McRae was a one company post, and located on a little bench of land at
the side of the canon that led down to the Rio Grande from the Frau
Christobel mountains. There were no square for a parade ground but all
buildings faced toward the canon, of which at this point was not abrupt
but sloped gradually to the bottom.
The officers' quarters were very comfortable, being built of heavy adobe
walls, and covered with dirt, consequently were warm in winter and cool
in summer. The rooms were large and had the usual jaspa floors common to
the military posts along the Rio Grande. Government blankets are first
laid on these floors and over them is laid the carpet and both are
nailed down with lath or shingle nails, with leather heads, to hold the
carpet in place. There was a fireplace in both living and dining rooms
and water was obtained at a spring in the canon, a short distance away.
While the quarters were comfortable the outlook and surroundings were
anything but attractive. The view from the front porch was of a bleak
cactus covered ridge across the canon, and this was limited in extent
and back of the post the canon rose abruptly to a great height. Up the
canon was the barracks of the men, and farther up was the Sutler's
store. Below the officers' quarters, was the quartermaster and
commissary storehouses and corrals and stables.
For some time we were quite reconciled to the situation. Both the
commanding officer, Captain Farnsworth and his lieutenant, a Mr.
Carlton, were bachelors, and were courteous and pleasant gentlemen. They
did not remain long, however, after our arrival at the post, but were
superseded by Captain Kauffman and Mr. Fountain, the latter a West
Pointer, but Captain Kauffman was raised from the ranks, and to me never
seemed to fit the promoted position he held. Mr. Fountain on the
contrary, I thought, gave promise of becoming a distinguished officer.
Until they came, my wife was the only officer's wife at the post, and
with the addition of Mrs. Kauffman it could hardly be considered a
great social center. We made the most of it, however, and were fairly
well satisfied with our position.
During the early part of the summer we attended an entertainment given
by the men at the barracks, and our little girl caught cold. At first we
thought it only a temporary illness and that she would soon be better,
but in this we were disappointed. She gradually lost appetite and grew
weaker and I wrote to Dr. Boughter, post surgeon at Fort Craig,
requesting him to come and see her, which he did. We concluded the water
at the post was bad for her, as it was strongly impregnated with alkali,
and we thought it best to take her out to Jack Martin's ranch, where we
knew the water was good. Captain Kauffman was very considerate about the
proposed change, and we agreed that I should return to the post three
times a week to look after any who needed medical attention. This trip
could be made in one day on horse-back, the distance for the round trip
being about forty miles. We got out there the latter part of July, but
within a few days realized more fully the serious nature of our little
daughter's illness. Dr. Boughter came from Fort Craig to see her but
could give us no encouragement.
The Scotch are a superstitious folk, and up to the age of fourteen I was
raised in an atmosphere of superstition. They had signs and omens, and
attributed a personality to everything, animate and inanimate. While
they denied a belief in spirits and hob-goblins, I am satisfied these
things influenced their lives. I remember two old crones at an uncle's,
wizened up old maids, that I think were no relation, but just lived
there, who used to tell us little ones spook and ghost stories until I
was afraid to go to bed in the next room, or out of doors at night. It
seemed to be in the blood and Walter Scott's books are full of it. This
may explain in a way my hope that something would happen that would
bring our little one back to health again. My frequent trips to the post
and sitting up at night to give my wife a little rest, which she so
sorely needed, together with my anxiety, had probably made me morbid,
for one day, August 14th, as I remember, I was on my way to the post. It
was a very hot day and the atmosphere was shimmering with radiated
heat, and not a living thing was to be seen over that vast, desolate
Jornada del Muerto, except maybe a lizard scurrying across the road, and
I was half-way or more to the head of that canon in which the post was
located, when a little grayish-brown bird suddenly appeared from
somewhere, and fluttered over the horses' head just out of reach of my
hand. I accepted it at once and without question, as a messenger sent to
me, and my anxiety was to interpret its message. I tried to reach it
with my hand, but it kept just out of reach, and presently lit in the
road in front. I immediately got off my horse, and taking the lariat
rope in my hand, walked up to it, but it kept moving out of the way, but
only just out of reach. I again got on my horse but had no sooner done
so, than it came back again and fluttered over the horse's head. From
there it flew to a cactus bush by the roadside, and I got off my horse
again and walked up to the bush and took my canteen--no one travels
through such a country without a canteen of water--and holding it up
over the bush poured out a little stream of water. The bird at once
gathered from the leaves, such drops as lodged, and seemed greatly
delighted. I then pressed my left hand, back downward, into the sand,
and holding the canteen up poured a little stream of water into the palm
of my hand. The bird at once left its perch, and flew down and lit near
my hand, and after a little debating with herself, hopped up on my hand
and drank, and at each swallow would look up at me as if to say, "Oh, I
am so thankful." I was greatly comforted and got on my horse again
feeling that my hopes would be realized, and that I would find my little
child on the road to recovery, upon my return in the evening. I had only
gone a short distance when the little bird again flew around in front of
me and again fluttered its wings just out of reach of my hand. I got off
again and this time did not take the lariat rope down, but merely
stepped up by the horse's head, stooped down and pressed my hand in the
sand as before, and the bird did not hesitate, but came at once, and
stood on my hand and drank the water, and when its thirst was fully
satisfied it hopped away, and I got on my horse and went on to the
post. When I returned that evening I found our little child no better
and she died that night.
