Fort Wingate is a post about one hundred and fifty miles west and a
little north of Albuquerque and in the mountains in what was then called
the Navajo country. While there I saw one of the squaws making a Navajo
blanket. I supposed it would be called weaving but was unlike any
weaving I ever saw, yet when a lad I was quite familiar with the looms
and spinning wheels of the times, and the making of cloth. The blanket
making appeared to be a very tedious process, the warp being held taut
by stakes in the ground and the filling or woof worked in under and over
the threads forming the warp and pressed in place by a little flat piece
of wood passing between the threads of the warp. I could more readily
understand why the blankets were so expensive.
We remained at Wingate probably two weeks. I was a guest of Doctor
Vickery, the post surgeon. He was a most charming host and all-around
good fellow. He gave me a little handful of garnets the Indians had
brought him from the little ant hills so abundant in the country. I sent
a few of the choicest stones to Tiffany & Company of New York and had
two rings made; one for my wife and one for a friend, the post surgeon's
wife at Fort Wallace, who had been most kind to her while she was
waiting for an opportunity to join me.
The company from Fort Wingate to Fort Dodge together with the
headquarters' paraphernalia was under the command of Mr. Krause, a
lieutenant of the fifteenth infantry. Instead of coming around by
Albuquerque we came part way and then cut across country to the
northeast. When within a few miles of the Rio Grande the wagon road bore
down to the southeast. The infantry cut across in the direction of
Barnalillo (double L has the sound of E in Spanish) and the
transportation followed the wagon road. Mr. Krause and I took the
ambulance and when we reached the river in place of going up stream on
the west side as the wagons were directed to do we crossed over to the
old overland stage route and then went north on the east side. It was
late when we reached the outskirts of the town and we noticed a great
light as though some building was on fire. We had now left the stage
road and were trying to find one that would take us to a crossing on the
river. We were about to enter the town or pueblo, for it was an Indian
pueblo, when we had a good view of the fire which proved to be an
immense bonfire in the middle of the street with many people gathered
around it. An Indian met us and gave us to understand that we could go
no farther. With what little Spanish we could command, and by signs, we
got him to understand that we wanted to reach the command on the other
side of the river. By that time another Indian or two had joined us and
they at once took the matter in hand. One of them got into the ambulance
and by signs indicated to the driver which way to go and the first man
to meet us signalled Mr. Krause and myself to follow him. He would take
us through the pueblo, but started around the outskirts of the place and
after what seemed to me an interminable time brought us up at a high
bluff. It was quite dark and we could see the campfires across the
river, but how to get there, or whether we would get there, seemed
questionable to me. However, the Indian knew what he was about, and soon
found the place he wanted, and disappeared over the side of the bluff on
what proved to be steps cut out of the rock, leading down to the valley
below. It was then only a short distance to the ford and our guide
motioned us to stay there, and we understood he wanted us to wait for
the ambulance, but he waded across the river. We found him on our
arrival in camp carrying wood for the campfires and seemingly greatly
pleased at being able to help us. We gave him a dollar at which he was
evidently delighted. The transportation arrived soon after we reached
camp and all was right again.
We reached Santa Fe early in November--I think the 4th--and only stayed
in town a few hours to rest and report to district headquarters where
arrangements were made to have the paymaster come out to a place agreed
on some five miles out where we would camp that night and pay off the
men. This precaution was taken because there are always some men who
cannot stand prosperity and will blow their money for anything they may
fancy, particularly for liquor, and quite a number of them were likely
to get drunk and be put in the guardhouse and cause delay in getting
away from the town. It seems however, that some of them had money and
those disposed to load up on "tangle-foot" had borrowed enough to put
themselves past good marching condition, for at roll call preparatory to
being paid off, some were missing and came straggling into camp one at a
time later on in the afternoon, one without shoes, hat or clothing,
excepting underwear, and one entirely naked. They had fallen out of
ranks and taken a nap, and on trying to join the command had been held
up by Mexicans. Of course their guns and accoutrements had gone with
their clothing. We were camped where we could see some distance back
along the road we had come and it was rather an odd sight to see the men
coming into camp in that condition. It was quite ridiculous to see men
in such uniforms, or rather lack of them, come into camp, stand at
attention and salute when reporting to the commanding officer.
