks, are always attractive in this treeless country.
The canter up was brisk, and after giving our horses the drink from the running stream they always beg for, we started back on the road to the post in unusually fine spirits. Almost immediately, however, Lieutenant Baldwin said, "I do not like the looks of that cloud over there!" We glanced back in the direction he pointed, and seeing only a streak of dark gray low on the horizon, Lieutenant Alden and I paid no more attention to it. But Lieutenant Baldwin was very silent, and ever looking back at the queer gray cloud. Once I looked at it, too, and was amazed at the wonderfully fast way it had spread out, but just then John shied at something, and in managing the horse I forgot the cloud.
When about two miles from the post, Lieutenant Baldwin, who had fallen back a little, called to us, "Put your horses to their best pace—a sand storm is coming!" Then we knew there was a possibility of much danger, for Lieutenant Baldwin is known to be a keen observer, and our confidence in his judgment was great, so, without once looking back to see what was coming after us, Lieutenant Alden and I started our horses on a full run.
Well, that cloud increased in size with a rapidity you could never imagine, and soon the sun was obscured as if by an eclipse. It became darker and darker, and by the time we got opposite the post trader's there could be heard a loud, continuous roar, resembling that of a heavy waterfall.
Just then Lieutenant Baldwin grasped my bridle rein on the right and told Lieutenant Alden to ride close on my left, which was done not a second too soon, for as we reached the officers' line the storm struck us, and with such force that I was almost swept from my saddle. The wind was terrific and going at hurricane speed, and the air so thick with sand and dirt we could not see the ears of our own horses. The world seemed to have narrowed to a space that was appalling! You will think that this could never have been—that I was made blind by terror—but I can assure you that the absolute truth is being written.
Lieutenant Baldwin's voice sounded strange and far, far away when he called to me, "Sit tight in your saddle and do not jump!" And then again he fairly yelled, "We must stay together—and keep the horses from stampeding to the stables!" He was afraid they would break away and dash us against the iron supports to the flagstaff in the center of the parade ground. How he could say one word, or even open his mouth, I do not understand, for the air was thick with gritty dirt. The horses were frantic, of course, whirling around each other, rearing and pulling, in their efforts to get free.
We must have stayed in about the same place twenty minutes or longer, when, just for one instant, there was a lull in the storm, and I caught a glimpse of the white pickets of a fence! Without stopping to think of horse's hoofs and, alas! without calling one word to the two officers who were doing everything possible to protect me, I shut my eyes tight, freed my foot from the stirrup, and, sliding down from my horse, started for those pickets! How I missed Lieutenant Alden's horse, and how I got to that fence, I do not know. The force of the wind was terrific, and besides, I was obliged to cross the little acequia. But I did get over the fifteen or sixteen feet of ground without falling, and oh, the joy of getting my arms around those pickets!
The storm continued for some time; but finally the atmosphere began to clear, and I could see objects around me. And then out of the dust loomed up Lieutenant Baldwin. He was about halfway down the line and riding close to the fence, evidently looking for me. When he came up, leading my horse, his face was black with more than dirt. He reminded me of having told me positively not to jump from my horse, and asked if I realized that I might have been knocked down and killed by the crazy animals. Of course I had perceived all that as soon as I reached safety, but I could not admit my mistake at that time without breaking down and making a scene. I was nervous and exhausted, and in no condition to be scolded by anyone, so I said: "If you were not an old bachelor you would have known better than to have told a woman not to do a thing—you would have known that, in all probability, that would be the very thing she would do first!" That mollified him a little, but we did not laugh—life had just been too serious for that.
The chaplain had joined us, and so had Lieutenant Alden. The fence I had run to was the chaplain's, and when the good man saw us he came out and assisted me to his house, where I received the kindest care from Mrs. Lawton. I knew that Faye would be greatly worried about me, so as soon as I had rested a little—enough to walk—and had got some of the dust out of my eyes, the chaplain and I hurried down to our house to let him know that I was safe.
At every house along the line the heavy shutters were closed, and not one living thing was to be seen, and the post looked as though it might have been long abandoned. There was a peculiar light, too, that made the most familiar objects seem strange. Yes, we saw a squad of enlisted men across the parade ground, trying with immense ropes to get back in place the heavy roof of the long commissary building which had been partly blown off.
We met Faye at our gate, just starting out to look for us. He said that when the storm first came up he was frightened about me, but when the broad adobe house began to rock he came to the conclusion that I was about as safe out on the plains as I would be in a house, particularly as I was on a good horse, and with two splendid horsemen who would take the very best care of me. My plait of hair was one mass of dirt and was cut and torn, and is still in a deplorable condition, and my face looks as though I had just recovered from smallpox. As it was Monday, the washing of almost every family was out on lines, about every article of which has gone to regions unknown. The few pieces that were Caught by the high fences were torn to shreds.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, January, 1872.
OUR little party was a grand success, but I am still wondering how it came about that Mrs. Barker and I gave it together, for, although we are all in the same company and next-door neighbors, we have seen very little of each other. She is very quiet, and seldom goes out, even for a walk. It was an easy matter to arrange things so the two houses could, in a way, be connected, as they are under the same long roof, and the porches divided by a railing only, that was removed for the one evening. The dancing was in our house, and the supper was served at the Barkers'. And that supper was a marvel of culinary art, I assure you, even if it was a fraud in one or two things, We were complimented quite graciously by some of the older housekeepers, who pride themselves upon knowing how to make more delicious little dishes out of nothing than anyone else. But this time it was North and South combined, for you will remember that Mrs. Barker is from Virginia.
The chicken salad—and it was delicious—was made of tender veal, but the celery in it was the genuine article, for we sent to Kansas City for that and a few other things. The turkey galantine was perfect, and the product of a resourceful brain from the North, and was composed almost entirely of wild goose! There was no April fool about the delicate Maryland biscuits, however, and other nice things that were set forth. We fixed up cozily the back part of our hall with comfortable chairs and cushions, and there punch was served during the evening. Major Barker and Faye made the punch. The orchestra might have been better, but the two violins and the accordion gave us music that was inspiring, and gave us noise, too, and then Doos, who played the accordion, kept us merry by the ever-pounding down of one government-shod foot.
Everyone in the garrison came—even the chaplain was here during the supper. The officers Were in full-dress uniform, and the only man in plain evening dress was Mr. Dunn, the post trader, and in comparison to the gay uniforms of the officers he did look so sleek, from his shiny black hair down to the toes of his shiny black pumps! Mrs. Barker and I received, of course, and she was very pretty in a pink silk gown entirely covered with white net, that was caught up at many places by artificial pink roses. The color was most becoming, and made very pronounced the rich tint of her dark skin and her big black eyes.
Well, we danced before supper and we danced after supper, and when we were beginning to feel just a wee bit tired, there suddenly appeared in our midst a colored woman—a real old-time black mammy—in a dress of faded, old-fashioned plaids, with kerchief, white apron, and a red-and-yellow turban tied around her head. We were dancing at the time she came in, but everyone stopped at once, completely lost in amazement, and she had the floor to herself. This was what she wanted, and she immediately commenced to dance wildly and furiously, as though she was possessed, rolling her big eyes and laughing to show the white teeth. Gradually she quieted down to a smooth, rhythmic motion, slowly swaying from side to side, sometimes whirling around, but with feet always flat on the floor, often turning on her heels. All the time her arms were extended and her fingers snapping, and snapping also were the black eyes. She was the personification of grace, but the dance was weird—made the more so by the setting of bright evening dresses and glittering uniforms. One never sees a dance of this sort these days, even in the South, any more than one sees the bright-colored turban. Both have passed with the old-time darky.
Of course we recognized Mrs. Barker, more because there was no one else in our small community who could personify a darky so perfectly, than because there was any resemblance to her in looks or gesture. The make-up was artistic, and how she managed the quick transformation from ball dress to that of the plantation, with all its black paint and rouge, Mrs. Barker alone knows, and where on this earth she got that dress and turban, she alone knows. But I imagine she sent to Virginia for the whole costume. At all events, it was very bright in her to think of this unusual divertissement for our guests when dancing was beginning to lag a little. The dance she must have learned from a mammy when a child. I forgot to say that during the time she was dancing our fine orchestra played old Southern melodies. And all this was arranged and done by the quietest woman in the garrison!
Our house was upset from one end to the other to make room for the dancing, but the putting of things in order again did not take long, as the house has so very little in it. Still, I always feel rebellious when anything comes up to interfere with my rides, no matter how pleasant it may be. There have been a great many antelope near the post of late, and we have been on ever so many hunts for them. The greyhounds have not been with us, however, for following the hounds when chasing those fleet animals not only requires the fastest kind of a horse and very good riding, but is exceedingly dangerous to both horse and rider because of the many prairie-dog holes, which are terrible death traps. And besides, the dogs invariably get their feet full of cactus needles, which cause much suffering for days.
So we have been flagging the antelope, that is, taking a shameful advantage of their wonderful curiosity, and enticing them within rifle range. On these hunts I usually hold the horses of the three officers and my own, and so far they have not given me much trouble, for each one is a troop-trained animal.
The antelope are shy and wary little creatures, and possess an abnormal sense of smell that makes it absolutely necessary for hunters to move cautiously to leeward the instant they discover them. It is always an easy matter to find a little hill that will partly screen them—the country is so rolling—as they creep and crawl to position, ever mindful of the dreadful cactus. When they reach the highest point the flag is put up, and this is usually made on the spot, of a red silk handkerchief, one corner run through the rammer of a Springfield rifle. Then everyone lies down flat on the ground, resting on his elbows, with rifle in position for firing.
Antelope always graze against the wind, and even a novice can tell when they discover the flag, for they instantly stop feeding, and the entire band will whirl around to face it, with big round ears standing straight up, and in this way they will remain a second or two, constantly sniffing the air. Failing to discover anything dangerous, they will take a few steps forward, perhaps run around a little, giving quick tossings of the head, and sniffing with almost every breath, but whatever they do the stop is always in the same position—facing the flag, the strange object they cannot understand. Often they will approach very slowly, making frequent halts after little runs, and give many tossings of the head as if they were actually coquetting with death itself! Waiting for them to come within range of the rifle requires great patience, for the approach is always more or less slow, and frequently just as they are at the right distance and the finger is on the trigger, off the whole band will streak, looking like horizontal bars of brown and white! I am always so glad when they do this, for it seems so wicked to kill such graceful creatures. It is very seldom that I watch the approach, but when I do happen to see them come up, the temptation to do something to frighten them away from those murderous guns is almost irresistible.
But never once are they killed for mere pleasure! Their meat is tender and most delicious after one has learned to like the "gamey" flavor. And a change in meat we certainly do need here, for unless we can have buffalo or antelope now and then, it is beef every day in the month—not only one month, but every month.
The prairie-dog holes are great obstacles to following hounds on the plains, for while running so fast it is impossible for a horse to see the holes in time to avoid them, and if a foot slips down in one it means a broken leg for the horse and a hard throw for the rider, and perhaps broken bones also. Following these English greyhounds—which have such wonderful speed and keenness of sight—after big game on vast plains, is very different from running after the slow hounds and foxes in the East, and requires a very much faster horse and quite superior riding. One has to learn to ride a horse—to get a perfect balance that makes it a matter of indifference which-way the horse may jump, at any speed—in fact, one must become a part of one's mount before these hunts can be attempted.
Chasing wolves and rabbits is not as dangerous, for they cannot begin to run as fast as antelope. And it is great fun to chase the big jack-rabbits. They know their own speed perfectly and have great confidence in it. When the hounds start one he will give one or two jumps high up in the air to take a look at things, and then he commences to run with great bounds, with his enormously long ears straight up like sails on a boat, and almost challenges the dogs to follow. But the poor hunted thing soon finds out that he must do better than that if he wishes to keep ahead, so down go the ears, flat along his back, and stretching himself out very straight, goes his very fastest, and then the real chase is on.
