Editor _Husbandman_.--Through your kindness to Mrs. Howard, we are
a reader of your excellent journal. Hence a few months ago our eyes
fell upon “Reminisences of Pilgrimage Across the Plains in 1865,” by
S. R. H., and at once recognized the writer as the “lady who rode
the gallant bay.” And now, sir, as we were an humble member of the
gallant McMahan train, frequently referred to in her interesting
journal, permit me through the columns of your paper to tender her
the thanks and gratitude, not only of ourselves, but every surviving
member of that train, for affording us the pleasure of again traveling
that eventful road without the fatigue and hardships of a long and
tiresome journey. And even now, after the lapse of fifteen years, to
be so pleasantly reminded of our “Gallant Bearing” and the confidence
reposed in us for protection, while passing through the Indian
country, we almost regret that the savages did not give us a striking
opportunity of displaying our prowess. It was our pleasure to form the
acquaintance of the writer, as correctly stated, on the north bank
of the South Platte, near the foot of Fremont’s Orchard. The present
editor of the _Husbandman_, then a beardless youth, had been suffering
with typho-malarial fever from the time we left Nebraska City, and we
visited her camp (ostensibly) begging bread, and obtained as good as
was ever baked upon the plains. From this time on, at least for some
hundreds of miles, it was our pleasure to meet her on the road and in
camp. We were in different trains, but camped near each other every
night for protection from the Indians. Very soon, somehow or other,
when our trains were preparing to drive out every morning, and Miss
R. was mounting Dick, we were in the act of mounting our pony Jo, and
even at this day, in thinking over the matter, I am induced to believe
that our ponies became somewhat attached to each other, as they would
instinctively fall into each other’s company. This was the state of
affairs existing at Elk Mountain, where the bouquet was gathered and
presented, and where, it is frankly admitted, we became somewhat
partial.
Well, we do recollect the crossing of North Platte, that turbulent
stream on the Fort Halleck route. Train after train was crossing all
day long. We were standing on the bank, with Captain McMahan, when the
Hardinbrooke train, the one in which she was traveling, approached
the crossing, and we discovered Miss Raymond on the front seat of the
wagon, with lines in hand, in the attitude of driving. We remarked,
“Good gracious, look yonder, is it possible Miss Raymond is going to
drive that team across this terrible stream alone?”
“Now,” said Captain McMahan, “is the time to show your gallantry.”
And before we could think twice, she drove bravely in. Of course we
mounted Jo and followed after her, and here on a little island in the
middle of the river is where we rode up and congratulated her on her
skill as a driver. As we approached the place of our destination our
trains became separated. Miss R. preceded us a few days to the Golden
City. It was our pleasure, however, to visit her in the little domicile
mentioned in her narrative, and
Talk our troubles over, our journey through at last,
And in her happy presence we forgot the gloomy past.
We sojourned in Virginia City but a short time, then crossed a
tributary of the Missouri near their confluence, and wintered at
Diamond City Confederate Gulch. The June following we returned to our
native State.
A year after our return Captain McMahan and myself received cards
announcing the nuptials of Miss Raymond and Mr. Herndon, which cards
now occupy receivers on our center tables, for which we were ever
thankful, and at which time, of course, the bouquet crumbled to dust.
And now wishing the “lady who rode the gallant bay” and the lucky
gentleman whose home she makes happy, long life and the enjoyment of a
Montana home; I am,
Truly yours,
W. HOWARD.