CHAPTER I.

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LITTLE PILLS

An Army Story

by

R. H. McKAY

Formerly Acting Assistant Surgeon United States Army

Being Some Experiences of a United States Army

Medical Officer on the Frontier Nearly

A Half Century Ago

[Illustration]

1918

Published by

Pittsburg Headlight

Pittsburg, Kansas

FOREWORD

BY R. H. McKAY

This little sketch of army life on the frontier was first written,

merely for the pleasure it might bring to my children in looking it over

in after years. It remained in the form of a manuscript for that

purpose, until some of my friends urged its publication. The merit of

the story itself, if it has any, lies in the fact of actual experience,

but probably a matter of more importance is to call attention to the

wonderful changes that have taken place in the fifty years just passed.

The term frontier today would be a misnomer. There is no frontier. The

immense areas of wild and waste country that then existed has vanished

before the tide of civilization and settlement. The present generation

can never realize the vast changes. Possibly this little book may bring

to mind, by way of contrast, at least some of the conditions then and

now.

LITTLE PILLS

CHAPTER I.

My children have often asked me to write out some of my experience while

a medical officer in the United States Army on the frontier, and I have

often resolved to do so. But for many years after leaving the service my

time was so thoroughly taken up in an effort to make a living and

educate the children that my good resolutions received scant attention.

Now in my 78th year the apathy of old age is such a handicap, that great

effort is required to do things that at one time I could have done

cheerfully but did not.

I think my experiences during the Civil War gave me something of a taste

for military duty, for when in the summer or early fall of 1868 I

noticed that an Army Medical Board was in session at New York, I at once

made application to appear before it for examination for a position in

the regular service. I was examined in October, 1868, and as the board

continued in session for some time afterwards I waited with some anxiety

and misgivings as to the result of my examination. I had the impression

that the examination would be severe and was doubtful of my ability to

pass. In this connection it is proper to say that some had failed in

these examinations that afterwards became noted medical men. Among them,

I was informed, was Dr. Austin Flint, Sr., whose work on the practice of

medicine was standard and considered the best when I was a student. His

son, Dr. Austin Flint, Jr., also became famous as our great Physiologist

and his work on that subject is standard today. It was not until the

following January that I heard from my examination, and was then

directed to report at St. Louis to be mustered into the service as

Acting Assistant Surgeon in the United States Army. There was

necessarily some delay in disposing of the few things we had, some of

which we sold and some of which we stored. Finally everything being

disposed of, we left our home in Washington, Iowa, and from there, after

a day with friends, took a train for Burlington, thence to Keokuk, where

my wife remained visiting relatives, I going on to St. Louis to report.

I was mustered into the service January 29th, 1869, and ordered to

report to the Medical Director, Department of the Missouri at

Leavenworth, Kansas, for assignment to duty. The Department of the

Missouri at the time comprised the States of Missouri, Kansas, Colorado,

New Mexico, The Indian Territory, and I think Arkansas.

General Sheridan was the commanding officer of the department at that

time. He also had a brother who was a captain and who was also stationed

at Leavenworth. Dr. Miles was the Medical Director of the Department and

Dr. McGruder was Post Surgeon at Leavenworth. I was on waiting orders at

Fort Leavenworth for something over a month during which time I got my

first impression of the rank and file of the Regular Army. The officers

impressed me as very self important, exceedingly courteous and cordial,

and charming in their broad-gauge views of current events and their

unreserved candor in discussing all subjects. I must except one subject,

however, and that was politics. An army officer is supposed to have no

politics, or if he has he keeps them in reserve. Seldom during nearly

seven years of my life in the army did I hear politics mentioned. An

army officer is supposed to do his duty regardless of who holds

political authority over him, and this he does most loyally. The

enlisted men impressed me as a clean, attractive and well disciplined

body of soldiers. Another thing that impressed me was the absolute

separation of the officers and enlisted men. It may be different now but

at that time there seemed to be nothing of even a fraternal interest.

The officer commanded and the soldier obeyed. In this way they seemed as

distinct as oil and water, and it was a rather surprising contrast to

the volunteer service during the war, where enlisted men and officers

often from the same town and nearly always from the same community

fraternized and often addressed each other by their given names; while

in the regular service there was nothing of the kind. An officer when

passing an enlisted man always received a salute. The men or man

standing at attention when giving it and the officer was required to

return the salute. The men may be sitting down, say outside of their

barracks, and when an officer approaches and gets within a certain

distance they all rise at once, stand at attention, and give the salute,

and this is the extent of their relations with each other.