But Mr. Jack-Rabbit is cunning, and when he sees that the long-legged dogs are steadily gaining upon him and getting closer with every jump, he will invariably make a quick turn and run back on his own tracks, often going right underneath the fast-running dogs that cannot stop themselves, and can only give vicious snaps as they jump over him. Their stride—often fifteen and twenty feet—covers so much more ground than the rabbit's, it is impossible for them to make as quick turns, therefore it is generally the slow dog of the pack that catches the rabbit. And frequently a wise old rabbit will make many turns and finally reach a hole in safety.
The tail of a greyhound is his rudder and his brake, and the sight is most laughable when a whole pack of them are trying to stop, each tail whirling around like a Dutch windmill. Sometimes, in their frantic efforts to stop quickly, they will turn complete somersaults and roll over in a cloud of dust and dirt. But give up they never do, and once on their feet they start back after that rabbit with whines of disappointment and rage. Many, many times, also, I have heard the dogs howl and whine from the pain caused by the cactus spines in their feet, but not once have I ever seen any one of them lag in the chase.
But the pack here is a notoriously fine one. The leader. Magic, is a splendid dog, dark brindle in color, very swift and very plucky, also most intelligent. He is a sly rascal, too. He loves to sleep on Lieutenant Baldwin's bed above all things, and he sneaks up on it whenever he can, but the instant he hears Lieutenant Baldwin's step on the walk outside, down he jumps, and stretching himself out full length in front of the fire, he shuts his eyes tight, pretends to be fast asleep, and the personification of an innocent, well-behaved dog! But Lieutenant Baldwin knows his tricks now, and sometimes, going to the bed, he can feel the warmth from his body that is still there, and if he says, "Magic, you old villain," Magic will wag his tail a little, which in dog language means, "You are pretty smart, but I'm smart, too!"
With all this outdoor exercise, one can readily perceive that the days are not long and tiresome. Of course there are a few who yawn and complain of the monotony of frontier life, but these are the stay-at-homes who sit by their own fires day after day and let cobwebs gather in brain and lungs. And these, too, are the ones who have time to discover so many faults in others, and become our garrison gossips! If they would take brisk rides on spirited horses in this wonderful air, and learn to shoot all sorts of guns in all sorts of positions, they would soon discover that a frontier post can furnish plenty of excitement. At least, I have found that it can.
Faye was very anxious for me to become a good shot, considering it most essential in this Indian country, and to please him I commenced practicing soon after we got here. It was hard work at first, and I had many a bad headache from the noise of the guns. It was all done in a systematic way, too, as though I was a soldier at target practice. They taught me to use a pistol in various positions while standing; then I learned to use it from the saddle. After that a little four-inch bull's-eye was often tacked to a tree seventy-five paces away, and I was given a Spencer carbine to shoot (a short magazine rifle used by the cavalry), and many a time I have fired three rounds, twenty-one shots in all, at the bull's-eye, which I was expected to hit every time, too.
Well, I obligingly furnished amusement for Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin until they asked me to fire a heavy Springfield rifle—an infantry gun. After one shot I politely refused to touch the thing again. The noise came near making me deaf for life; the big thing rudely "kicked" me over on my back, and the bullet—I expect that ball is still on its way to Mars or perhaps the moon. This earth it certainly did not hit! Faye is with the company almost every morning, but after luncheon we usually go out for two or three hours, and always come back refreshed by the exercise. And the little house looks more cozy, and the snapping of the blazing logs sounds more cheerful because of our having been away from them.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, April, 1872.
SOME of the most dreadful things have occurred since I wrote you last, and this letter will make you unhappy, I know. To begin with, orders have actually come from Department Headquarters at Leavenworth for two companies of infantry here—General Phillips' and Captain Giddings'—to go to Camp Supply! So that is settled, and we will probably leave this post in about ten days, and during that time we are expected to sell, give away, smash up, or burn about everything we possess, for we have already been told that very few things can be taken with us. I do not see how we can possibly do with less than we have had since we came here.
Eliza announced at once that she could not be induced to go where there are so many Indians—said she had seen enough of them while in New Mexico. I am more than sorry to lose her, but at the same time I cannot help admiring her common sense. I would not go either if I could avoid it.
You will remember that not long ago I said that Lieutenant Baldwin was urging me to ride Tom, his splendid thoroughbred, as soon as he could be quieted down a little so I could control him. Well, I was to have ridden him to-day for the first time! Yesterday morning Lieutenant Baldwin had him out for a long, hard run, but even after that the horse was nervous when he came in, and danced sideways along the officers' drive in his usual graceful way. Just as they got opposite the chaplain's house, two big St. Bernard dogs bounded over the fence and landed directly under the horse, entangling themselves with his legs so completely that when he tried to jump away from them he was thrown down on his knees with great force, and Lieutenant Baldwin was pitched over the horse's head and along the ground several feet.
He is a tall, muscular man and went down heavily, breaking three ribs and his collar bone on both sides! He is doing very well, and is as comfortable to-day as can be expected, except that he is grieving piteously over his horse, for the poor horse—beautiful Tom—is utterly ruined! Both knees have been sprung, and he is bandaged almost as much as his master.
The whole occurrence is most deplorable and distressing. It seems so dreadful that a strong man should be almost killed and a grand horse completely ruined by two clumsy, ill-mannered dogs. One belongs to the chaplain, too, who is expected to set a model example for the rest of us. Many, many times during the winter I have ridden by the side of Tom, and had learned to love every one of his pretty ways, from the working of his expressive ears to the graceful movement of his slender legs. He was a horse for anyone to be proud of, not only for his beauty but as a hunter, too, and he was Lieutenant Baldwin's delight and joy.
It does seem as if everything horrible had come all at once. The order we have been expecting, of course, as so many rumors have reached us that we were to go, but all the time there has been hidden away a little hope that we might be left here another year.
I shall take the greyhound puppy, of course. He is with Blue, his mother, at Captain Richardson's quarters, but he is brought over every day for me to see. His coat is brindled, dark brown and black—just like Magic's—and fine as the softest satin. One foot is white, and there is a little white tip to his tail, which, it seems, is considered a mark of great beauty in a greyhound. We have named him Harold.
Nothing has been done about packing yet, as the orders have just been received. The carpenters in the company will not be permitted to do one thing for us until the captain and first lieutenant have had made every box and crate they want for the move. I am beginning to think that it must be nice to be even a first lieutenant. But never mind, perhaps Faye will get his captaincy in twenty years or so, and then it will be all "fair and square."
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, May, 1872.
EVERYTHING is packed or disposed of, and we are ready to start to-morrow on the long march to Camp Supply. Two large army wagons have been allowed to each company for the officers' baggage, but as all three officers are present with the company Faye is in, and the captain has taken one of the wagons for his own use, we can have just one half of one of those wagons to take our household goods to a country where it is absolutely impossible to purchase one thing! We have given away almost all of our furniture, and were glad that we had bought so little when we came here. Our trunks and several boxes are to be sent by freight to Hays City at our own expense, and from there down to the post by wagon, and if we ever see them again I will be surprised, as Camp Supply is about one hundred and fifty miles from the railroad. We are taking only one barrel of china—just a few pieces we considered the most necessary—and this morning Faye discovered that the first lieutenant had ordered that one barrel to be taken from the wagon to make more room for his own things. Faye ordered it to be put back at once, and says it will stay there, too, and I fancy it will! Surely we are entitled to all of our one half of the wagon—second choice at that.
I am to ride in an ambulance with Mrs. Phillips, her little son and her cook, Mrs. Barker and her small son. There will be seats for only four, as the middle seat has been taken out to make room for a comfortable rocking-chair that will be for Mrs. Phillips's exclusive use! The dear little greyhound puppy I have to leave here. Faye says I must not take him with so many in the ambulance, as he would undoubtedly be in the way. But I am sure the puppy would not be as troublesome as one small boy, and there will be two small boys with us. It would be quite bad enough to be sent to such a terrible place as Camp Supply has been represented to us, without having all this misery and mortification added, and all because Faye happens to be a second lieutenant!
I have cried and cried over all these things until I am simply hideous, but I have to go just the same, and I have made up my mind never again to make myself so wholly disagreeable about a move, no matter where we may have to go. I happened to recall yesterday what grandmother said to me when saying good-by: "It is a dreadful thing not to become a woman when one ceases to be a girl!" I am no longer a girl, I suppose, so I must try to be a woman, as there seems to be nothing in between. One can find a little comfort, too, in the thought that there is no worse place possible for us to be sent to, and when once there we can look forward to better things sometime in the future. I do not mind the move as much as the unpleasant experiences connected with it.
But I shall miss the kind friends, the grand hunts and delightful rides, and shall long for dear old John, who has carried me safely so many, many miles.
Lieutenant Baldwin is still ill and very depressed, and Doctor Wilder is becoming anxious about him. It is so dreadful for such a powerful man as he has been to be so really broken in pieces. He insists upon being up and around, which is bad, very bad, for the many broken bones.
I will write whenever I find an opportunity.
OLD FORT ZARAH, KANSAS, April, 1872.
OUR camp to-night is near the ruins of a very old fort, and ever since we got here, the men have been hunting rattlesnakes that have undoubtedly been holding possession of the tumble-down buildings, many snake generations. Dozens and dozens have been killed, of all sizes, some of them being very large. The old quarters were evidently made of sods and dirt, and must have been dreadful places to live in even when new.
I must tell you at once that I have the little greyhound. I simply took matters in my own hands and got him! We came only five miles our first day out, and after the tents had been pitched that night and the various dinners commenced, it was discovered that many little things had been left behind, so General Phillips decided to send an ambulance and two or three men back to the post for them, and to get the mail at the same time. It so happened that Burt, our own striker, was one of the men detailed to go, and when I heard this I at once thought of the puppy I wanted so much. I managed to see Burt before he started, and when asked if he could bring the little dog to me he answered so heartily, "That I can, mum," I felt that the battle was half won, for I knew that if I could once get the dog in camp he would take care of him, even if I could not.
Burt brought him and kept him in his tent that night, and the little fellow seemed to know that he should be good, for Burt told me that he did not whimper once, notwithstanding it was his first night from his mother and little companions. The next morning, when he was brought to me, Faye's face was funny, and after one look of astonishment at the puppy he hurried out of the tent—so I could not see him laugh, I think. He is quite as pleased as I am, now, to have the dog, for he gives no trouble whatever. He is fed condensed milk, and I take care of him during the day and Burt has him at night. He is certainly much better behaved in the ambulance than either of the small boys who step upon our feet, get into fierce fights, and keep up a racket generally. The mothers have been called upon to settle so many quarrels between their sons, that the atmosphere in the ambulance has become quite frigid.
The day we came from the post, while I was grieving for the little greyhound and many other things I had not been permitted to bring with me, and the rocking-chair was bruising my ankles, I felt that it was not dignified in me to submit to the treatment I was being subjected to, and I decided to rebel. Mrs. Barker and her small son had been riding on the back seat, and I felt that I was as much entitled to a seat here as the boy, nevertheless I had been sitting on the seat with Mrs. Phillips's servant and riding backward. This was the only place that had been left for me at the post that morning. After thinking it all over I made up my mind to take the small boy's seat, but just where he would sit I did not know.
When I returned to the ambulance after the next rest—I was careful to get there first—I sat down on the back seat and made myself comfortable, but I must admit that my heart was giving awful thumps, for Mrs. Barker's sharp tongue and spitfire temper are well known. My head was aching because of my having ridden backward, and I was really cross, and this Mrs. Barker may have noticed, for not one word did she say directly to me, but she said much to her son—much that I might have resented had I felt inclined. The small boy sat on his mother's lap and expressed his disapproval by giving me vicious kicks every few minutes.