We followed the old overland stage route from Santa Fe to Fort Lyon,
Colo., a distance of nearly three hundred miles. From there it was some
two hundred miles to our destination at Fort Dodge. There was little of
interest on the way to Fort Lyon, the usual routine of making and
breaking camp and marching during the day. By this time the men were
thoroughly hardened to the march and the roads being good we made good
time. It is interesting to know that for a distance of one thousand
miles men will beat horses.
At Cimarron we waked up in the morning to find six inches of snow on the
ground and at Wooton's just north of the crest of Raton Pass, we stayed
two or three days to have transportation repaired. I hunted a little but
as I was afraid to go far from camp found nothing. One evening while
there, Mr. Krause and I went down to Trinidad, a mining town of some
importance in those days with the usual equipment of saloons and
gambling halls. I had some curiosity to see the later, so we visited
one. It was located in a long room a hundred feet or more in length by
probably forty feet wide, in which there were many tables, at most of
which were men engaged in playing games. The poker players sat at small
tables, four or five players around each one, with stacks of chips or
money at their side, or perhaps a buckskin sack containing gold dust,
(for this was a placer mining camp) which was weighed out as occasion
demanded in the fluctuations of the game. At other tables dice were
used, or balls were rolled, and the bets were made as to which little
pocket they would enter. Everything was quiet and orderly and seriously
business-like. It was a curious exhibition and to this day I do not
understand the fascination that seems to be in it.
At Trinidad we were still a hundred miles or more from Fort Lyons where
I expected to meet my wife, and while we made exceptional progress for
infantry it seemed all too slow for me. It was on the 25th of November
when we reached Fort Lyons, and I had the great pleasure of seeing my
wife and baby boy again. We rested over for two or three days at Fort
Lyons and then started on the last long lap of nearly two hundred miles
down the Arkansas river to Fort Dodge, Kans. We did not see a habitation
or a soul on the way except at one place where a man was standing at the
roadside as we passed along. He informed us that he and his partner were
there killing buffalo and poisoning wolves for their hides. We found an
immense gray wolf lying by the roadside and the men threw it on one of
the wagons and we left it with the lone hunter by the roadside.
When pretty well down toward Fort Dodge, I had one of the most exciting
hunting experiences of my life. Buffalo in great numbers were seen
nearly all the way down and I was anxious to get a fine robe from an
animal I had killed myself. My opportunity occurred one afternoon after
we had gone into camp. I saw a good sized herd leave the river and start
back to the high ground to graze, probably a mile or more away. I did
not know any better than to go on foot and alone. It never occurred to
me that there could be any danger. The ground was level as a floor and I
got up within a hundred yards or less and picked out a large black bull
that I thought would furnish the prize I was after, and fired. At the
crack of the rifle he started for me and of course I turned and ran, and
ran for my very life. I thought how hopeless it looked for me, for the
camp seemed far away, but I did my best. Finally I could hear him close
behind me and while I expected every moment to be gored it occurred that
he was breathing heavily, and I kept the pace as best I could until the
breathing seemed less distinct and looking over my shoulder I discovered
that he had stopped running and was walking around and around. However,
I kept going until I was sure I was at a safe distance and then fell on
the ground and lay there for a while. My heart was beating like a
trip-hammer. I had no notion then of giving up the contest and as he
turned broadside to me I fired and he started, and I started for another
race. He did not make much headway this time and my courage arose
accordingly. Pretty soon he stopped again and commenced turning around.
He did not chase me again, but it took the fourth shot before he fell.
The rifles of those days were very different from the modern repeating
rifles. This was a breech loader with only a single shot and it was
necessary to raise up what was called the breachblock by hand and insert
the cartridge, then replace the breachblock, cock the gun, and you were
ready for another shot. Too slow a process when a mad buffalo is chasing
you.