The officers mess at Leavenworth was quite a large one, mostly of

unmarried men, although there were maybe two or three married couples,

and was exceedingly cordial and sociable with each other. Those of the

rank of Captain or higher up in rank were always addressed by their

military title of Captain or Major, as it might be, but the Lieutenants

were addressed as Mister, or by their surnames, as Mr. Jones or simply

Jones.

The first of March came and with it came pay-day, a matter that seemed

of much interest to the officers. It did not take me long to learn its

importance for army officers at that time as a rule literally lived up

their salaries. I finally learned that an officer was considered by many

other officers as a little off color if he was close-fisted and tried to

save money out of his pay. To me it was a matter of importance because I

was poor and needed it. I sent most of my first month's pay, after

paying mess bill and a few other necessary expenses, to my wife, not

keeping enough, as I afterward learned, for an emergency that might

arise. Expecting to be ordered to some frontier post, I took the

precaution to invest in a pistol, a very ridiculous thing to do, as I

now think of it. The further history of that pistol will appear later on

in this story.

While at Leavenworth the officers gave a hop. I never knew why it was

called a hop instead of a dance, but it was always so designated in the

army. Officers came from other places, particularly Fort Riley, among

whom was General Custer of cavalry fame during the Civil War, and a

noted Indian fighter on the frontier. I watched him with a good deal of

interest, for at that time he was a distinguished man in the service,

and I must say that I was rather disappointed in his appearance. He

seemed to me to be under-sized and slender, and at first blush to be

effeminate in appearance. Maybe his long hair, almost reaching to his

shoulders, gave this impression, but the face was something of a study

and hard to describe. Something of boldness or maybe dash, a quick eye,

and he was intensely energetic, giving the impression that he would be a

veritable whirlwind in an engagement. He did not convey the idea of a

great character. He was a very graceful dancer. His career ended at the

famous battle in our Indian warfare, that of the Little Big Horn. Not a

man of his command escaped to tell the story.

I think it was about the 8th or 9th of March that I received orders to

report to the Chief Medical Officer, District of New Mexico, for

assignment to duty. The quartermaster furnished transportation, that is

to say, orders to the transportation companies, railroads, stage-lines,

etc., to carry the officer to point of destination. This, together with

the order of assignment to duty, would carry one wherever the assignment

directed. At this time the so-called Kansas-Pacific railroad was built

out pretty well towards the west line of the state, but there were no

transcontinental lines finished until the following summer. The Union

and Central Pacifics joining that year in Utah in July.

I left Fort Leavenworth in the morning and before night was out on the

plains. From Leavenworth to Topeka there was some settlement. The towns

as I remember them were mere railroad stations, except Lawrence, which

was more pretentious, and the scattering farmhouses were small and

primitive in style. Topeka seemed to be something of a town, but from

there west the country was only partially inhabited. Fort Hayes stood

out prominently to the left of the railroad but the whole country seemed

one great sea of desolation unlimited in extent. At that time I would

not have given ten dollars per square league for what has since become

one of the famous wheat fields of the country. The evening of the second

day we arrived at a place called Sheridan which was the terminus of the

railroad. It was a straggling place of tents and wooden shacks, dance

halls, bawdy houses, gambling houses and saloons. Murders were of

frequent occurrence and it was considered dangerous to be on the street

at night. There was only one street in the town. I started out on this

street about dusk, thinking I had better go to the stage office and

arrange for my transportation on to Santa Fe. The landlord happened to

notice me and called for me to wait a minute and when he had joined me

he inquired where I was going. He said he would go with me as it might

not be safe for me to be alone, and told me of a killing in front of the

hotel the night before.

My bed that night was on the second story, merely floored, and not

plastered or sealed, and the roof slanted down close to the bed. The

space between the floor and the edge of the roof was open and I could

look down into the saloon. I watched the patrons of this place for some

time for it was altogether a new experience. The clinking of glasses;

the loud talk; the dim lights; and the thorough abandonment of the

motley crowd remains quite vividly in my memory. It finally occurred to

me that in the event of a shooting scrape, even there in bed was not a

very safe place, so I edged over to the far side of the bed and soon

dropped to sleep, not waking until called in the morning.