Not one word was said the next morning when I boldly carried the puppy to that seat. Mrs. Barker looked at the dog, then at me, with great scorn, but she knew that if she said anything disagreeable Mrs. Phillips would side with me, so she wisely kept still. I think that even Faye has come to the conclusion that I might as well have the dog—who lies so quietly in my lap—now that he sees how I am sandwiched in with rocking-chairs, small boys, and servants. The men march fifty minutes and halt ten, each hour, and during every ten minutes' rest Harold and I take a little run, and this makes him ready for a nap when we return to the ambulance. From this place on I am to ride with Mrs. Cole, who has her own ambulance. This will be most agreeable, and I am so delighted that she should have thought of inviting me.
Camping out is really very nice when the weather is pleasant, but the long marches are tiresome for everybody. The ambulances and wagons are driven directly back of the troops, consequently the mules can never go faster than a slow walk, and sometimes the dust is enough to choke us. We have to keep together, for we are in an Indian country, of course. I feel sorry for the men, but they always march "rout" step and seem to have a good time, for we often hear them laughing and joking with each other.
We are following the Arkansas River, and so far the scenery has been monotonous—just the same rolling plains day after day. Leaving our first army home was distressing, and I doubt if other homes and other friends will ever be quite the same to me. Lieutenant Baldwin was assisted to the porch by his faithful Mexican boy, so he could see us start, and he looked white and pitifully helpless, with both arms bandaged tight to his sides. One of those dreadful dogs is in camp and going to Camp Supply with us, and is as frisky as though he had done something to be proud of.
This cannot be posted until we reach Fort Dodge, but I intend to write to you again while there, of course, if I have an opportunity.
FORT DODGE, KANSAS, May, 1872.
IT was nearly two o'clock yesterday when we arrived at this post, and we go on again to-day about eleven. The length of all marches has to be regulated by water and wood, and as the first stream on the road to Camp Supply is at Bluff Creek, only ten miles from here, there was no necessity for an early start. This gives us an opportunity to get fresh supplies for our mess chests, and to dry things also.
There was a terrific rain and electric storm last evening, and this morning we present anything but a military appearance, for around each tent is a fine array of bedding and clothing hung out to dry. Our camp is at the foot of a hill a short distance back of the post, and during the storm the water rushed down with such force that it seemed as though we were in danger of being carried on to the Arkansas River.
We had just returned from a delightful dinner with Major and Mrs. Tilden, of the cavalry, and Faye had gone out to mount the guard for the night, when, without a moment's warning, the storm burst upon us. The lightning was fierce, and the white canvas made it appear even worse than it really was, for at each flash the walls of the tent seemed to be on fire. There was no dark closet for me to run into this time, but there was a bed, and on that I got, taking the little dog with me for company and to get him out of the wet. He seemed very restless and constantly gave little whines, and at the time I thought it was because he, too, was afraid of the storm. The water was soon two and three inches deep on the ground under the tent, rushing along like a mill race, giving little gurgles as it went through the grass and against the tent pins. The roar of the rain on the tent was deafening.
The guard is always mounted with the long steel bayonets on the rifles, and I knew that Faye had on his sword, and remembering these things made me almost scream at each wicked flash of lightning, fearing that he and the men had been killed. But he came to the tent on a hard run, and giving me a long waterproof coat to wrap myself in, gathered me in his arms and started for Mrs. Tilden's, where I had been urged to remain overnight. When we reached a narrow board walk that was supposed to run along by her side fence, Faye stood me down upon it, and I started to do some running on my own account. Before I had taken two steps, however, down went the walk and down I went in water almost to my knees, and then splash—down went the greyhound puppy! Up to that instant I had not been conscious of having the little dog with me, and in all that rain and water Faye had been carrying me and a fat puppy also.
The walk had been moved by the rushing water, and was floating, which we had no way of knowing, of course. I dragged the dog out of the water, and we finally reached the house, where we received a true army welcome—a dry one, too—and there I remained until after breakfast this morning. But sleep during the night I did not, for until long after midnight I sat in front of a blazing fire holding a very sick puppy. Hal was desperately ill and we all expected him to die at any moment, and I was doubly sorrowful, because I had been the innocent cause of it. Ever since I have had him he has been fed condensed milk only—perhaps a little bread now and then; so when we got here I sent for some fresh milk, to give him a treat. He drank of it greedily and seemed to enjoy it so much, that I let him have all he wanted during the afternoon. And it was the effect of the milk that made him whine during the storm, and not because he was afraid of the lightning. He would have died, I do believe, had it not been for the kindness of Major Tilden who knows all about greyhounds. They are very delicate and most difficult to raise. The little dog is a limp bunch of brindled satin this morning, wrapped in flannel, but we hope he will soon be well.
A third company joined us here and will go on to Camp Supply. Major Hunt, the captain, has his wife and three children with him, and they seem to be cultured and very charming people. Mrs. Hunt this moment brought a plate of delicious spice cake for our luncheon. There is a first lieutenant with the company, but he is not married.
There is only one mail from here each week, so of course there will be only one from Camp Supply, as that mail is brought here and then carried up to the railroad with the Dodge mail. It is almost time for the tents to be struck, and I must be getting ready for the march.
CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, May, 1872.
THIS place is quite as dreadful as it has been represented to us. There are more troops here than at Fort Lyon, and of course the post is very much larger. There are two troops of colored cavalry, one of white cavalry, and three companies of infantry. The infantry companies that have been stationed here, and which our three companies have come to relieve, will start in the morning for their new station, and will use the transportation that brought us down. Consequently, it was necessary to unload all the things from our wagons early this morning, so they could be turned over to the outgoing troops. I am a little curious to know if there is a second lieutenant who will be so unfortunate as to be allowed only one half of a wagon in which to carry his household goods.
Their going will leave vacant a number of officers' quarters, therefore there will be no selection of quarters by our officers until to-morrow. Faye is next to the junior, so there will be very little left to select from by the time his turn comes. The quarters are really nothing more than huts built of vertical logs plastered in between with mud, and the roofs are of poles and mud! Many of the rooms have only sand floors. We dined last evening with Captain and Mrs. Vincent, of the cavalry, and were amazed to find that such wretched buildings could be made so attractive inside. But of course they have one of the very best houses on the line, and as company commander, Captain Vincent can have done about what he wants. And then, again, they are but recently married, and all their furnishings are new and handsome. There is one advantage in being with colored troops—one can always have good servants. Mrs. Vincent has an excellent colored soldier cook, and her butler was thoroughly trained as such before he enlisted. It did look so funny, however, to see such a black man in a blue Uniform.
The march down from Fort Dodge was most uncomfortable the first two days. It poured and poured rain, and then poured more rain, until finally everybody and everything was soaked through. I felt so sorry for the men who had to march in the sticky mud. Their shoes filled fast with water, and they were compelled constantly to stop, take them off, and pour out the water. It cleared at last and the sun shone warm and bright, and then there was another exhibition in camp one afternoon, of clothing and bedding drying on guy ropes.
All the way down I was on the lookout for Indians, and was laughed at many a time for doing so, too. Every time something unusual was seen in the distance some bright person would immediately exclaim, "Oh, that is only one of Mrs. Rae's Indians!" I said very little about what I saw during the last day or two, for I felt that the constant teasing must have become as wearisome to the others as it had to me. But I am still positive that I saw the black heads of Indians on the top of ever so many hills we passed. When they wish to see and not be seen they crawl up a hill on the side farthest from you, but only far enough up to enable them to look over, and in this position they will remain for hours, perfectly motionless, watching your every movement. Unless you notice the hill very carefully you will never see the black dot on top, for only the eyes and upper part of the head are exposed. I had been told all this many times; also, that when in an Indian country to be most watchful when Indians are not to be seen.
Camp Supply is certainly in an Indian country, for it is surrounded by Comanches, Apaches, Kiowas, Cheyennes, and Arapahoes—each a hostile tribe, except the last. No one can go a rod from the garrison without an escort, and our weekly mail is brought down in a wagon and guarded by a corporal and several privates. Only last week two couriers—soldiers—who had been sent down with dispatches from Fort Dodge, were found dead on the road, both shot in the back, probably without having been given one chance to defend themselves.
We are in camp on low land just outside the post, and last night we were almost washed away again by the down-pouring rain, and this morning there is mud everywhere. And this is the country that is supposed never to have rain! Mrs. Vincent invited me most cordially to come to her house until we at least knew what quarters we were to have, and Captain Vincent came early to-day to insist upon my going up at once, but I really could not go. We have been in rain and mud so long I feel that I am in no way fit to go to anyone's house. Besides, it would seem selfish in me to desert Faye, and he, of course, would not leave the company as long as it is in tents. We are delighted at finding such charming people as the Vincents at this horrid place.
CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, June, 1872.
WE are in our own house now and almost settled. When one has only a few pieces of furniture it does not take long to get them in place. It is impossible to make the rooms look homelike, and I often find myself wondering where in this world I have wandered to! The house is of logs, of course, and has a pole and dirt roof, and was built originally for an officers' mess. The dining room is large and very long, a part of which we have partitioned off with a piece of canvas and converted into a storeroom. We had almost to get down on our knees to the quartermaster before he would give us the canvas. He is in the quartermaster's department and is most arrogant; seems to think that every nail and tack is his own personal property and for his exclusive use.
Our dining room has a sand floor, and almost every night little white toadstools grow up all along the base of the log walls. All of the logs are of cottonwood and have the bark on, and the army of bugs that hide underneath the bark during the day and march upon us at night is to be dreaded about as much as a whole tribe of Indians!
I wrote you how everyone laughed at me on the march down because I was positive I saw heads of Indians on the sand hills so many times. Well, all that has ceased, and the mention of "Mrs. Rae's Indians" is carefully avoided! There has been sad proof that the Indians were there, also that they were watching us closely and kept near us all the way down from Fort Dodge, hoping for a favorable opportunity to steal the animals. The battalion of the —th Infantry had made only two days' march from here, and the herders had just turned the horses and mules out to graze, when a band of Cheyenne Indians swooped down upon them and stampeded every animal, leaving the companies without even one mule! The poor things are still in camp on the prairie, waiting for something, anything, to move them on. General Phillips is mightily pleased that the Indians did not succeed in getting the animals from his command, and I am pleased that they cannot tease me any more.
My ride with Lieutenant Golden, Faye's classmate, this morning was very exciting for a time. We started directly after stable call, which is at six o'clock. Lieutenant Golden rode Dandy, his beautiful thoroughbred, that reminds me so much of Lieutenant Baldwin's Tom, and I rode a troop horse that had never been ridden by a woman before. As soon as he was led up I noticed that there was much white to be seen in his eyes, and that he was restless and ever pawing the ground. But the orderly said he was not vicious, and he was sure I could ride him. He did not object in the least to my skirt, and we started off in fine style, but before we reached the end of the line he gave two or three pulls at the bit, and then bolted! My arms are remarkably strong, but they were like a child's against that hard mouth. He turned the corner sharply and carried me along back of the laundress' quarters, where there was a perfect network of clothes lines, and where I fully expected to be swept from the saddle. But I managed to avoid them by putting my head down close to the horse's neck, Indian fashion. He was not a very large horse, and lowered himself, of course, by his terrific pace. He went like the wind, on and up the hill in front of the guard house. There a sentry was walking post, and on his big infantry rifle was a long bayonet, and the poor man, in his desire to do something for me, ran forward and held the gun horizontally right in front of my horse, which caused him to give a fearful lunge to the right and down the hill. How I managed to keep my seat I do not know, and neither do I know how that mad horse kept right side up on that down jump. But it did not seem to disturb him in the least, for he never slackened his speed, and on we went toward the stables, where the cavalry horses were tied to long picket ropes, and close together, getting their morning grooming.
All this time Lieutenant Golden had not attempted to overtake me, fearing that by doing so he might make matters worse, but when he saw that the horse was running straight for his place on the line, he pushed forward, and grasping my bridle rein, almost pulled the horse on his haunches. He said later that I might have been kicked to death by the troop horses if I had been rushed in among them. We went on to the stables, Lieutenant Golden leading my horse, and you can fancy how mortified I was over that performance, and it was really unnecessary, too. Lieutenant Golden, also the sergeant, advised me to dismount and try another horse, but I said no! I would ride that one if I could have a severer bit and my saddle girths tightened. Dismount before Lieutenant Golden, a cavalry officer and Faye's classmate, and all those staring troopers—I, the wife of an infantry officer? Never! It was my first experience with a runaway horse, but I had kept a firm seat all the time—there was some consolation in that thought.