A messenger was sent to the post and the ambulance came the following
day with a little coffin made at the quartermaster's and the trip back
to the post was to us indeed the "Journey of Death." Our home was so
desolate that I became more morbid than ever, and was soon taken down
with typhoid dysentery, and Dr. Boughter came from the Fort Craig to
wait on me. My recovery was very slow and I was indifferent to anything
that might happen. My wife at last became discouraged and she and
Captain Kauffman talked the situation over, and after consulting Dr.
Boughter concluded to have me taken to Fort Craig for treatment. I was
not informed of their conclusion, and when they told me the ambulance
was at the door, and a bed in it and that I was going to Fort Craig, it
did not even interest me. If they had told me I was going to the
cemetery I would have been just as well satisfied with the arrangement,
although they thought I would be interested because of having been post
surgeon there some years before. After I was at Fort Craig a few days, I
began to take some interest in life and thought I would like to see what
changes had been made, and the more I thought about it, the more
interest I took until I finally wanted to see for myself. With this
awakening I began to have some appetite for food, and I soon began to
gain strength and as I improved I wanted to cross the river and see my
old hunting grounds. All these things undoubtedly contributed to my
recovery for I soon made rapid progress toward good health again. The
doctor had given us his quarters to occupy while there and they were
handsomely furnished and we were made most comfortable. It was then the
latter part of September and the nights were cool and the days pleasant.
We took our meals at the officers' mess and had good things to eat, and
I shall always remember how delicious the pigeon squabs were to me.
Before returning to Fort McRae the doctor and I planned to hunt across
the river. One of the officers had a gun he would loan us, and the
doctor said the blacksmith had one, and he had no doubt he would loan
it. I preferred going for it myself, as I wanted to see the shop and
house close to the bluff where the blacksmith lived. The blacksmith was
very well pleased to loan his gun, but said one barrel was loaded, and
he shot it off and handed the gun to me, saying, "Now it is all right."
It was a muzzle-loader and after wiping it out carefully at the doctor's
quarters I found one of the tubes were stopped up. I put a cap on the
tube and in place of taking the gun out of doors, or pointing it in the
fireplace, I merely turned the muzzle down toward the carpet and pulled
the trigger. A report followed that astonished the doctor, my wife and
myself, who were all taking interest in the preparation for the hunt.
The shot tore through the carpet and into the jaspa floor and sent the
plaster flying in all directions, and made a hole in the floor big
enough to bury a small-sized dog. Another instance of where the gun that
was not loaded, did serious damage, but fortunately no one was hurt.
The post had changed very little since I was there five years before but
I took great interest in seeing everything. Doctor Boughter was a
bachelor, a man of ability in his profession, an accomplished gentleman,
and a friend in our great affliction.
On our return to Fort McRae, while I felt a great repugnance to ever
seeing the place again, I was more resigned to what I considered the
inevitable that is, that death comes to everybody, is one of nature's
laws, and is the culminating process, just as birth is the beginning of
life. When we reached the head of the canon leading down to the post I
was able to look upon the incident of my experience with the little
bird, from a very different point of view.
It was now clear enough to me, that there was nothing miraculous or
unnatural about it, but that for some cause it had simply become
separated from the flock to which it belonged, for they are generally
found in flocks along with cattle. I think it was the female and may
have gone to some other bird's nest to deposit its egg, as is its habit,
for I had studied it closely while drinking out of my hand, and
recognized it as one of the cowbirds or buntings, and I have since been
able to identify it as belonging among the blackbirds and orioles or the
icteridae of the ornothologist, its special division being Molothrus
Aster, a division found in Texas and Southern New Mexico, but I think
not much farther north. The sexes are difficult to distinguish at a
distance, differing in this respect from their near relatives farther
north, where the male is a glossy black with chocolate colored head and
neck. Whatever the cause may have been this one was evidently lost, and
was famishing for water, and recognized the horse as a friend, and in no
way could have considered me in that relation, it came to my hand simply
and only as a matter of necessity. It was pleasant to relieve the thirst
of the little lost bird, but I shall never again think of it as in any
way supernatural.