We got an early start and I had the stage mostly to myself until we

crossed the Raton spur of the mountain. The nights were chilly and I was

not over-warmly clad, but I managed after the first night to get a fair

amount of sleep. I felt some fear of Indians although it was too early

in the season for them to go on the war-path. The summer before had been

a particularly bad one on the plains. Forsythe's command was almost

annihilated in October, 1868, on the Ariskaree Fork of the Republican

river, and at every stage station until after we reached Trinidad,

Colo., the first salutation between the men at the station and our

conductor was whether either had seen any Indians. The apprehension was

not that the Indians would go on the war-path at that time of the year,

because their ponies could not exist until the grass was well started,

but that some of the venturesome young bucks might take it into their

heads to attack the stage coach. I peeked out of the coach at night and

wondered if there was any probability of Indians attacking us and

thought of my pistol, but was not proud of it, or of my ability to use

it.

The stage stations were interesting to me. On the plains proper they

were uniformly built, underground as far up as the sidewalls extended,

and was located near some water hole and at an elevation that would

command a view of the surrounding country for some distance. Above the

dirt walls large logs were laid, upon which the cross timbers were

placed for supporting the roof. These logs were raised from the ground

enough, say three or four inches, to give the occupants a good view of

the surrounding country, and an opportunity of using their carbines

against attack from the Indians, with comparative safety to themselves.

The roof was covered with dirt. The stables were built the same way with

underground passages or open ditches connected with the station proper.

Both station and stable were connected in the same way with the water

hole. At these stations on the plains proper, were stationed a small

squad of soldiers, maybe a half dozen, under the command of a

noncommissioned officer, generally a sergeant, and you can readily see

that the Indians would be a little cautious about getting too near such

a place although during the summer season they often attacked the stage

between stations. The stations were at variable distances apart,

depending on the water supply, generally from eight to twenty miles

apart, and were supplied by government trains on their way to the

military posts of the West. There was not much to attract attention in

approaching these stations, no building in sight, no sign of life. The

first thing you knew some one would hollow "Hello!" and "Hello!" would

come back. "Have you seen any Indians?" and there you are. The last

inquiry was natural enough when you consider the near approach of

spring, when the grass would be green enough to furnish feed for Indian

ponies. Indians would not appear in large numbers at this time of the

year, but little roving bands, maybe one or two venturesome bucks might

be seen almost daily at a safe distance, evidently spying out the

prospects for more serious work later in the season. Of course we got

our meals at these stations, consisting generally of bacon, hot

corn-bread or biscuit, a vegetable or two, and black coffee. This menu

varied some after we crossed the Raton Mountains and were practically

out of Indian troubles, when we had a greater variety, and it was

better prepared.

We got to Trinidad late at night, the first town after crossing the

plains, and located just at the base on the north side of the Raton

Range near the Purgatory river. This was a mining town of some

importance in those days, and had the usual quota of dance halls,

gambling dens and other equipment of a typical mining town.

We got to Dick Wooton's early the following morning and had a good

breakfast. His place was located near the top of Raton Pass and

consisted at that time of a rambling lot of log buildings; one for a

house proper, which was clean, comfortable, and attractive inside, and

the others for stables, blacksmith and wagon shops, and in fact anything

and everything where repairs to transportation could be made. Dick

himself was an attractive personality, was large, quite above the

average in size, with a cheery open face giving little evidence of the

frontier man, and yet he was almost as noted as Kit Carson with whom he

was associated as pioneer and scout. Both were noted men on the

frontier. Wooton, however, took a more practical view of life than

Carson and conceived the idea of building a wagon road over the Raton

Pass. This road was completed and I think had been for some time before

I crossed the pass. If I remember correctly we crossed a little stream

coming down from near the top of the range thirteen times before we came

to the top of the pass. Wooton had some kind of permit or authority from

the government for building this road and was authorized to make it a

toll road. He was reported to have made quite a fortune from the revenue

derived from it.

A little place called Cimarron, (which in Spanish means mountain of

sheep) or Maxwell's ranch was the next place of interest to me. This is

some distance south of the Raton Range, maybe half way from Trinidad to

Fort Union. It seemed that Maxwell married a high class Spanish woman

whose family owned an immense estate in what was Mexico before it was

ceded to the United States. In the division of the estate Maxwell's wife

got a grant of many thousands of acres on the head waters of the

Cimarron, a tributary of the Canadian, which I understand was very much

reduced as a result of extended litigation with the government as to

title. We traveled for miles on what was then called Maxwell's Ranch,

where great herds of sheep, cattle and horses were to be seen, with an

adobe house here and there, where herders lived. It was a great pleasure

to stop even for one meal at such a place as Maxwell's. The house was

commodious and handsomely furnished and everything was prosperous and

home-like. Some years later I had the pleasure of acquaintance of a

daughter of Mr. Maxwell's who married a lieutenant in the army and we

were serving at the same post.