Well, to my great relief and comfort, it was discovered that the chin chain that is on all cavalry bits had been left off, and this had made the curb simply a straight bit and wholly ineffective. The sergeant fastened the chain on and it was made tight, too, and he tightened the girths and saw that everything was right, and then Lieutenant Golden and I started on our ride the second time. I expected trouble, as the horse was then leaving his stable and companions, but when he commenced to back and shake his head I let him know that I held a nice stinging whip, and that soon stopped the balking. We had to pass three long picket lines of horses and almost two hundred troopers, every one of whom stared at me with both eyes. It was embarrassing, of course, but I was glad to let the whole line of them see that I was capable of managing my own horse, which was still very frisky. I knew very well, too, that the sergeant's angry roar when he asked, "Who bridled this horse?" had been heard by many of them. Our ride was very delightful after all its exciting beginning, and we are going again to morrow morning. I want to let those troopers see that I am not afraid to ride the horse they selected for me.
I shall be so glad when Hal is large enough to go with me. He is growing fast, but at present seems to be mostly legs. He is devoted to me, but I regret to say that he and our old soldier cook are not the dearest friends. Findlay is so stupid he cannot appreciate the cunning things the little dog does. Hal is fed mush and milk only until he gets his second teeth, and consequently he is wild about meat. The odor of a broiling beefsteak the other day was more than he could resist, so he managed to get his freedom by slipping his collar over his head, and rushing into the kitchen, snatched the sizzling steak and was out again before Findlay could collect his few wits, and get across the room to stop him. The meat was so hot it burned his mouth, and he howled from the pain, but drop it he did not until he was far from the cook. This I consider very plucky in so young a dog! Findlay ran after the little hound, yelling and swearing, and I ran after Findlay to keep him from beating my dog. Of course we did not have beefsteak that day, but, as I told Faye, it was entirely Findlay's fault. He should have kept watch of things, and not made it possible for Hal to kill himself by eating a whole big steak!
Yesterday, Lieutenant Golden came in to luncheon, and when we went in the dining room I saw at once that things were wrong, very wrong. A polished table is an unknown luxury down here, but fresh table linen we do endeavor to have. But the cloth on the table yesterday was a sight to behold, with big spots of dirt all along one side and dirt on top. Findlay came in the room just as I reached the table, and I said, "Findlay, what has happened here?" He gave one look at the cloth where I pointed, and then striking his knuckles together, almost sobbed out, "Dot tamn dog, mum!" Faye and Lieutenant Golden quickly left the room to avoid hearing any more remarks of that kind, for it was really very dreadful in Findlay to use such language. This left me alone, of course, to pacify the cook, which I found no easy task. Old Findlay had pickled a choice buffalo tongue with much care and secrecy, and had served it for luncheon yesterday as a great surprise and treat. There was the platter on the table, but there could be no doubt of its having been licked clean. Not one tiny piece of tongue could be seen any place.
The window was far up, and in vain did I try to convince everyone that a strange dog had come in and stolen the meat, that Hal was quite too small to have reached so far; but Findlay only looked cross and Faye looked hungry, so I gave that up. Before night, however, there was trouble and a very sick puppy in the house, and once again I thought he would die. And every few minutes that disagreeable old cook would come in and ask about the dog, and say he was afraid he could not get well—always with a grin on his face that was exasperating. Finally, I told him that if he had served only part of the tongue, as he should have done, the dog would not have been so ill, and we could have had some of it. That settled the matter—he did not come in again. Findlay has served several enlistments, and is regarded as an old soldier, and once upon a time he was cook for the colonel of the regiment, therefore he sometimes forgets himself and becomes aggressive. I do not wonder that Hal dislikes him.
And Hal dislikes Indians, too, and will often hear their low mumbling and give little growls before I dream that one is near. They have a disagreeable way of coming to the windows and staring in. Sometimes before you have heard a sound you will be conscious of an uncomfortable feeling, and looking around you will discover five or six Indians, large and small, peering at you through the windows, each ugly nose pressed flat against the glass! It is enough to drive one mad. You never know when they are about, their tread is so stealthy with their moccasined feet.
Faye is officer of the guard every third day now. This sounds rather nice; but it means that every third day and night—exactly twenty-four hours—he has to spend at the guard house, excepting when making the rounds, that is, visiting sentries on post, and is permitted to come to the house just long enough to eat three hurried meals. This is doing duty, and would be all right if there were not a daily mingling of white and colored troops which often brings a colored sergeant over a white corporal and privates. But the most unpleasant part for the officer of the guard is that the partition in between the officer's room and guard room is of logs, unchinked, and very open, and the weather is very hot! and the bugs, which keep us all in perpetual warfare in our houses, have full sway there, going from one room to the other.
The officers say that the negroes make good soldiers and fight like fiends. They certainly manage to stick on their horses like monkeys. The Indians call them "buffalo soldiers," because their woolly heads are so much like the matted cushion that is between the horns of the buffalo. We had letters from dear old Fort Lyon yesterday, and the news about Lieutenant Baldwin is not encouraging. He is not improving and Doctor Wilder is most anxious about him. But a man as big and strong as he was must certainly get well in time.
CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, June, 1872.
IT seems as if I had to write constantly of unpleasant occurrences, but what else can I do since unpleasant occurrences are ever coming along? This time I must tell you that Faye has been turned out of quarters—"ranked out," as it is spoken of in the Army. But it all amounts to the same thing, and means that we have been driven out of our house and home, bag and baggage, because a captain wanted that one set of quarters! Call it what one chooses, the experience was not pleasant and will be long remembered. Being turned out was bad enough in itself, but the manner in which it was done was humiliating in the extreme. We had been in the house only three weeks and had worked so hard during that time to make it at all comfortable. Findlay wanted to tear down the canvas partition in the dining room when we left the house, and I was sorry later on that I had not consented to his doing so.
One morning at ten o'clock I received a note from Faye, written at the guard house, saying that his set of quarters had been selected by a cavalry officer who had just arrived at the post, and that every article of ours must be out of the house that day by one o'clock! Also that, as he was officer of the guard, it would be impossible for him to assist me in the least, except to send some enlisted men to move the things. At first I was dazed and wholly incapable of comprehending the situation—it seemed so preposterous to expect anyone to move everything out of a house in three hours. But as soon as I recovered my senses I saw at once that not one second of the precious time must be wasted, and that the superintendence of the whole thing had fallen upon me.
So I gathered my forces, and the four men started to work in a way that showed they would do everything in their power to help me. All that was possible for us to do, however, was almost to throw things out in a side yard, for remember, please, we had only three short hours in which to move everything—and this without, warning or preparation of any kind. All things, big and small, were out by one o'clock, and just in time, too, to avoid a collision with the colored soldiers of the incoming cavalry officer, who commenced taking furniture and boxes in the house at precisely that hour.
Of course there was no hotel or even restaurant for me to go to, and I was too proud and too indignant to beg shelter in the house of a friend—in fact, I felt as if I had no friend. So I sat down on a chair in the yard with the little dog by me, thinking, I remember, that the chair was our own property and no one had a right to object to my being there. And I also remember that the whole miserable affair brought to mind most vividly scenes of eviction that had been illustrated in the papers from time to time, when poor women had been evicted for nonpayment of rent!
Just as I had reached the very lowest depths of misery and woe, Mrs. Vincent appeared, and Faye almost immediately after. We three went to Mrs. Vincent's house for luncheon, and in fact I remained there until we came to this house. She had just heard of what had happened and hastened down to me. Captain Vincent said it was entirely the fault of the commanding officer for permitting such a disgraceful order to leave his office; that Captain Park's family could have remained one night longer in tents here, as they had been in camp every night on the road from Fort Sill.
There came a ludicrous turn to all this unpleasantness, for, by the ranking out of one junior second lieutenant, six or more captains and first lieutenants had to move. It was great fun the next day to see the moving up and down the officers' line of all sorts of household goods, for it showed that a poor second lieutenant was of some importance after all!
But I am getting on too fast. Faye, of course, was entitled to two rooms, some place in the post, but it seems that the only quarters he could take were those occupied by Lieutenant Cole, so Faye decided at once to go into tents himself, in preference to compelling Lieutenant Cole to do so. Now it so happened that the inspector general of the department was in the garrison, and as soon as he learned the condition of affairs, he ordered the post quartermaster to double two sets of quarters—that is, make four sets out of two—and designated the quartermaster's own house for one of the two. But Major Knox divided off two rooms that no one could possibly occupy, and in consequence has still all of his large house. But the other large set that was doubled was occupied by a senior captain, who, when his quarters were reduced in size, claimed a new choice, and so, turning another captain out, the ranking out went on down to a second lieutenant. But no one took our old house from Captain Park, much to my disappointment, and he still has it.
The house that we are in now is built of cedar logs, and was the commanding officer's house at one time. It has a long hall running through the center, and on the left side Major Hunt and his family have the four rooms, and we have the two on the right. Our kitchen is across the yard, and was a chicken house not so very long ago. It has no floor, of course, so we had loads of dirt dug out and all filled in again with clean white sand, and now, after the log walls have been scraped and whitened, and a number of new shelves put up, it is really quite nice. Our sleeping room has no canvas on the walls inside, and much of the chinking has fallen out, leaving big holes, and I never have a light in that room after dark, fearing that Indians might shoot me through those holes. They are skulking about the post all the time.
We have another cook now—a soldier of course—and one that is rather inexperienced. General Phillips ordered Findlay back to the company, saying he was much needed there, but he was company cook just one day when he was transferred to the general's own kitchen. Comment is unnecessary! But it is all for the best, I am sure, for Farrar is very fond of Hal, and sees how intelligent he is, just as I do. The little dog is chained to a kennel all the time now, and, like his mistress, is trying to become dignified.
Faye was made post adjutant this morning, which we consider rather complimentary, since the post commander is in the cavalry, and there are a number of cavalry lieutenants here. General Dickinson is a polished old gentleman, and his wife a very handsome woman who looks almost as young as her daughter. Miss Dickinson, the general's older daughter, is very pretty and a fearless rider. In a few days we two are to commence our morning rides.
How very funny that I should have forgotten to tell you that I have a horse, at least I hope he will look like a horse when he has gained some flesh and lost much long hair. He is an Indian pony of very good size, and has a well-shaped head and slender little legs. He has a fox trot, which is wonderfully easy, and which he apparently can keep up indefinitely, and like all Indian horses can "run like a deer." So, altogether, he will do very well for this place, where rides are necessarily curtailed. I call him Cheyenne, because we bought him of Little Raven, a Cheyenne chief. I shall be so glad when I can ride again, as I have missed so much the rides and grand hunts at Fort Lyon.
Later: The mail is just in, and letters have come from Fort Lyon telling us of the death of Lieutenant Baldwin! It is dreadful—and seems impossible. They write that he became more and more despondent, until finally it was impossible to rouse him sufficiently to take an interest in his own life. Faye and I have lost a friend—a real, true friend. A brother could not have been kinder, more considerate than he was to both of us always. How terribly he must have grieved over the ruin of the horse he was so proud of, and loved so well!
CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, September, 1872.
THE heat here is still intense, and it never rains, so everything is parched to a crisp. The river is very low and the water so full of alkali that we are obliged to boil every drop before it is used for drinking or cooking, and even then it is so distasteful that we flavor it with sugar of lemons so we can drink it at all. Fresh lemons are unknown here, of course. The ice has given out, but we manage to cool the water a little by keeping it in bottles and canteens down in the dug-out cellar.
