Fort Bayard, surrounded by high mountains, is pleasantly situated
in a very hilly region. The officers’ quarters face the Santa Rita
Mountains, which rise to an abrupt point directly opposite the post,
a few miles distant, forming a landmark which is not soon forgotten,
especially if constantly in view for three years, during which time
we had the good fortune to remain there.
On the brow of that sharp decline, which rises almost at right angles
with the hill beneath, a large, irregularly shaped rock had fallen,
which bears a perfect resemblance to a kneeling figure, and faces
the higher point. It was called the kneeling nun, and, of course,
invested with the natives by a suggestive history! The suppliant
posture is perfect, and the figure conveyed to me a world of deep
meaning.
That little corner of South-western New Mexico, in which we remained
three years, a length of sojourn so unusual and unexpected that every
spring I looked for an order to move, has an unwritten history which
would cover many pages. It is the mining region of New Mexico, and
has the most perfect climate of any in the United States, neither
extremely warm in summer, nor severely cold in winter; and the sun
shines at least three hundred days in each year with a warmth and
brightness which render life perfectly enjoyable, if spent out of
doors as it should be.
The only real storms are in summer, when during the rainy season
clouds suddenly gather in the afternoon, and are followed by such a
downpour of rain, with perhaps thunder and lightning, that it seems
as if everything would be washed away. After the full force and fury
of the elements have been spent, every cloud disappears, and the day
ends with a perfect sunset, which is followed by a night still,
calm, and wonderfully beautiful.
Occasionally, but not often, snow falls in winter; altogether,
the climate is perfect, and I have often since wondered why that
locality is not popular as a health resort, for a more bracing and
invigorating air is never breathed anywhere.
On account of the infrequency of rain, vegetation is not very green,
but neither is it shriveled and parched. Cattle never fail to find
succulent pasturage in the bunch grass, which even when perfectly dry
is nutritious. But for the constant Indian depredations from which
that region has suffered for twenty years, it would be the garden
spot of the West. The climate is much milder in winter than that of
Colorado.
Mines of every description have been found in New Mexico, from the
famous Santa Rita copper mines, which bear traces of having been
worked centuries ago, to more recently discovered ones of silver and
gold. These latter have caused the building of the only American
town, known there, Silver City, which, with its one hundred beautiful
red brick houses, is a wonderful place, considering the locality and
surroundings. All this is, however, more recent, although the town
had a number of fine residences when we were there nearly a score of
years ago. It is only an hour’s drive from Fort Bayard, over the most
lovely rolling mountain road, and the visits to Silver City were a
very pleasant feature of our life when at that fort.
The Fort Bayard which first greeted our eyes was, except for climate
and scenery, a sorry place. It boasted a large garrison, but we were
shown into a perfectly miserable hut that was our shelter for months.
The cabins or huts in which the officers lived were directly back of
the new quarters, stone foundations for which had already been laid.
The houses were to be built of adobe bricks, that were made by simply
mixing to a proper consistency with water the earth obtained from
excavating in front of our dwellings, shaping in primitive wooden
molds, and drying in the hot sun.
All the workmen were slow-moving Mexicans, who built houses in the
same way as had their forefathers for generations. They knew no
meaning for the word “hurry,” so it took months to erect those simple
homes; and meantime we not only lived in wretched huts, but could not
venture out after dark for fear of falling into some one of the many
pits.
Our experience was dreadful for one long year, then the houses were
finally completed. The ground had been so torn up that the least gust
of wind seemed sufficient to start all the loose earth in motion,
when we would be almost buried in clouds of dust; but our worst
trouble was during the rainy season.
Our houses were situated on the brow of a hill, and when sudden
summer storms arose they washed right through the house. We preferred
to give them the right of way rather than have the buildings,
wretched as they were, entirely disappear, so the back doors would
be opened, and the storms permitted to sweep through before finding
egress at the front doors. The houses, so-called by courtesy, were
merely log cabins without floors; it was therefore necessary, at
such times, to mount on chairs or tables if we desired to escape
mud baths. The roofs, thatched with straw and overlaid with mud,
had a way of leaking that was apt to result in huge mud-puddles
being spread in all directions. The ladies always took refuge under
umbrellas until after the storms subsided.
None could envy others, for all were in the same boat, with no
comforts whatever. Sometimes the whole roof fell in, but no one was
ever hurt, and on the two occasions which I recall, bachelor officers
were the sufferers.
