THE SUMMER OF THE BLACK HILLS EXPEDITION.
I used to be thankful that ours was a mounted regiment on one account:
if we had belonged to the infantry, the regiment would have been
sent out much sooner. The horses were too valuable to have their
lives endangered by encountering a blizzard, while it was believed
that an enlisted man had enough pluck and endurance to bring him out
of a storm in one way or another. Tardy as the spring was up there,
the grass began at last to be suitable for grazing, and preparations
for an expedition to the Black Hills were being carried on. I had
found accidentally that my husband was fitting up an ambulance for
travelling, and as he never rode in one himself, nor arranged to take
one for his own comfort, I decided at once that he was planning to
take me with him. Mary and I had lived in such close quarters that she
counted on going also, and went to the general to petition. To keep her
from knowing that he intended to take us, he argued that we could not
get along with so little room; that there was only to be allowed half
a wagon for the camp outfit of the head-quarters mess. “You dun’ know
better’n that, giniral?” she replied; “me and Miss Libbie could keep
house in a flour-barr’l.”
At the very last, news came through Indian scouts that the summer might
be full of danger, and my heart was almost broken at finding that the
general did not dare to take me with him. Whatever peril might be
awaiting me on the expedition, nothing could be equal to the suffering
of suspense at home.
The black hour came again, and with it the terrible parting which
seemed a foreshadowing of the most intense anguish that our Heavenly
Father can send to his children. When I resumed my life, and tried to
portion off the day with occupations, in order that the time should
fly faster, I found that the one silver thread running through the
dark woof of the dragging hours was the hope of the letters we were
promised. Scouts were to be sent back four times during the absence of
the regiment.
The infantry came to garrison our post. In the event of attack, my
husband left a Gatling gun on the hills at the rear of the camp. It is
a small cannon, which is discharged by turning a crank that scatters
the shot in all directions, and is especially serviceable at short
range. A detachment of soldiers was stationed on the bluff back of us,
that commanded the most extended view of the country. The voice of the
sentinel calling, at regular intervals during the night, “All’s well,”
often closed our anxious eyes. Out there one slept lightly, and any
unusual noise was attributed to an attack on our pickets, and caused us
many a wakeful hour. With what relief we looked up daily to the little
group of tents, when we finally realized that we were alone.
The officer who commanded this little station was an old bachelor who
did not believe in marriage in the army. Not knowing this, we told
him, with some enthusiasm, how safe and thankful we felt in having
him for our defender. He quite checked our enthusiasm by replying,
briefly, “that in case of attack, _his duty_ was to protect Government
_property_; the defence of _women_ came _last_.” This was the first
instance I had ever known of an officer who did not believe a woman was
God’s best gift to man.
We were not effectually suppressed, for the only safe place in which
we could walk was along the beat of the sentry, on the brow of the
hill, near the tent of this zoological specimen. Here we resorted every
evening at twilight to try and get cool, for the sun burns fiercely
during the short Northern summer. With the hot weather the mosquito
war began--Fort Lincoln was celebrated as the worst place in the
United States for these pests. The inundations recurring each spring
opposite us, brought later in the year myriads of the insects; those I
had known on the Red River of the South were nothing in comparison. If
the wind was in a certain direction, they tormented us all day long. I
can see now how we women looked, taking our evening stroll: a little
procession of fluttering females, with scarfs and over-dresses drawn
over our heads, whisking handkerchiefs and beating the air with fans.
It required constant activity to keep off the swarms of those wretched
little insects that annoyed us every moment during our airing. In the
evening we became almost desperate. It seemed very hard, after our long
winter’s imprisonment, to miss a single hour out-of-doors during the
short summer.
We had petitioned, that in the rebuilding of our house the piazza
around it should be made wide, like those we enjoyed in the South. On
this delightful gallery we assembled every evening. We were obliged
to make special toilets for our protection, and they were far from
picturesque or becoming. Some one discovered that wrapping newspapers
around our ankles and feet, and drawing the stocking over, would
protect down to the slipper; then, after tucking our skirts closely
around us, we fixed ourselves in a chair, not daring to move.
One night a strange officer came to see us, and taking his place among
the group of huddled-up women, he tried not to smile. I discovered him
taking in my _tout ensemble_, however, and realized myself what an
incongruity I was on that lovely gallery and in the broad moonlight.