Miss Dickinson and I continue our daily rides, but go out very early in the morning. We have an orderly now, as General Dickinson considers it unsafe for us to go without an escort, since we were chased by an Indian the other day. That morning the little son of General Phillips was with us, and as it was not quite as warm as usual, we decided to canter down the sunflower road a little way—a road that runs to the crossing of Wolf Creek through an immense field of wild sunflowers. These sunflowers grow to a tremendous height in this country, so tall that sometimes you cannot see over them even when on horseback. Just across the creek there is a village of Apache Indians, and as these Indians are known to be hostile, this particular road is considered rather unsafe.
But we rode on down a mile or more without seeing a thing, and had just turned our ponies' heads homeward when little Grote, who was back of us, called out that an Indian was coming. That was startling, but upon looking back we saw that he was a long distance away and coming leisurely, so we did not pay much attention to him.
But Grote was more watchful, and very soon screamed, "Mrs. Rae, Mrs. Rae, the Indian is coming fast—he's going to catch us!" And then, without wasting time by looking back, we started our ponies with a bound that put them at their best pace, poor little Grote lashing his most unmercifully, and crying every minute, "He'll catch us! He'll catch us!"
That the Indian was on a fleet pony and was gaining upon us was very evident, and what might have happened had we not soon reached the sutler's store no one can tell, but we did get there just as he caught up with us, and as we drew in our panting horses that hideous savage rode up in front of us and circled twice around us, his pony going like a whirlwind; and in order to keep his balance, the Indian leaned far over on one side, his head close to the pony's neck. He said "How" with a fiendish grin that showed how thoroughly he was enjoying our frightened faces, and then turned his fast little beast back to the sunflower road. Of course, as long as the road to the post was clear we were in no very great danger, as our ponies were fast, but if that savage could have passed us and gotten us in between him and the Apache village, we would have lost our horses, if not our lives, for turning off through the sunflowers would have been an impossibility.
The very next morning, I think it was, one of the government mules wandered away, and two of the drivers went in search of it, but not finding it in the post, one of the men suggested that they should go to the river where the post animals are watered. It is a fork of the Canadian River, and is just over a little sand hill, not one quarter of a mile back of the quarters, but not in the direction of the sunflower road. The other man, however, said he would not go—that it was not safe—and came back to the corral, so the one who proposed going went on alone.
Time passed and the man did not return, and finally a detail was sent out to look him up. They went directly to the river, and there they found him, just on the other side of the hill—dead. He had been shot by some fiendish Indian soon after leaving his companion. The mule has never been found, and is probably in a far-away Indian village, where he brays in vain for the big rations of corn he used to get at the government corral.
Last Monday, soon after luncheon, forty or fifty Indians came rushing down the drive in front of the officers' quarters, frightening some of us almost out of our senses. Where they came from no one could tell, for not one sentry had seen them until they were near the post. They rode past the houses like mad creatures, and on out to the company gardens, where they made their ponies trample and destroy every growing thing. Only a few vegetables will mature in this soil and climate, but melons are often very good, and this season the gardeners had taken much pains with a crop of fine watermelons that were just beginning to ripen. But not one of these was spared—every one was broken and crushed by the little hoofs of the ponies, which seem to enjoy viciousness of this kind as much as the Indians themselves.
A company of infantry was sent at once to the gardens, but as it was not quite possible for the men to outrun the ponies, the mischief had been done before they got there, and all they could do was to force them back at the point of the bayonet. Cavalry was ordered out, also, to drive them away, but none of the troops were allowed to fire upon them, and that the Indians knew very well. It might have brought on an uprising!
It seems that the Indians were almost all young bucks out for a frolic, but quite ready, officers say, for any kind of devilment. They rode around the post three or four times at breakneck speed, each circle being larger, and taking them farther away. At last they all started for the hills and gradually disappeared—all but one, a sentinel, who could be seen until dark sitting his pony on the highest hill. I presume there were dozens of Indians on the sand hills around the post peeking over to see how the fun went on.
They seem to be watching the post every second of the day, ready to pounce upon any unprotected thing that ventures forth, be it man or beast. At almost any time two or three black dots can be seen on the top of the white sand hills, and one wonders how they can lie for hours in the hot, scorching sand with the sun beating down on their heads and backs. And all the time their tough little ponies will stand near them, down the hill, scarcely moving or making a sound. Some scouts declare that an Indian pony never whinnies or sneezes! But that seems absurd, although some of those little beasts show wonderful intelligence and appear to have been apt pupils in treachery.
CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, October, 1872.
THIS place is becoming more dreadful each day, and every one of the awful things I feared might happen here seems to be coming to pass. Night before last the post was actually attacked by Indians! It was about one o'clock when the entire garrison was awakened by rifle shots and cries of "Indians! Indians!" There was pandemonium at once. The "long roll" was beaten on the infantry drums, and "boots and saddles" sounded by the cavalry bugles, and these are calls that startle all who hear them, and strike terror to the heart of every army woman. They mean that something is wrong—very wrong—and demand the immediate report for duty at their respective companies of every officer and man in the garrison.
Faye jumped into his uniform, and saying a hasty good-by, ran to his company, as did all the other officers, and very soon we could hear the shouting of orders from every direction.
Our house is at the extreme end of the officers' line and very isolated, therefore Mrs. Hunt and I were left in a most deplorable condition, with three little children—one a mere baby—to take care of. We put them all in one bed and covered them as well as we could without a light, which we did not dare have, of course. Then we saw that all the doors and windows were fastened on both sides. We decided that it would be quite impossible for us to remain shut up inside the house, so we dressed our feet, put on long waterproof coats over our nightgowns as quickly and silently as possible, and then we sat down on the steps of the front door to await—we knew not what. I had firm hold of a revolver, and felt exceedingly grateful all the time that I had been taught so carefully how to use it, not that I had any hope of being able to do more with it than kill myself, if I fell in the hands of a fiendish Indian. I believe that Mrs. Hunt, however, was almost as much afraid of the pistol as she was of the Indians.
Ten minutes after the shots were fired there was perfect silence throughout the garrison, and we knew absolutely nothing of what was taking place around us. Not one word did we dare even whisper to each other, our only means of communication being through our hands. The night was intensely dark and the air was close—almost suffocating.
In this way we sat for two terrible hours, ever on the alert, ever listening for the stealthy tread of a moccasined foot at a corner of the house. And then, just before dawn, when we were almost exhausted by the great strain on our strength and nerves, our husbands came. They told us that a company of infantry had been quite near us all the time, and that a troop of cavalry had been constantly patrolling around the post. I cannot understand how such perfect silence was maintained by the troops, particularly the cavalry. Horses usually manage to sneeze at such times.
There is always a sentry at our corner of the garrison, and it was this sentinel who was attacked, and it is the general belief among the officers that the Indians came to this corner hoping to get the-troops concentrated at the beat farthest from the stables, and thus give them a chance to steal some, if not all, of the cavalry horses. But Mr. Red Man's strategy is not quite equal to that of the Great Father's soldiers, or he would have known that troops would be sent at once to protect the horses.
There were a great many pony tracks to be seen in the sand the next morning, and there was a mounted sentinel on a hill a mile or so away. It was amusing to watch him through a powerful field glass, and we wished that he could know just how his every movement could be seen. He sat there on his pony for hours, both Indian and horse apparently perfectly motionless, but with his face always turned toward the post, ready to signal to his people the slightest movement of the troops.
Faye says that the colored troops were real soldiers that night, alert and plucky. I can readily believe that some of them can be alert, and possibly good soldiers, and that they can be good thieves too, for last Saturday night they stole from us the commissary stores we had expected to last us one week—everything, in fact, except coffee, sugar, and such things that we keep in the kitchen, where it is dry.
The commissary is open Saturday mornings only, at which time we are requested to purchase all supplies we will need from there for the following week, and as we have no fresh vegetables whatever, and no meat except beef, we are very dependent upon the canned goods and other things in the commissary.
Last Saturday Mrs. Hunt and I sent over as usual, and most of the supplies were put in a little dug-out cellar in the yard that we use together—she having one side, I the other. On Sunday morning Farrar happened to be the first cook to go out for things for breakfast, and he found that the door had been broken open and the shelves as bare as Mother Hubbard's. Everything had been carried off except a few candles on Mrs. Hunt's side, and a few cakes of laundry soap on mine! The candles they had no use for, and the thieves were probably of a class that had no use for soap, either.
Our breakfast that morning was rather light, but as soon as word got abroad of our starving condition, true army hospitality and generosity manifested itself. We were invited out to luncheon, and to dinner, and to breakfast the next morning. You can see how like one big family a garrison can be, and how in times of trouble we go to each other's assistance. Of course, now and then we have disagreeable persons with us—those who will give you only three hours to move out of your house, or one who will order your cook from you.
CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, January, 1873.
ALL that remained of Captain White was carried to the little cemetery yesterday, with all the military honors possible at such a far-away post We have no chaplain, therefore one of the cavalry officers read the service for the dead at the house, just before the march to the cemetery. Almost all of the cavalry of the garrison was out, mounted, Captain White's own troop having the lead, of course, and the greater part of the infantry was out also, and there was a firing detail, with guns reversed.
The casket, covered with a large flag, was carried on a caisson, and his horse, led by an orderly, was covered with a large blanket of black cloth. Over this was the saddle, and on top of the saddle rested his helmet—the yellow horsehair plume and gold trimmings looking soiled by long service. His sabre was there, too, and strapped to the saddle on each side were his uniform boots, toes in stirrups—all reversed! This riderless horse, with its pall of black, yellow helmet, and footless boots, was the saddest sight imaginable.
I did not go to the cemetery, but we heard distinctly the firing of the three volleys over the grave and the sounding of taps on the bugles. The garrison flag had been drawn to half mast almost the moment of Captain White's death, but at the last sound of taps it was immediately pulled up to full mast, and soon the troops came back to their quarters, the field music playing lively airs.
This seemed so unnecessarily cruel, for Mrs. White must have heard every note, and she is still so wretchedly ill. The tiny baby has been taken from the house by the motherly wife of an officer, and the other tots—four in all—are being cared for by others. We have all been taking turns in sitting up nights during the illness of husband and wife, and last night three of us were there, Captain Tillman and Faye in one room, and I with Mrs. White. It was a terrible night, probably the one that has exacted, or will exact, the greatest self-control, as it was the one before the burial.
In civil life a poor widow can often live right on in her old home, but in the Army, never! Mrs. White will have to give up the quarters just as soon as she and the little baby are strong enough to travel. She has been in a warm climate many years, and her friends are all in the North, so to-morrow a number of us are to commence making warm clothing for her and the children. She has absolutely nothing of the kind, and seems to be pitifully helpless and incapable of thinking for herself.
Soon after I got home this morning and was trying to get a little sleep, I heard screams and an awful commotion across the hall in one of Mrs. Hunt's rooms, and running over to see what was the matter, I found Mrs. Hunt standing upon a chair, and her cook running around like a madman, with a stick of wood in his hand, upsetting furniture and whacking things generally. I naturally thought of a mouse, and not being afraid of them, I went on in and closed the door. I doubt if Mrs. Hunt saw me, she was so intently watching the man, who kept on upsetting things. He stopped finally, and then held up on the wood a snake—a dead rattlesnake! We measured it, and it was over two feet long.
You can see how the house is built by the photograph I sent you, that there are no chimneys, and that the stovepipes go straight up through the pole and sod roof. The children insist that the snake came down the pipe in the liveliest kind of a way, so it must have crawled up the logs to the roof, and finding the warmth of the pipe, got too close to the opening and slipped through. However that may be, he got into the room where the three little children were playing alone. Fortunately, the oldest recognized the danger at once, and ran screaming to her mother, the other two following. Mrs. Hunt was almost ill over the affair, and Major Hunt kept a man on top and around the old house hunting for snakes, until we began to fear it would be pulled down on our heads.
