DOMESTIC TRIALS.
From the clouds and gloom of those summer days, I walked again into
the broad blaze of sunshine which my husband’s blithe spirit made. I
did everything I could to put out of my mind the long, anxious, lonely
months. It was still pleasant enough to ride, and occasionally we
went out in parties large enough to be safe, and had a jack-rabbit or
wolf chase. In the autumn we went into the States on a short leave of
absence. Much to our regret we had to take our prized girl-friend home.
Her family begged for her return. The last good-bye to us was an appeal
from the young officers to bring back another; and we did so, for while
we were East we had the good-fortune to persuade another father and
mother to part with their daughter.
An incident of our journey was an amusing illustration of the
vicissitudes of Western life. In passing through Fargo, on the Northern
Pacific Railroad, an old townsman of ours always came to see us, but
invariably after dark. He had taken a claim in the very heart of the
town, which was disputed by an energetic widow. If he left his place in
the daytime for a few hours, he invariably returned to find his cabin
occupied by the goods and chattels of the widow, and his own effects
reposing on the snow outside his door. Then ensued the ejection of
the interloper by one of the town authorities, and our friend would
re-establish himself. After these raids were repeated a few times, he
learned to keep guard during the day and steal out after dark. In vain
outsiders advised him to settle the difficulty by asking a clergyman to
unite the claims. His eyes turned from the widow to a young girl in his
native State, who now presides unmolested over the disputed domicile,
while the widow has forsaken war for the peace of another hearthstone.
The question of servants was a very serious one to those living on the
borders of civilization as we did. There was never a station equal to
those frozen-up regions. Should servants go out there in the fall, they
were almost certain to become engaged to the soldiers and marry after
the trains were taken off and no new ones could reach us. It often
happened that delicate ladies had to do all kinds of menial service for
a time. Except for a kind-hearted soldier now and then, who was too
devoted to the wife of his company officer to see her do everything,
I hardly know how army ladies would have endured their occasional
domestic trials. The soldiers were especially fond of children, and
knew how to amuse them; indeed, a willing heart made them quick to
learn all kinds of domestic work. I think they even regretted that
they could not sew, when they saw an overtaxed lady wearily moving
her needle. We had no trouble, fortunately. Our colored cook not only
commanded us, and as much of the post as she could, but she tyrannized
over her two sisters whom she had brought from Kentucky for us. These
were thought excellent servants, but Mary, invested with a “little
brief authority,” ruled like a despot. The youngest having been born
after the emancipation proclamation, was looked down upon by her elder
sister, who had been a slave. In her moments of rage the most deadly
insult was to call the younger one “you worthless free nigger, you!” I
think with deep gratitude of their devotion to us. As they were colored
people they had not even the excitement of beaux among the enlisted
men. Sometimes they sighed and longed for home. At such times Mary used
to say to me, “Miss Libbie, you has the giniral, and you don’ mind whar
you is so long as you has him, but you can’t tell what it is for us to
live in a country wha’ there’s no festibuls, meetin’-houses, or dances.”
When we reached St. Paul, on our return from leave of absence, we
were generally met with telegrams from our friends at Fort Lincoln,
imploring us to bring them cooks. The railroad officials were good
enough to give us passes, so we could always take them without much
trouble. The first time after advertising, only the young and pretty
ones were selected from those who came to us at the hotel. Their
almost instantaneous capitulation to the devotion of the soldiers
taught us a lesson. After that we only took the middle-aged and plain.
When we were fairly started on our journey, the general would look
them over, chuckle to himself, and jog my elbow for me to see the
ancients as tourists. He would add, under his breath, that evidently
we had settled the question that time, for no soldier would look
at such antediluvians. He reckoned too soon. He hardly took into
consideration that after hundreds of soldiers had lived for months
without seeing so much as the distant flutter of a woman’s drapery,
they ceased to be fastidious or critical. Without an exception these
antique, parchment-faced women, in a few weeks after we had delivered
them over to their mistresses, began to metamorphose. They bought
tawdry ornaments at the sutler’s store, and hurried after dinner to
adorn themselves to meet the enlisted men, who even under adverse
circumstances will “a-wooing go.”
I remember well the disheartened eyes of one of our pretty young
friends when she told me it was of no manner of use to try and keep a
white servant. Even the ugly old female that we had brought her, and
that cooked so well, was already beginning to primp and powder. By
this time our dearly loved neighbor had become exhausted by the almost
constant care of her two children, and with only inefficient servants
to help her. Through our sympathy for the hard life she led out in that
wilderness we had fallen into the way of calling her “poor Miss Annie,”
having known her as a girl. In the States she would have been “rich
Miss Annie.” With a brave, handsome husband, a distinguished father,
an abundant income, and bright, healthful children, she _was_ rich. It
would not have been strange if the clouds had obscured these blessings,
living the taxing, wearying life she did on the frontier. In vain the
devoted husband sought to share her cares. The very climax of her
troubles seemed to have arrived when she confided to me that she would
soon need an experienced nurse to care for her through her coming
peril. The trains had ceased running, so that one could not be sent on
from St. Paul. There was no neighborly help to be expected even, for
all of our ladies were young and inexperienced. There seemed to be no
one to whom we could look for aid. Instead of rejoicing, as we would
have done in the States over the sweet privilege of coming maternity,
we cried and were almost disconsolate. There were no soft, dainty
clothes to receive the little stranger, no one to take care of it when
it did come; the young surgeon was wholly inexperienced in such duty,
and the future looked gloomy enough. Fortunately, I remembered at last
one of the camp women, who had long followed the regiment as laundress,
and had led a quiet, orderly life. “Poor Miss Annie” shuddered when I
spoke of her, for the woman was a Mexican, and like the rest of that
hairy tribe she had so coarse and stubborn a beard that her chin had a
blue look after shaving, in marked contrast to her swarthy face. She
was tall, angular, awkward, and seemingly coarse, but I knew her to
be tender-hearted. In days gone by I had found, when she told me her
troubles, that they had softened her nature.