I had adopted a head-net: they are little tarlatan bags, gathered at
one end and just large enough to slip over the head; rattans are run
round these to prevent their touching the face--they look like dolls’
crinolines, and would make a seraph seem ugly. In desperation I had
added a waterproof cloak, buckskin gauntlets, and forgot to hide under
my gown the tips of the general’s riding-boots! Tucked up like a mummy,
I was something at which no one could resist laughing. The stranger
beat off the mosquitoes until there lay on the floor before him a black
semi-circle of those he had slain. He acknowledged later that all
vanity regarding personal appearance would be apt to disappear before
the attacks to which we were subjected. We fought in succession five
varieties of mosquitoes; the last that came were the most vicious.
They were so small they slid easily through the ordinary bar, and we
had to put an inside layer of tarlatan on doors and windows. We did
not venture to light a lamp in the evening, and at five o’clock the
netting was let down over the beds, and doors and windows closed. When
it came time to retire we removed our garments in another room, and
grew skilful in making sudden sallies into the sleeping-room and quick
plunges under the bar.
The cattle and horses suffered pitiably during the reign of the
mosquitoes. They used to push their way into the underbrush to try if
a thicket would afford them protection; if a fire were lighted for
their relief, they huddled together on the side towards which the wind
blew the smoke. As it was down by the river, they were worse off than
ever. The cattle grew thin, for there were days when it was impossible
for them to graze. We knew of their being driven mad and dying of
exhaustion after a long season of torment. The poor dogs dug deep holes
in the side of the hills, where they half smothered in their attempt to
escape.
The Missouri River at the point where we had to cross sometimes
represented a lifetime of terror to me. We were occasionally compelled
to go to the town of Bismarck, four miles back on the other side.
I could not escape the journey, for it was the termination of the
railroad, and officers and their families coming from the East were
often detained there; while waiting for the steamer to take them to
their posts they were compelled to stay in the untidy, uncomfortable
little hotel. If I sent for them they declined to come to us, fearing
they might make extra trouble; if I went for them in the post
ambulance, I rarely made a fruitless errand. Even when elated with the
prospect of a little outing at St. Paul, I so dreaded that terrible
river that we must cross going and coming, it almost destroyed my
pleasure for a time. The current was so swift that it was almost
impossible for the strongest swimmer to save himself if once he fell
in: the mud settled on him instantly, clogged his movements, and bore
him under. Some of the soldiers had been drowned in attempting to
cross, in frail, insecure skiffs, to the drinking-huts opposite. As I
looked into this roaring torrent, whose current rushes on at the rate
of six miles an hour, I rarely failed to picture to myself the upturned
faces of these lost men.
The river is very crooked, and full of sand-bars, the channel changing
every year. The banks are so honeycombed by the force of the water that
great portions are constantly caving in. They used to fall with a loud
thud into the river, seeming to unsettle the very foundations of the
earth. In consequence, it was hard work for the ferry-boat to make a
landing, and more difficult to keep tied up, when once there.
The boat we were obliged to use was owned by some citizens who had
contracted with the Government to do the work at that point. In
honor of its new duty they renamed it _The Union_. The Western word
“ram-shackly” described it. It was too large and unwieldy for the
purpose, and it had been condemned as unsafe farther down the river,
where citizens value life more highly. The wheezing and groaning of the
old machinery told plainly how great an effort it was to propel the
boat at all. The road down to the plank was so steep, cut deep into the
bank as it was, that even with the brakes on, the ambulance seemed to
be turning a somersault over the four mules. They kicked and struggled,
and opposed going on the boat at all. We struck suddenly at the foot of
the incline, with a thump that threw us off the seat of the ambulance.
The “hi-yis” of the driver, the creak of the iron brake, and the
expressive remarks of the boatman in malediction upon the mules, made
it all seem like a descent into Hades, and the river Styx an enviable
river in contrast. The ambulance was placed on deck, where we could see
the patched boiler, and through the chinks and seams of the furnaces we
watched the fire, expecting an explosion momentarily.