I had been aiming for the heart but shot too high and the wound in the
lungs had caused the blood to choke him so he could not keep up the
pace. All four of the shots went into a space not larger than my hand
and one of the bullets lodged under the skin on the opposite side which
I was careful to keep as a souvenir of the chase. Some of the enlisted
men who had gone out to the right for a shot came to my assistance and
skinned the animal for me and carried the hide into camp. They assured
me that the animal was certainly within ten or fifteen feet of me at one
time during our race.
Another hunting incident occurred on our trip down the valley in which I
was only a spectator. Some men had gone off into the hills to get a
buffalo for the command. They had separated one from the herd and had
wounded it and got the animal turned in the direction so as to cross the
road ahead of the command. When it came in sight our cook became
enthused with the idea of going out and killing it and thus have some of
the glory of the chase. He asked permission to take my riding mule that
followed behind the ambulance. I readily gave my consent and watched the
proceedings with a good deal of interest. He started away at full speed
with a pistol in one hand swinging it in anticipation of a great
victory. All went well enough until the mule got close to the game when
I suppose he got a whiff of an odor that did not please him, for without
slacking his pace he turned and never stopped until he was back in the
rear of the ambulance again. All this with the rider making the most
frantic effort to get him into the fight. He did not even get a shot.
The buffalo was killed near the road and loaded on one of the wagons and
taken into camp.
Another little incident occurred on this trip that was quite exciting
for a few moments: We had camped near the river in some very tall grass,
blue-stem I think it was called, the company some little distance away
and to windward of headquarters. Some way in starting their campfire, it
got beyond their control, and a shout in that direction gave as warning.
I gathered the baby in my arms and we all ran for the river. Fortunately
there was a sandbar extending out from the bank and we jumped some four
or five feet down to that, and huddled up against the bank until the
danger was past. There was a strong wind blowing and it was all over in
a few moments. We thought of the ammunition wagon and feared the
results, but the only harm done was a little scorching of my wife's
side-saddle which was under the wagon. Only those who have seen a
prairie fire in tall grass with a stiff wind blowing, can picture the
scene as it actually happened. The ground was swept clean but was black
with the ashes and stubble of the burned grass.
On arriving at Fort Dodge we stayed a few days waiting for a surgeon who
was returning from Fort Larned and who accompanied us from Fort Dodge to
Fort Hayes, Kans. While at Fort Dodge there was a dust storm that
continued for three or four days, blowing a steady gale during that
time. Major Morris was commanding officer at that post and I remember a
lieutenant, Phil Reed, who was a charming and entertaining talker at the
table. My recollection is that he was afterwards married to Minnie
Reams, an actress of note at that time. The road from Fort Dodge to Fort
Hayes was a very desolate one. By starting early and urging our team
along until after dark we came to a stream bordered by timber where we
camped for the night. It was snowing very hard when we reached camp and
by morning there were six or eight inches of snow on the ground. The
road was so obscure in many places that we were doubtful whether we were
on the right road or on any road at all. Not a house or sign of life in
all that great white waste and even now I think of it as the most
desolate day of all my life. We arrived at Fort Hayes after midnight of
the second day, and were soon comfortably located at Doctor Meacham's
quarters and sound asleep. My orders read to accompany the command to
Fort Dodge and then proceed to St. Louis, Mo., and report to the medical
director of the department which had been changed from Fort Leavenworth
to that place. We were now at the railroad and the worst of the long
journey from Fort Craig, N. Mex., to St. Louis was over.
When in the ticket office at Fort Hayes arranging my transportation, I
was introduced to one of the most noted characters on the frontier. He
was generally known as "Wild Bill," but his name was Hickok and his
brother had been our wagon master from Fort Wingate to Fort Dodge. He
did not look wild at all but was a rather mild mannered and genteel
looking fellow. He had long hair and wore good clothes and had nothing
of the appearance of a desperado.
The trip to St. Louis was uneventful.