When she first came to our regiment she was married to a trooper, who,
to all appearances, was good to her. My first knowledge of her was in
Kentucky. She was our laundress, and when she brought the linen home,
it was fluted and frilled so daintily that I considered her a treasure.
She always came at night, and when I went out to pay her she was very
shy, and kept a veil pinned about the lower part of her face. The cook
told me one day that she was sick and in trouble, and I went to see
her. It seemed the poor thing had accumulated several hundred dollars
by washing, baking pies for the soldiers, and sewing the clothes for
them that had been refitted by the tailor. Her husband had obtained
possession of the money and had deserted. She told me that she had
lived a rough life before coming to the 7th, even dressing as a man
in order to support herself by driving the ox-teams over the plains
to New Mexico. The railroads had replaced that mode of transporting
freight, and she was thrown out of employment. Finding the life as a
laundress easier, she had resumed her woman’s dress and entered the
army, and thinking to make her place more secure, had accepted the
hand of the man whose desertion she was now mourning. It was not long
after this, however, before “Old Nash” (for through everything she
kept her first husband’s name) consoled herself. Without going through
the ceremony or expense of a divorce, she married another soldier,
and had come with us out to Dakota. Of course her husband was obliged
to march with his company. It was a hard life for her, camping out
with the other laundresses, as they are limited for room, and several
are obliged to share a tent together. In the daytime they ride in an
army wagon, huddled in with children and baggage. After all the rough
summer out-of-doors, it was a great boon to her to get a little cabin
in Laundress Row, at our post. Another trouble came to her, however:
her new husband succeeded in stealing her savings and deserting like
the first. “Old Nash” mourned her money a short time, but soon found
solace in going to the soldiers’ balls dressed in gauzy, low-necked
gowns. Notwithstanding her architectural build and massive features,
she had no sooner accumulated another bank account than her hand was
solicited for the third time. Again ignoring the law, and thinking
divorce a superfluous luxury, she captured the handsomest soldier in
his company. He was Colonel Tom’s own man, and when we were riding we
often admired the admirably fitting uniform his wife had made over,
and which displayed to advantage his well-proportioned figure. It was
certainly a _mariage de convenance_. Fortunes are comparative; a few
hundred dollars out there was quite equal to many thousands in New
York. The trooper thought he had done a very good thing for himself,
for notwithstanding his wife was no longer young, and was undeniably
homely, she could cook well and spared him from eating with his
company, and she was a good investment, for she earned so much by her
industry. In addition to all these traits, she was already that most
desirable creature in all walks of life--“a woman of means.”
The bride and groom returned from the ceremony performed by the
Bismarck clergyman, and began house-keeping in the little quarters
“Old Nash” had refurbished for the occasion. When “Miss Annie” and I
went down to see her and make our petitions, we found the little place
shining. The bed was hung with pink cambric, and on some shelves she
showed us silk and woollen stuffs for gowns; bits of carpet were on the
floor, and the dresser, improvised out of a packing-box, shone with
polished tins. Outside we were presented to some chickens, which were
riches indeed out there in that Nova Zemblian climate. She was very
gentle with our friend when we told our errand, and gave her needful
advice in her broken Mexican tongue. After listening to her tribute to
the goodness of her husband, we made such pitiful entreaties that we at
last prevailed on her to leave him. She insisted upon the promise that
she might come home every evening and cook her “manny manny’s supper.”
We learned from her that her own two children had died in Mexico, and
that she had learned midwifery from her mother, and confirmed, what I
had previously heard, that she had constant practice among the camp
women. “Old Nash” appeared at the required hour, and was as skilful
a physician as she was a nurse. My friend used to whisper to me that
when she watched her moving about in the dim light of the sick-room,
she thought with a shiver sometimes how like a man she seemed.
Occasionally she came to the bed, and in her harsh voice asked, “Are
you comph?”--meaning comfortable. The gentle, dexterous manner in which
she lifted and cared for the little woman quieted her dread of this
great giraffe. By degrees I was promoted to the duty of bathing and
dressing the little new-comer, the young mother giving directions from
the pillow. When “Old Nash” was no longer absolutely necessary she went
back to her husband--a richer woman by much gratitude and a great deal
of money.
Her past life of hardship and exposure told on her in time, and she
became ailing and rheumatic. Finally, after we had left Dakota, we
heard that when death approached, she made an appeal to the camp women
who surrounded her and had nursed her through her illness; she implored
them to put her in her coffin just as she was when she died and bury
her at once. They, thinking such a course would not be paying proper
attention to the dead, broke their promise. The mystery which the old
creature had guarded for so many years, through a life always public
and conspicuous, was revealed: “Old Nash,” years before, becoming
weary of the laborious life of a man, had assumed the disguise of a
woman, and hoped to carry the secret into the grave. The surgeon’s
certificate, stating the sex of “Old Nash,” together with the simple
record of a laundress in the regiment for ten years, was all the brief
history ever known. After enduring the gibes and scoffs of his comrades
for a few days, life became unbearable to the handsome soldier who had
played the part of husband in order to gain possession of his wife’s
savings and vary the plain fare of the soldier with good suppers;
he went into one of the company’s stables when no one was there and
shot himself. When our friend, whom the old creature had so carefully
nursed, read the newspaper paragraph describing the death, her only
comment was a reference to the Mexican’s oft-repeated question to her,
“Poor old thing, I hope she is ‘comph’ at last.”