After we were once out in the channel the real trouble began. I never
knew, when I started for Bismarck, whether we would not land at
Yankton, five hundred miles below. The wheel often refused to revolve
more than half-way, the boat would turn about, and we would shoot
down the river at a mad rate. I used to receive elaborate nautical
explanations from the confused old captain why that happened. My
intellect was slow to take in any other thought than the terrifying
one--that he had lost control of the boat. I never felt tranquil, even
when the difficulty was righted, until I set my foot on the shore,
though the ground itself was insecure from being honeycombed by the
current. The captain doubtless heard my pæan of thanks when I turned
my back on his old craft, for once afterwards I received from him a
crumpled, soiled letter, with curious spelling and cramped hand, in
which he addressed me as “highly honored lady,” and in lofty-sounding
terms proceeded to praise his boat, assuring me that if I would deign
to confer on him the honor of my presence, he would prove it to be
quite safe, and as “peert” a steamer as sailed. With a great flourish,
he ended, “for _The Union_ must and shall be preserved,” and signed
himself my most humble admirer.
We were told, when the expedition started, that we might expect our
first letters in two weeks. The mail was delayed, unfortunately, and
each day after the fortnight had expired seemed a month. In spite of
all my efforts to be busy, there was little heart in any occupation.
The women met together every day and read aloud in turn. Every one set
to work to make a present for the absent ones with which to surprise
them on their return. We played croquet. This was tame sport, however,
for no one dared to vary the humdrum diversion by a brisk little
quarrel, which is the usual accompaniment of that game. We feared to
disagree even over trifles, for if we did it might end in our losing
our only companionship.
We knew that we could not expect, in that climate, that the freshness
of summer would last for more than a short time after the sun had come
to its supremest in the way of heat. The drouth was unbroken; the
dews were hardly perceptible. That year even our brief enjoyment of
the verdure was cut short. A sirocco came up suddenly. The sky became
copper-colored, and the air murky and stifling; the slightest touch
of metal, or even the door-handles, almost blistered the fingers.
The strong wind that blew seemed to shrivel the skin as it touched
us. The grass was burned down into the roots, and we had no more of
it that season. This wind lasted for two hours, and we could not keep
back apprehensions at the strange occurrence. After that, during the
summer, as we walked over the little space allowed us, our shoes were
cut by the crisp brown stubble, and the sod was dry and unyielding
under our feet. As far as we could see, the scorched earth sent up
over its surface floating waves of heated atmosphere. No green thing
was left. The only flowers that had not been scorched out of existence
were the soap plants, which have a sword-like stalk, out of which grow
the thick, creamy petals of its flower. The roots that extend for
many feet in all directions near the surface of the soil, enable it
to secure moisture sufficient to keep it alive. The only other flower
was the blue-bell, which dotted a hill where we were accustomed to
climb in order to command a better view of the country in our efforts
to discover the scouts with the mail. One can scarcely imagine how
hungrily we gazed at those little blossoms. They swung lightly on their
cunningly fashioned stems, that swayed and tossed the tiny azure cups,
but withstood the strongest wind. I cannot see even a sketch of that
flower now without thinking how grateful we were for them out there in
that stripped and almost “God-forgotten” land. When we threw ourselves
on the turf among them, the little bells almost seemed to us to ring
out a tiny sound, as if they were saying, in flowery cadence, “The hand
that made us is divine.”
Some of our eyes seemed to be perpetually strained, watching the
horizon for the longed-for scouts. At dawn one morning--which is at
three o’clock in summer in Dakota--I was awakened by strange sounds
at the door. When I drew the curtain, there were the Ree scouts, and
on their ponies the mail-bag, marked by some facetious hand, “Black
Hills Express.” It took but a second to fling on a wrapper and fairly
tumble down the steps. The Indians made the sign of long hair and
called “Ouches,” which is the word denoting that in their language.
(The general had borne this name with them for some time.) I was too
impatient to wait their tardy movements, and tried to loosen the
mail-bag. The Indian, always pompous and important if he carries
despatches, wafted me away. I understood enough, to be sure, that no
one would receive the mail but the officer in command. As the scouts
slowly moved down the line towards his quarters, other impatient female
figures with flying hair came dancing restlessly out on the porches.