This country itself is bad enough, and the location of the post is most unfortunate, but to compel officers and men to live in these old huts of decaying, moldy wood, which are reeking with malaria and alive with bugs, and perhaps snakes, is wicked. Officers' families are not obliged to remain here, of course.
But at dreadful places like this is where the plucky army wife is most needed. Her very presence has often a refining and restraining influence over the entire garrison, from the commanding officer down to the last recruit. No one can as quickly grasp the possibilities of comfort in quarters like these, or as bravely busy herself to fix them up. She knows that the stay is indefinite, that it may be for six months, or possibly six years, but that matters not. It is her army home—Brass Button's home—and however discouraging its condition may be, for his sake she pluckily, and with wifely pride, performs miracles, always making the house comfortable and attractive.
FORT DODGE, KANSAS, January, 1873.
OUR coming here was most unexpected and very unpleasant in every way. General Phillips and Major Barker quarreled over something, and Major Barker preferred charges against the general, who is his company commander, and now General Phillips is being tried here by general court martial. Faye and I were summoned as witnesses by Major Barker, just because we heard a few words that were said in front of our window late one night! The court has thoughtfully excused me from going into the court room, as I could only corroborate Faye's testimony. I am so relieved, for it would have been a terrible ordeal to have gone in that room where all those officers are sitting, in full-dress uniform, too, and General Phillips with them. I would have been too frightened to have remembered one thing, or to have known whether I was telling the truth or not.
General Dickinson and Ben dark, his interpreter, came up in the ambulance with us, and the poor general is now quite ill, the result of an ice bath in the Arkansas River! When we started to come across on the ice here at the ford, the mule leaders broke through and fell down on the river bottom, and being mules, not only refused to get up, but insisted upon keeping their noses under the water. The wheelers broke through, too, but had the good sense to stand on their feet, but they gave the ambulance such a hard jerk that the front wheels broke off more ice and went down to the river bottom, also. By the time all this had occurred, I was the only one left inside, and found myself very busy trying to keep myself from slipping down under the front seat, where water had already come in. General Dickinson and Faye were doing everything possible to assist the men.
Just how it was accomplished would make too long a story to tell, but in a short time the leaders were dragged out and on their feet, and the rear wheels of the ambulance let down on the river bottom, and then we were all pulled up on the ice again, and came on to the post in safety. All but General Dickinson, who undertook to hold out of the water the heads of the two leaders who seemed determined to commit suicide by keeping their noses down, the general forgetting for once that he was commanding officer. But one of those government mules did not forget, and with a sudden jerk of his big head he pulled the general over and down from the ice into the water, and in such a way that he was wedged tight in between the two animals. One would have expected much objection on the part of the mules to the fishing out of the general, but those two mules kept perfectly still, apparently satisfied with the mischief that had already been done. I can fancy that there is one mule still chuckling over the fact of having gotten even with a commanding officer! It is, quite warm now, and the ice has gone out of the river, so there will be no trouble at the ford to-morrow, when we start back.
There is one company of Faye's regiment stationed here, and the officer in command of the post is major of the Third, so we feel at home. We are staying with Lieutenant Harvey, who is making it very pleasant for us. Hal is with us, and is being petted by everybody, but most of all by the cavalry officers, some of whom have hunted with Magic, Hal's father.
Last evening, while a number of us were sitting on the veranda after dinner, a large turkey gobbler came Stalking down the drive in front of the officers' quarters. Hal was squatted down, hound fashion, at the top of the steps, and of course saw the gobbler at once. He never moved, except to raise his ears a little, but I noticed that his eyes opened wider and wider, and could see that he was making an estimate of the speed of that turkey, and also making up his mind that it was his duty as a self-respecting hound to resent the airs that were being assumed by the queer thing with a red nose and only two legs. So as soon as the turkey passed, down he jumped after him, and over him and around him, until really the poor thing looked about one half his former size. Then Hal got back of the turkey and waited for it to run, which it proceeded to do without loss of time, and then a funny race was on! I could have cried, I was so afraid Hal would injure the turkey, but everyone else laughed and watched, as though it was the sporting event of the year, and they assured me that the dog would have to stop when he got to the very high gate at the end of the line. But they did not know that greyhound, for the gate gave him still another opportunity to show the thing that had wings to help its absurd legs along what a hound puppy could do. When they reached the gate the turkey went under, but the puppy went over, making a magnificent jump that landed him yards in advance of the turkey, thereby causing him the loss of the race, for before he could stop himself and turn, the gobbler had very wisely hidden himself in a back yard.
There was a shouting and clapping of hands all along the line because of the beautiful jump of so young a dog, but I must confess that all I thought of just then was gratitude that my dog had not made an untimely plucking of somebody's turkey, for in this country a turkey is something rare and valuable.
Hal came trotting back with his loftiest steps and tail high in the air, evidently much pleased with his part in the entertainment. He is very tall now, and ran by the ambulance all the way up, and has been following me on my rides for some time.
CIMARRON REDOUBT, KANSAS, January, 1873.
WHEN Faye was ordered here I said at once that I would come, too, and so I came! We are at a mail station—that is, where the relay mules are kept and where the mail wagon and escort remain overnight on their weekly trips from Camp Supply to Fort Dodge. A non-commissioned officer and ten privates are here all the time.
The cause of Faye's being here is, the contractor is sending big trains of grain down to Camp Supply for the cavalry horses and other animals, and it was discovered that whisky was being smuggled to the Indians in the sacks of oats. So General Dickinson sent an officer to the redoubt to inspect each sack as it is carried past by the ox trains. Lieutenant Cole was the first officer to be ordered up, but the place did not agree with him, and at the end of three weeks he appeared at the post on a mail wagon, a very sick man—very sick indeed! In less than half an hour Faye was ordered to relieve him, to finish Lieutenant Cole's tour in addition to his own detail of thirty days, which will give us a stay here of over five weeks.
As soon as I heard of the order I announced that I was coming, but it was necessary to obtain the commanding officer's permission first. This seemed rather hopeless for a time, the general declaring I would "die in such a hole," where I could have no comforts, but he did not say I should not come. Faye did not want to leave me alone at the post, but was afraid the life here would be too rough for me, so I decided the matter for myself and began to make preparations to come away, and that settled all discussion. We were obliged to start early the next morning, and there were only a few hours in which to get ready. Packing the mess chest and getting commissary stores occupied the most time, for after our clothing was put away the closing of the house was a farce, "Peu de bien, peu de soin!" Farrar was permitted to come, and we brought Hal and the horse, so the family is still together.
The redoubt is made of gunny sacks filled with sand, and is built on the principle of a permanent fortification in miniature, with bastions, flanks, curtains, and ditch, and has two pieces of artillery. The parapet is about ten feet high, upon the top of which a sentry walks all the time. This is technically correct, for Faye has just explained it all to me, so I could tell you about our castle on the plains. We have only two rooms for our own use, and these are partitioned off with vertical logs in one corner of the fortification, and our only roof is of canvas.
When we first got here the dirt floor was very much like the side of a mountain—so sloping that we had difficulty in sitting upon the chairs. Faye had these made level at once, and fresh, dry sand sprinkled everywhere.
We are right in the heart of the Indian country, almost on the line between Kansas and the Indian Territory, and are surrounded by any number of villages of hostile Indians. We are forty miles from Camp Supply and about the same distance from Fort Dodge. The weather is delightful—sunny and very warm.
I was prevented from finishing this the other day by the coming of a dozen or more Arapahoe Indians, but as the mail does not go north until to-morrow morning, I can tell you of the more than busy time we have had since then.
For two or three days the weather had been unseasonably warm—almost like summer—and one evening it was not only hot, but so sultry one wondered where all the air had gone. About midnight, however, a terrific wind came up, cold and piercing, and very soon snow began to fall, and then we knew that we were having a "Texas norther," a storm that is feared by all old frontiersmen. Of course we were perfectly safe from the wind, for only a cyclone could tear down these thick walls of sand, but the snow sifted in every place—between the logs of the inner wall, around the windows—and almost buried us. And the cold became intense.
In the morning the logs of that entire wall from top to bottom, were white inside with snow, and looked like a forest in the far North. The floor was covered with snow, and so was the foot of the bed! Our rooms were facing just right to catch the full force of the blizzard. The straightening-out was exceedingly unpleasant, for a fire could not be started in either stove until after the snow had been swept out. But a few soldiers can work miracles at times, and this proved to be one of the times. I went over to the orderly room while they brushed and scraped everywhere and fixed us up nicely, and we were soon warm and dry.
The norther continued twenty-four hours, and the cold is still freezing. All the wood inside was soon consumed, and the men were compelled to go outside the redoubt for it, and to split it, too. The storm was so fierce and wholly blinding that it was necessary to fasten the end of a rope around the waist of each man as he went out, and tie the other end to the entrance gate to prevent him from losing his direction and wandering out on the plains. Even with this precaution it was impossible for a man to remain out longer than ten minutes, because of the terribly cold wind that at times was almost impossible to stand up against.
Faye says that he cannot understand why the place has never been made habitable, or why Lieutenant Cole did not have the wood brought inside, where it would be convenient in case of a storm. Some of the men are working at the wood still, and others are making their quarters' a little more decent. Every tiny opening in our own log walls has been chinked with pieces of blanket or anything that could be found, and the entire dirt floor has been covered with clean grain sacks that are held down smooth and tight by little pegs of wood, and over this rough carpet we have three rugs we brought with us. At the small window are turkey-red curtains that make very good shades when let down at night. There are warm army blankets on the camp bed, and a folded red squaw blanket on the trunk. The stove is as bright and shining as the strong arm of a soldier could make it, and on it is a little brass teakettle singing merrily.
Altogether the little place looks clean and cheerful, quite unlike the "hole" we came to. Farrar has attended to his part in the kitchen also, and things look neat and orderly there. A wall tent has been pitched just outside our door that gives us a large storeroom and at the same time screens us from the men's quarters that are along one side of the sandbag walls.
On the side farthest from us the mules and horses are stabled, but one would never know that an animal was near if those big-headed mules did not occasionally raise their voices in brays that sound like old squeaky pumps. When it is pleasant they are all picketed out.
At the first coming of the blizzard the sentry was ordered from the parapet, and is still off, and I am positive that unless one goes on soon at night I shall be wholly deaf, because I strain my ears the whole night through listening for Indians. The men are supposed to be ever ready for an attack, but if they require drums and cannon to awaken them in a garrison, how can they possibly hear the stealthy step of an Indian here? It is foolish to expect anything so unreasonable.
CIMARRON REDOUBT, KANSAS, January, 1873.
FANCY our having given a dinner party at this sand-bag castle on the plains, miles and miles from a white man or woman! The number of guests was small, but their rank was immense, for we entertained Powder-Face, Chief of the Arapahoe Nation, and Wauk, his young squaw, mother of his little chief.
Two or three days ago Powder-Face came to make a formal call upon the "White Chief," and brought with him two other Indians—aides we would call them, I presume. A soldier offered to hold his horse, but he would not dismount, and sat his horse with grave dignity until Faye went out and in person invited him to come in and have a smoke. He is an Indian of striking personality—is rather tall, with square, broad shoulders, and the poise of his head tells one at once that he is not an ordinary savage.
We must have found favor with him, for as he was going away he announced that he would come again the next day and bring his squaw with him. Then Faye, in his hospitable way, invited them to a midday dinner! I was almost speechless from horror at the very thought of sitting at a table with an Indian, no matter how great a chief he might be. But I could say nothing, of course, and he rode away with the understanding that he was to return the following day. Faye assured me that it would be amusing to watch them, and be a break in the monotony here.
They appeared promptly, and I became interested in Wauk at once, for she was a remarkable squaw. Tall and slender, with rather a thin, girlish face, very unlike the short, fat squaws one usually sees, and she had the appearance of being rather tidy, too. I could not tell if she was dressed specially for the occasion, as I had never seen her before, but everything she had on was beautifully embroidered with beads—mostly white—and small teeth of animals. She wore a sort of short skirt, high leggings, and of course moccasins, and around her shoulders and falling far below her waist was a queer-shaped garment—neither cape nor shawl—dotted closely all over with tiny teeth, which were fastened on at one end and left to dangle.