We passed Fort Union in the night and I did not get to see much of it,

but I understand it to be only a military post and base of supplies, for

the Quarter-Master or Commissary Department of the army for the District

of New Mexico.

My first view of Las Vegas (The Meadows, in Spanish) was over a

beautiful wide valley, some three or four miles across, through which a

pretty little stream of water, the source of the Pecos river, was

wending its way. The view was beautiful and the town looked to be a

place of importance, but proved to be disappointing on a closer

acquaintance.

Not far from Las Vegas we passed what was called the old Pecos church.

It was only a little distance from the road and said to have been built

in the seventeenth century. It stood alone in its desolation and had

partially fallen into decay. The roof was off, the walls partly broken

down and it looked to be as old as reported.

We arrived in Santa Fe late in the evening and stopped at the hotel or

fonda, as it is called in Spanish. At first one feels that he is in a

different country; something foreign and out of the usual, and this

feeling grows with closer acquaintance. For instance you go direct from

the street to your room if your wife is with you, or to a kind of a

lobby or sitting room with a bar at one side if alone.

I was thankful that the stage ride was ended. We had been going night

and day since leaving the railroad at Sheridan, Kans., a distance of

nearly four hundred miles, and although I had the stage to myself most

of the way, one passenger got on at Cimarron that I will feel grateful

to the balance of my days, and from Fort Union to Santa Fe the coach was

crowded all the way. The stage lines in those days had a conductor who

went to the end of the route, much as our railroad conductors do today,

while the drivers like our engineers, only went to what might be called

division points, say twelve-hour trips.

The conductor has charge, and is responsible for the United States mail

and the express packages which are carried in what is called the front

boot, and where the conductor curls up among the mail sacks and packages

and sleeps at night. The back boot is devoted to baggage. Inside there

are generally two seats facing each other and wide enough for three

persons if not too big, on each seat. The stage coach had a great

swinging body resting on two immense leather straps for springs, one on

each side underneath and extending from front to back. These flexible

springs gave the coach an easy side swing and it was not a particularly

unpleasant thing to ride in.

Having arrived in Santa Fe late Saturday evening I did not report until

next morning, and about noon an orderly brought to the hotel my orders

from the Chief Medical officer directing me to report to the commanding

officer at Fort Selden, New Mex., for assignment to duty. This was

startling news, for Fort Selden was the last military post before

reaching the Mexican border and I had only $2.50 in my pocket and my

hotel bill to pay. Being new in the service and something of a

tenderfoot I did not want to go to the other officers for help. I left

my room and went down to the hotel lobby and among others who were there

was the gentleman who got on the stage at Cimarron. We had traveled

together from Cimarron to Santa Fe with hardly the exchange of the usual

courtesies. I was not a good mixer and he had nothing to say, but my

case was very desperate. I had to talk to someone so I asked if he was

acquainted in Santa Fe and he said "some." I told him my troubles and

that I had a good watch and a good pistol (that pistol was a hoodoo by

this time) that I would put up as security for a few dollars to pay my

expenses on the way to Fort Selden. He said: "Well, nobody would give

you anything for them things. If I had the money I would let you have

it." This in a rather slow drowning voice. I took this as a matter of

course. Anybody would talk the same way, I thought, whether they had it

or not.