Every woman soon knew that news had come. Even the cooks, scantily
attired, ran out to stand beside their mistresses and wave their fat
arms to the Indians to hurry them on. Our faithful soldier, Keevan,
whom my husband had left to care for us, hearing the commotion, came to
ask what he could do. I sent him to bring back the letters. He, in his
turn, thinking only to serve me, made an effort to open the mail-bag,
but the watchful Indian suppressed him quickly. The old fellow’s face
beamed with delight when he placed the great official envelope, crowded
with closely-written pages, in my hand. How soon they were devoured,
though, and what a blank there seemed in the day when we knew that we
had nothing more to expect!
Three times after that we had letters. They were most interesting, with
descriptions of the charm of travelling over ground no white feet had
ever before touched. My family could not avoid, even at that distance,
studying up little plans to tease me. After describing their discovery
and entrance into a large and almost hidden cave, my husband said that
Colonel Tom and he had come upon the bones of a white man, doubtless
the only one who had ever set foot in that portion of the world. Beside
him lay a tin cup, some buttons from his coat, and a rusty, ancient
flint-lock musket. All were marked with his initials. They were the
same as those of one of the friends whom I had known when a little
romping girl of seventeen. “This,” they said, in the language of a dime
novel, “explains the mysterious disappearance of your old love. Rather
than meet such a fate as awaited him in marrying you, old lady, he has
chosen to seek out solitude in a cavern, and there die.” Of course I
thought even the story of the finding of the cave a fabrication for
my benefit. I enjoyed it hugely, and thought what ingenuity they had
employed to invent such a tale. When they came back at the end of
the summer, and brought the musket and other mementos, with the very
initials rusting in the metal, and declared on honor that they had
found the skeleton, I was compelled to believe them. Not that the
remains of the unfortunate man were those of my early friend, who was
soon afterwards accounted for, but that some unhappy man had actually
wandered into that dismal place and died a tragic death alone.
When the day of their return came, I was simply wild with joy. I hid
behind the door as the command rode into garrison, ashamed to be
seen crying and laughing and dancing up and down with excitement. I
tried to remain there and receive the general, screened from the eyes
of outsiders. It was impossible. I was down the steps and beside my
husband without being conscious of how I got there. I was recalled to
my senses and overwhelmed with confusion by a great cheer from the
soldiers, who, I had forgotten, were lookers-on. Regular soldiers
rarely cheer, and the unusual sound, together with the embarrassment
into which I had unconsciously plunged myself, made the few steps back
to the house seem a mile.
When we could take time to look every one over, they were all amusing
enough. Some wives did not know their husbands, and looked indignant
enough when caught in an embrace by an apparent stranger. Many, like
the general, had grown heavy beards. All were sun-burnt, their hair
faded, and their clothes so patched that the original blue of the
uniform was scarcely visible. Of course there had been nothing on the
expedition save pieces of white canvas with which to reinforce the
riding-breeches, put new elbows on sleeves, and replace the worn knees.
The boots were out at the toes, and the clothing of some were so beyond
repairing that the officers wanted to escape observation by slipping,
with their tattered rags, into the kitchen-door. The instruments of
the band were jammed and tarnished, but they still produced enough
music for us to recognize the old tune of “Garryowen,” to which the
regiment always returned.
By-and-by the long wagon-train appeared. Many of the covers had elk
horns strapped to them, until they looked like strange bristling
animals as they drew near. Some of the antlers were brought to us as
presents. Besides them we had skins, specimens of gold and mica, and
petrified shells of iridescent colors, snake rattles, pressed flowers,
and petrified wood. My husband brought me a keg of the most delicious
water from a mountain-stream. It was almost my only look at clear water
for years, as most of the streams west of the Missouri are muddy.
As soon as the column appeared in sight, the old soldier who had served
me with such fidelity all summer went to Mary to tell her the news. He
also said that as long as the general had put Mrs. Custer in his charge
he knew how to behave. Now, being no longer on honor, he added, “I
intend to celebrate their return by going on a tremendous ‘bum.’” How
any one could get drunk in so short a time was a mystery. The general
had hardly removed his buckskin-coat before the old fellow stumbled up
the steps and nearly fell in the door, with his arms full of puppies
that had arrived during the summer. The rejoicing was too general for
misdemeanors to be noticed. The man was thanked for his watchful care
over me during the months past, and advised to find a place to go to
sleep in as soon as possible.