High up around her neck was a dog collar of fine teeth that was really beautiful, and there were several necklaces of different lengths hanging below it, one of which was of polished elk teeth and very rare. The skins of all her clothing had been tanned until they were as soft as kid. Any number of bracelets were on her arms, many of them made of tin, I think. Her hair was parted and hung in loose ropes down each shoulder in front. Her feet and hands were very small, even for an Indian, and showed that life had been kind to her. I am confident that she must have been a princess by birth, she was so different from all squaws I have seen. She could not speak one word of English, but her lord, whom she seemed to adore, could make himself understood very well by signs and a word now and then.
Powder-Face wore a blanket, but underneath it was a shirt of fine skins, the front of which was almost covered with teeth, beads, and wampum. His hair was roped on each side and hung in front, and the scalp lock on top was made conspicuous by the usual long feather stuck through it.
The time came when dinner could no longer be put off, so we sat down. Our menu in this place is necessarily limited, but a friend at Fort Dodge had added to our stores by sending us some fresh potatoes and some lettuce by the mail wagon just the day before, and both of these Powder-Face seemed to enjoy. In fact, he ate of everything, but Wauk was more particular—lettuce, potatoes, and ham she would not touch. Their table manners were not of the very best form, as might be expected, but they conducted themselves rather decently—far better than I had feared they would. All the time I was wondering what that squaw was thinking of things! Powder-Face was taken to Washington last year with chiefs of other nations to see the "Great Father," so he knew much of the white man's ways, but Wauk was a wild creature of the plains.
We kept them bountifully supplied with everything on the table, so our own portion of the dinner would remain unmolested, although neither Faye nor I had much appetite just then. When Farrar came in to remove the plates for dessert, and Powder-Face saw that the remaining food was about to disappear, he pushed Farrar back and commenced to attend to the table himself. He pulled one dish after another to him, and scraped each one clean, spreading all the butter on the bread, and piled up buffalo steak, ham, potatoes, peas—in fact, every crumb that had been left—making one disgusting mess, and then tapping it with his finger said, "Papoose! Papoose!" We had it all put in a paper and other things added, which made Wauk almost bob off her chair in her delight at having such a feast for her little chief. But the condition of my tablecloth made me want to bob up and down for other feelings than delight!
After dinner they all sat by the stove and smoked, and Powder-Face told funny things about his trip East that we could not always interpret, but which caused him and Wauk to laugh heartily. Wauk sat very close to him, with elbows on her knees, looking as though she would much prefer to be squatted down upon the floor.
The tepee odor became stifling, so in order to get as far from the Indians as possible, I went across the room and sat upon a small trunk by the window. I had not been there five minutes, however, before that wily chief, who had apparently not noticed my existence, got up from his chair, gathered his blanket around him, and with long strides came straight to me. Then with a grip of steel on my shoulder, he jerked me from the trunk and fairly slung me over against the wall, and turning to Faye with his head thrown back he said, "Whisk! Whisk!" at the same time pointing to the trunk.
The demand was imperious, and the unstudied poise of the powerfully built Indian, so full of savage dignity, was magnificent. As I calmly think of it now, the whole scene was grand. The rough room, with its low walls of sand-bags and logs, the Indian princess in her picturesque dress of skins and beads, the fair army officer in his uniform of blue, both looking in astonishment at the chief, whose square jaws and flashing eyes plainly told that he was accustomed to being obeyed, and expected to be obeyed then!
Faye says that I missed part of the scene; that, backed up against sand-bags and clinging to them on either side for support, stood a slender young woman with pigtail hanging down one shoulder, so terrified that her face, although brown from exposure to sun and wind, had become white and chalky. It is not surprising that my face turned white; the only wonder is that the pigtail did not turn white, too!
It was not right for Faye to give liquor to an Indian, but what else could be done under the circumstances? There happened to be a flask of brandy in the trunk, but fortunately there was only a small quantity that we had brought up for medicinal purposes, and it was precious, too, for we were far from a doctor. But Faye had to get it out for the chief, who had sat there smoking in such an innocent way, but who had all the time been studying out where there might be hidden some "whisk!" Wauk drank almost all of it, Powder-Face seeming to derive more pleasure in seeing her drink his portion than in drinking it himself. Consequently, when she went out to mount her horse her steps were a little unsteady, over which the chief laughed heartily.
It was with the greatest relief I saw them ride away. They certainly had furnished entertainment, but it was of a kind that would satisfy one for a long time. I was afraid they might come for dinner again the following day, but they did not.
Powder-Face thought that the pony Cheyenne was not a good enough horse for me, so the morning after he was here an Indian, called Dog, appeared with a very good animal, large and well gaited, that the chief had sent over, not as a present, but for a trade.
We let poor Cheyenne go back to the Indians, a quantity of sugar, coffee, and such things going with him, and now I have a strawberry-roan horse named Powder-Face.
Chief Powder-Face, who is really not old, is respected by everyone, and has been instrumental in causing the Arapahoe nation to cease hostilities toward white people. Some of the chiefs of lesser rank have much of the dignity of high-born savages, particularly Lone Wolf and his son Big Mouth, both of whom come to see us now and then. Lone Wolf is no longer a warrior, and of course no longer wears a scalp lock and strings of wampum and beads, and would like to have you believe that he has ever been the white man's friend, but I suspect that even now there might be brought forth an old war belt with hanging scalps that could tell of massacre, torture, and murder. Big Mouth is a war chief, and has the same grand physique as Powder-Face and a personality almost as striking. His hair is simply splendid, wonderfully heavy and long and very glossy. His scalp lock is most artistic, and undoubtedly kept in order by a squaw.
The picture of the two generations of chiefs is unique and rare. It shows in detail the everyday dress of the genuine blanket Indians as we see them here. Just how it was obtained I do not know, for Indians do not like a camera. We have daily visits from dozens of so-called friendly Indians, but I would not trust one of them. Many white people who have lived among Indians and know them well declare that an Indian is always an Indian; that, no matter how fine the veneering civilization may have given him, there ever lies dormant the traits of the savage, ready to spring forth without warning in acts of treachery and fiendish cruelty.
CIMARRON REDOUBT, January, 1873.
IT was such a pleasant surprise yesterday when General Bourke drove up to the redoubt on his way to Camp Supply from dear old Fort Lyon. He has been ordered to relieve General Dickinson, and was taking down furniture, his dogs, and handsome team. Of course there was an escort, and ever so many wagons, some loaded with tents and camp outfits. We are rejoicing over the prospect of having an infantry officer in command when we return to the post. The general remained for luncheon and seemed to enjoy the broiled buffalo steak very much. He said that now there are very few buffalo in Colorado and Kansas, because of their wholesale slaughter by white men during the past year. These men kill them for the skins only, and General Bourke said that he saw hundreds of carcasses on the plains between Lyon and Dodge. They are boldly coming to the Indian Territory now, and cavalry has been sent out several times to drive them from the reservation.
If the Indians should attempt to protect their rights it would be called an uprising at once, so they have to lie around on the sand hills and watch their beloved buffalo gradually disappear, and all the time they know only too well that with them will go the skins that give them tepees and clothing, and the meat that furnishes almost all of their sustenance.
During the blizzard two weeks ago ten or twelve of these buffalo hunters were caught out in the storm, and being unable to find their own camps they wandered into Indian villages, each man about half dead from exposure to the cold and hunger. All were suffering more or less from frozen feet and hands. In every case the Indians fed and cared for them until the storm was over, and then they told them to go—and go fast and far, or it would not be well with them. Faye says that it was truly noble in the Indians to keep alive those men when they knew they had been stealing so much from them. But Faye can always see more good in Indians than I can. Even a savage could scarcely kill a man when he appeals to him for protection!
There is some kind of excitement here every day—some pleasant, some otherwise—usually otherwise. The mail escort and wagon are here two nights during the week, one on the way to Fort Dodge, the other on the return trip, so we hear the little bits of gossip from each garrison. The long trains of army wagons drawn by mules that carry stores to the post always camp near us one night, because of the water.
But the most exciting times are when the big ox trains come along that are taking oats and corn to the quartermaster for the cavalry horses and mules, for in these sacks of grain there is ever a possibility of liquor being found. The sergeant carefully punches the sacks from one end to the other with a long steel very much like a rifle rammer; but so far not a thing has been found, but this is undoubtedly because they know what to expect at this place now. Faye is always present at the inspection, and once I watched it a short distance away.
When there are camps outside I always feel a little more protected from the Indians. I am kept awake hours every night by my uncontrollable fear of their getting on top of the parapet and cutting holes in the canvas over our very heads and getting into the room that way. A sentry is supposed to walk around the top every few minutes, but I have very little confidence in his protection. I really rely upon Hal more than the sentry to give warning, for that dog can hear the stealthy step of an Indian when a long distance from him. And I believe he can smell them, too.
We bought a beautiful buffalo-calf robe for a bed for him, and that night I folded it down nicely and called him to it, thinking he would be delighted with so soft and warm a bed. But no! He went to it because I called him and patted it, but put one foot on it he would not. He gave a little growl, and putting his tail up, walked away with great dignity and a look of having been insulted.
Of course the skin smelled strong of the tepee and Indians. We sunned and aired it for days, and Farrar rubbed the fur with camphor and other things to destroy the Indian odor, and after much persuading and any amount of patience on our part, Hal finally condescended to use the robe. He now considers it the finest thing on earth, and keeps close watch of it at all times.
We have visits from Indians every day, and this variation from the monotony is not agreeable to me, but Faye goes out and has long powwows with them. They do not hesitate to ask for things, and the more you give the more you may.
The other morning Faye saw a buffalo calf not far from the redoubt, and decided to go for it, as we, also the men, were in need of fresh meat. So he started off on Powder-Face, taking only a revolver with him. I went outside to watch him ride off, and just as the calf disappeared over a little hill and he after it, an Indian rode down the bluff at the right, and about the same distance away as I thought Faye might be, and started in a canter straight across in the direction Faye had gone. Very soon he, also, was back of the little hill and out of sight.
I ran inside and called the sergeant, and was trying to explain the situation to him as briefly as possible when he, without waiting for me to finish, got his rifle and cartridge belt, and ordering a couple of men to follow, started off on a hard run in the direction I had designated. As soon as they reached the top of the hill they saw Faye, and saw also that the Indian was with him. The men went on over slowly, but stopped as soon as they got within rifle range of Faye, for of course the Indian would never have attempted mischief when he knew that the next instant he would be riddled with bullets. The Indian was facing the soldiers and saw them at once, but they were at Faye's back, so he did not know they were there until he turned to come home.
Faye says that the Indian was quite near before he saw him at all, as he had not been thinking of Indians in his race after the little buffalo. He came up and said "How!" of course, and then by signs asked to see Faye's revolver, which has an ivory handle with nickel barrel and trimmings, all of which the Indian saw at once, and decided to make his own without loss of time, and then by disarming Faye he would be master of things generally.
Faye pulled the pistol from its holster and held it out for the Indian to look at, but with a tight grip on the handle and finger on trigger, the muzzle pointed straight to his treacherous heart. This did not disturb the Indian in the least, for he grasped the barrel and with a twist of the wrist tried to jerk it down and out of Faye's hand. But this he failed to do, so, with a sarcastic laugh, he settled himself back on his pony to await a more favorable time when he could catch Faye off guard. He wanted that glistening pistol, and he probably wanted the fat pony also. And thus they sat facing each other for several minutes, the Indian apparently quite indifferent to pistols and all things, and Faye on the alert to protect himself against the first move of treachery.
It would have been most unsafe for Faye to have turned from the crafty savage, and just how long the heart-to-heart interview might have lasted or what would have happened no one can tell if the coming in sight of the soldiers with their long guns had not caused him to change his tactics. After a while he grunted "How!" again, and, assuming an air of great contempt for soldiers, guns, and shiny pistols, rode away and soon disappeared over the bluff. There was only the one Indian in sight, but, as the old sergeant said, "there might have been a dozen red devils just over the bluff!"