Dinner was soon ready. The dining room was away to the rear end of this

somewhat rambling hotel building. We passed through a billiard hall and

maybe some store rooms before reaching it. I think, however, there was a

different route for the ladies. I suppose the dinner was good but do not

remember much about it. I do remember, however, on the way back through

the pool hall I stopped to glance around the room which was a very long

one with many tables and many players. The second table away became very

interesting to me for near it stood my man of short acquaintance

apparently talking to one of the players, a large fine looking man who,

laying his cue across the corner of the table, pulled out such a wad of

bills as I had never seen before and commenced counting out the money to

my newly made acquaintance. I passed and went up to my room wondering if

he would keep his word, now that he had the money. I tried to read but

made poor headway. Pretty soon there was a light tap on the door and I

said "come in." The door opened and there was my new found friend who

took a seat in a rather deliberate way and said nothing. I made some

remark about the weather which seemed to meet his approval but directly

he asked me: "About how much money do you think you will need?" I told

him I thought about twenty dollars would be enough. He brought from his

pocket a great bunch of bank notes and counted out twenty dollars and

handed it to me. When I offered my security he politely turned them down

saying he would take chances. When I asked him if he had never lost

money that way he replied, "Yes, some." And when I said I would feel

better myself if he would take something to make himself safe he said,

"Oh no, I'll take chances." When next I inquired about his knowledge of

Santa Fe and the west generally he became more communicative and

informed me that he had spent all his life from a youngster as a

prospector, sometimes striking it good and selling out and trying it

again; sometimes having plenty of money, and at other times having

nothing. Someone else would then furnish him a "grub-stake" as he called

it with which to try again. He and his partners had just sold out a gold

mine at Cimarron and I presume the money I saw him receive from the big

man at the pool table was part of the proceeds of that sale. He finally

asked me if I cared to walk about the town some. I think I would have

gone with him anywhere, so I responded very promptly that I would like

to. The town was utterly strange to me, so different from anything I had

ever seen: adobe walls, adobe houses, and the people were as strange

looking as the houses. The women wore some kind of a wrap over their

head called a mantilla (pronounced man-tee-ya, with the accent on the

second syllable) leaving a little open space for one eye to peep out at

people they met, and the men with the wide brimmed, high peaked hats

that I afterwards learned are the universal costumes of the Mexican

people. After looking around a bit my companion asked me if I would like

to see a cock-fight. Sure thing, of course I would, although having been

raised a strict Scotch Presbyterian I felt some qualms of conscience

about witnessing such an exhibition on the "Sabbath."

[Illustration: SATANTA War Chief of the Kiowas

Original in our possession, taken by Soule, of Boston, while we were

stationed at Fort Sill]

The amphitheater in which the exhibition was given was without cover and

enclosed by a high adobe wall. It was crowded with men and women, mostly

Mexicans, in gala dress, some very richly dressed women and some whose

attire attested poverty, but even these wore bright colors. The head

covering was universal but as varied in colors and quality as the fancy

and wealth of the wearers suggested. I think some of the hats of the men

must have cost a small fortune. The exhibition itself was not very

attractive to me. I could see the chickens sparring around as though for

a good opening and finally one of the cocks would drive the gaff home

with deadly effect and the people would shout and clap their hands and

exchange the money they had wagered on the result. The management would

then bring in another pair of birds for another contest. The betting

consisted not only of money but all kinds of trinkets and valuables. I

saw one woman take off her white slippers handsomely ornamented with

gold braid and spangles and bet them on the result of the contest. The

affair was conducted in Spanish-Mexican and I could not understand

anything that was said, but they all seemed to be delighted with the

exhibition. To me it was not only cruel but was uninteresting. We did

not stay until the finish but went out and saw some more of the town,

then returned to our hotel.

My newly made friend came up to my room after supper, and spent part of

the evening with me. I found his experiences interesting. The old story

of ups and downs, money to spare, and grub-stakes furnished by some one

else, to give him another start. He gave me his address and I was very

prompt in returning his twenty dollars as soon as I got to Fort Selden,

which by the way, I borrowed from the post trader until pay-day. In

answer to my remittance I received a post card without address or date

saying, "You needn't have been in such a hurry." Thus ended an

acquaintance and experience that I think could not have happened

anywhere else than on the American frontier. His name was Robert

Daugherty and nothing could give me greater pleasure than to meet him

again and furnish him a "grub-stake" if he needed it.

Santa Fe (Holy Faith, in Spanish) was an old town when the Pilgrims

landed at Plymouth Rock. About 1606 according to Colonel R. E.

Twitchell, the best authority on the early history of New Mexico, it was

made the capital of one of the Spanish provinces, and had been built on

the site of two small Indian pueblos. I believe if I had been dropped

down in some town in the interior of China and had found a few Americans

to talk to it would not have seemed more strange to me. The office of

the chief medical officer of the district was located in a building on

the plaza that someone told me was the old palace, but which I thought

did not look much like a palace, and which I understand is now used as a

museum in which are to be found the most remarkable collection of

archaeological specimens in America.