One never knows when the "red devils" are near, for they hide themselves back of a bunch of sage brush, and their ponies, whose hoofs are never shod, can get over the ground very swiftly and steal upon you almost as noiselessly as their owners. It is needless to say that we did not have fresh buffalo that day! And the buffalo calf ran on to the herd wholly unconscious of his narrow escape.
We expect to return to Camp Supply in a few days, and in many ways I shall be sorry to leave this place. It is terrible to be so isolated, when one thinks about it, especially if one should be ill. I shall miss Miss Dickinson in the garrison very much, and our daily rides together. General Dickinson and his family passed here last week on their way to his new station.
CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, February, 1873.
UPON our return from the Cimarron we found a dear, clean house all ready for us to move into. It was a delightful surprise, and after the wretched huts we have been living in ever since we came to this post, the house with its white walls and board floors seems like fairyland. It is made of vertical logs of course, the same as the other quarters, but these have been freshly chinked, and covered on the inside with canvas. General Bourke ordered the quartermaster to fix the house for us, and I am glad that Major Knox was the one to receive the order, for I have not forgotten how disagreeable he was about the fixing up of our first house here. One can imagine how he must have fumed over the issuing of so much canvas, boards, and even the nails for the quarters of only a second lieutenant!
Many changes have been made during the few weeks General Bourke has been here, the most important having been the separating of the white troops from the colored when on guard duty. The officers and men of the colored cavalry have not liked this, naturally, but it was outrageous to put white and black in the same little guard room, and colored sergeants over white corporals and privates. It was good cause for desertion. But all that is at an end now. General Dickinson is no longer commanding officer, and best of all, the colored troops have been ordered to another department, and the two troops of white cavalry that are to relieve them are here now and in camp not far from the post, waiting for the barracks to be vacated.
We have felt very brave since the camp has been established, and two days ago several of us drove over to a Cheyenne village that is a mile or so up the creek. But soon after we got there we did not feel a bit brave, for we had not been out of the ambulance more than five minutes, when one of their criers came racing in on a very wet pony, and rode like mad in and out among the tepees, all the time screaming something at the top of his voice.
Instantly there was a jabbering by all of them and great commotion. Each Indian talked and there seemed to be no one to listen. Several tepees were taken down wonderfully quick, and a number of ponies were hurried in, saddled, and ridden away at race speed, a few squaws wailing as they watched them go, guns in their hands. Other squaws stood around looking at us, and showing intense hatred through their wicked eyes. It was soon discovered by all of us that the village was really not attractive, and four scared women came back to the garrison as fast as government mules could bring them! What was the cause of so much excitement we will probably never know—and of course we should not have gone there without an officer, and yet, what could one man have done against all those savages!
We were honored by a visit from a chief the other day. He was a Cheyenne from the village, presumably, and his name was White Horse. He must have been born a chief for he was young, very dignified, and very good-looking, too, for an Indian. Of course his face was painted in a hideous way, but his leggings and clothing generally were far more tidy than those of most Indians. His chest was literally covered with polished teeth of animals, beads, and wampum, arranged artistically in a sort of breastplate, and his scalp lock, which had evidently been plaited with much care, was ornamented with a very beautiful long feather.
Fortunately Faye was at home when he came, for he walked right in, unannounced, except the usual "How!" Faye gave him a chair, and this he placed in the middle of the room in a position so he could watch both doors, and then his rifle was laid carefully upon the floor at his right side. He could speak his name, but not another word of English, so, thinking to entertain him, Faye reached for a rifle that was standing in one corner of the room to show him, as it was of a recent make. Although the rifle was almost at the Indian's back the suspicious savage saw what Faye was doing, and like a flash he seized his own gun and laid it across his knees, all the time looking straight at Faye to see what he intended to do next. Not a muscle of his race moved, but his eyes were wonderful, brilliant, and piercing, and plainly said, "Go ahead, I'm ready!"
I saw the whole performance and was wondering if I had not better run for assistance, when Faye laughed, and motioned the Indian to put his rifle down again, at the same time pulling the trigger of his own to assure him that it was not loaded. This apparently satisfied him, but he did not put his gun back on the floor, but let it rest across his knees all the time he sat there. And that was for the longest time—and never once did he change his position, turn his head, or, as we could see, move an eyelid! But nevertheless he made one feel that it was not necessary for him to turn his head—that it was all eyes, that he could see up and down and across and could read one's very thoughts, too.
The Indian from whom we bought Powder-Face—his name is Dog, you will remember—has found us out, and like a dog comes every day for something to eat. He always walks right into the kitchen; if the door is closed he opens it. If he is not given things he stands around with the greatest patience, giving little grunts now and then, and watches Farrar until the poor soldier becomes worn out and in self-defense gives him something, knowing full well all the time that trouble is being stored up for the next day. The Indian never seems cross, but smiles at everything, which is most unusual in a savage.
With the white cavalry is a classmate of Faye's, Lieutenant Isham, and yesterday I went out to camp with him and rode his horse, a large, spirited animal. It was the horse's first experience with a side saddle, and at first he objected to the habit and jumped around and snorted quite a little, but he soon saw that I was really not a dangerous person and quieted down.
As Lieutenant Isham and I were cantering along at a nice brisk gait we met Faye, who was returning from the camp on Powder-Face, and it could be plainly seen that he disapproved of my mount. But he would not turn back with us, however, and we went on to camp without him. There is something very fascinating about a military camp—it is always so precise and trim—the little tents for the men pitched in long straight lines, each one looking as though it had been given especial attention, and with all things is the same military precision and neatness. It was afternoon stables and we rode around to the picket lines to watch the horses getting their grooming.
When I got home Faye was quick to tell me that I would certainly be killed if I continued to ride every untrained horse that came along! Not a very pleasant prospect for me; but I told him that I did not want to mortify him and myself, too, by refusing to mount horses that his own classmates, particularly those in the cavalry, asked me to ride, and that I knew very well he would much prefer to see me on a spirited animal than a "gentle ladies' horse" that any inexperienced rider could manage. So we decided that the horse, after all, was not a vicious beast, and I am to ride him again to-morrow.
Last evening we gave a delightful little dance in the hall in honor of the officers and their wives who are to go, and the officers who have come. We all wore our most becoming gowns, and anyone unacquainted with army life on the frontier would have been surprised to see what handsome dresses can be brought forth, even at this far-away post, when occasion demands. There are two very pretty girls from the East visiting in the garrison, and several of the wives of officers are young and attractive, and the mingling of the pretty faces and bright-colored dresses with the dark blue and gold of the uniforms made a beautiful scene. It is not in the least surprising that girls become so silly over brass buttons. Even the wives get silly over them sometimes!
CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, April, 1873.
IN the last mail Faye heard from his application for transfer to another company, and the order will be issued as soon as the lieutenant in that company has been promoted, which will be in a few weeks. This will take us back to Fort Lyon with old friends, and Faye to a company whose captain is a gentleman. He was one of Faye's instructors at West Point.
I have a new horse—and a lively one, too—so lively that I have not ridden him yet. He was a present from Lieutenant Isham, and the way in which he happened to possess him makes a pretty little story. The troop had been sent out on a scout, and was on its way back to the post to be paid, when one evening this pony trotted into camp and at once tried to be friendly with the cavalry horses, but the poor thing was so frightfully hideous with its painted coat the horses would not permit him to come near them for some time. But the men caught him and brought him on to the stables, where there was trouble at once, for almost every man in the troop claimed ownership. So it was finally decided by the captain that as soon as the troop had been paid the horse should be raffled, that each man in that one troop could have the privilege of buying a chance at one dollar, and that the money should go in the troop fund. This arrangement delighted the men, as it promised something new in the way of a frolic.
In due time the paymaster arrived, the men were paid, and then in a few minutes there was brisk business going on over at the quarters of the troop! Every enlisted man in the troop—sergeants, corporals, and privates, eighty-four in all—bought a chance, thus making a fine sum for the fund. A private won the horse, of whom Lieutenant Isham immediately bought him and presented him to me.
He is about fifteen hands high and not in the least of a pony build, but is remarkably slender, with fine head and large intelligent eyes. Just what his color is we do not know, for he is stained in red-brown stripes all over his body, around his legs, and on his face, but we think he is a light gray. When he wandered to camp, a small bell was tied around his neck with a piece of red flannel, and this, with his having been so carefully stained, indicates almost conclusively that he was a pet. Some of the soldiers insist that he was a race pony, because he is not only very swift, but has been taught to take three tremendous jumps at the very beginning of his run, which gives him an immense advantage, but which his rider may sometimes fail to appreciate. These jumps are often taught the Indian race ponies. The horse is gentle with Faye and is certainly graceful, but he is hard to hold and inclined to bolt, so I will not try him until he becomes more civilized.
The Indians are very bold again. A few days ago Lieutenant Golden was in to luncheon, and while we were at the table we saw several Kiowas rush across the creek and stampede five or six horses that belonged to our milkman, who has a ranch just outside the garrison. In a few minutes an orderly appeared with an order for Lieutenant Golden and ten men to go after them without delay, and bring the horses back.
Of course he started at once, and chased those Indians all the afternoon, and got so close to them once or twice that they saw the necessity of lightening the weight on their tired ponies, and threw off their old saddles and all sorts of things, even little bags of shot, but all the time they held on to their guns and managed to keep the stolen horses ahead of them. They had extra ponies, too, that they swung themselves over on when the ridden beasts began to lag a little. When night came on Lieutenant Golden was compelled to give up the chase, and had to return to the post without having recovered one of the stolen horses.
One never knows here what dreadful things may come up any moment. Everything was quiet and peaceful when we sat down to luncheon, yet in less than ten minutes we saw the rush of the Indians and the stampede of the milkman's horses right from our dining-room window. The horses were close to the post too. Splendid cavalry horses were sent after them, but it requires a very swift horse to overtake those tough little Indian ponies at any time, and the Kiowas probably were on their best ponies when they stampeded the horses, for they knew, undoubtedly, that cavalry would soon be after them.
DODGE CITY, KANSAS, June, 1873.
WE reached this place yesterday, expecting to take the cars this morning for Granada, but the servant who was to have come from Kansas City on that train will not be here until to-morrow. When the time came to say good-by, I was sorry to leave a number of the friends at Camp Supply, particularly Mrs. Hunt, with whom we stayed the last few days, while we were packing. Everyone was at the ambulance to see us off—except the Phillips family.
We were three days coming up, because of one or two delays the very first day. One of the wagons broke down soon after we left the post, and an hour or so was lost in repairing it, and at Buffalo Creek we were delayed a long time by an enormous herd of buffalo. It was a sight that probably we will never see again. The valley was almost black with the big animals, and there must have been hundreds and hundreds of them on either side of the road. They seemed very restless, and were constantly moving about instead of grazing upon the buffalo grass, which is unusually fine along that valley, and this made us suspect that they had been chased and hunted until the small bands had been driven together into one big herd. Possibly the hunters had done this themselves, so the slaughter could be the greater and the easier. It is remarkable that such grand-looking beasts should have so little sense as to invariably cross the road right in front of moving teams, and fairly challenge one to make targets of them. It was this crossing of large numbers that detained us so long yesterday.
When we got out about fifteen miles on the road, an Apache Indian appeared, and so suddenly that it seemed as if he must have sprung up from the ground. He was in full war dress—that is, no dress at all except the breech clout and moccasins—and his face and whole naked body were stained in many colors in the most hideous manner. In his scalp lock was fastened a number of eagle feathers, and of course he wore two or three necklaces of beads and wampum. There was nothing unusual about the pony he was riding, except that it was larger and in better condition than the average Indian horse, but the one he was leading—undoubtedly his war horse—was a most beautiful animal, one of the most beautiful I ever saw.