The lieutenant-colonel who commanded our post, having no family, had
kindly given his house to a little bride, whose husband was a recent
graduate of West Point. She, like myself, had started out expecting
to find all military stations like that lovely place, and had brought
from New York the most luxurious outfit ever seen on the frontier.
Magnificent carpets and curtains from Sloan’s, fit for any New York
palace, had been shipped all that long distance, and she proceeded to
lay the former directly over the mud floor in her house, and to hang
the latter at her little windows.
The house was in every respect like all the rest, with three rooms
in a row, and one or two forming an ell; yet she had decked the
interior to look like a perfect fairy bower. The front room, that
opened directly out of doors, was the sitting-room; back of that was
a sleeping apartment, and then the kitchen.
When the first severe storm arose and swept right through that house,
the rain coming in at the back and going out at the front door, I
never saw a more dismayed and discouraged woman than was our little
bride, and no wonder. Her fairy bower had been transformed into a
mud-bank; the pretty white curtains were streaked and discolored
beyond recognition, the carpets covered with mud, while the pictures
and ornaments were unrecognizable.
That lady was like many I have met, both before and since. She
expected ordinary modes of life to prevail at the frontier, and had
carried with her at least a dozen large trunks, for which she was
glad to find simply storage, and whose pretty contents never saw the
light.
Her experience was pitiable. Having an abundance of money, she
naturally supposed it would purchase some comforts; but money was of
no use to her there, and, indeed, seemed only an aggravation. The
little woman used to send East for articles, which for economy’s sake
the rest of us went without, and disappointments invariably followed.
Whatever was received—which would be only after almost incredible
waiting—was never what she had expected; and if garments had been
ordered, alterations which none but a skilled hand could make were
always needed.
I remember being once consulted about a Christmas present designed
for her husband. She had decided upon a beautiful picture, which,
although ordered in ample time, did not arrive until long after
the holidays, and the express charges alone were fifty dollars. Her
disappointments were well-nigh endless, and led me to believe that
money was not so much a promoter of happiness in frontier life as it,
would usually be considered elsewhere; for no matter how much people
were able to spend they could not buy luxuries, and to send East for
them meant only tantalization and weary waiting.
Perhaps some of my own experiences in the matter of express charges
may not prove uninteresting. Every woman is said to love a new
bonnet; but army women show the greatest unconcern regarding
fashions, probably because their lives are so different from those of
their city sisters.
When some head covering became a positive necessity, we usually sent
East for a plain little hat, dark and useful, as it was needed mainly
for wear when driving around the country. I had quite worn out my
Eastern supply after a two years’ residence at Bayard, so ordered
a quiet little hat or bonnet from New York. Instead, I received a
very gaudy, dashing piece of millinery that would have been suitable
for the opera, but was altogether out of place on the frontier. The
bonnet cost twenty dollars, and the express charges were twenty-two.
For that entirely useless arrangement, therefore, I had to pay
forty-two dollars, and then had no bonnet, for I never wore it.
That little lady had all the ambition and pride in a refined way
of living that naturally arose from having spent her early life
amid luxurious surroundings. She had passed several years in the
gayest capitals of Europe, had imbibed most extravagant ideas from
fond and indulgent parents, had scarcely ever known an ungratified
wish, and was therefore less prepared for the actual realities of
life, as developed at Fort Bayard, than any one else I have ever
known. The desire and attempt to live in accordance with her means
resulted in constant disappointments and trials. I have never seen
any one who worked so hard to accomplish what were considered simply
necessities, and yet whose labor was so entirely unrewarded.
She wanted to entertain lavishly; and having beautiful table
appointments it was really a treat to dine at her house; but when
she told of the labor involved, by reason of incompetent help, the
task seemed too great to include any pleasure. Her utter ignorance of
household duties made her an easy prey to servants’ wiles, and the
very fact that she could so lavishly supply materials only made them
more ready to take advantage.
She tried the same experiment we had—taking a servant from
New York—but fared even worse, as her maid left when Santa Fé
was reached, saying she did “not care to go any farther from
civilization.” The officer’s wife had no redress, although she had
spent quite a large sum both on the girl’s fare and baggage, as they
had traveled by stage.
When, a year later, this same lady had a dear little girl born, she
offered, but in vain, fifty dollars a week to any one who would care
for herself and child. It was really pitiful to see the beautiful
young woman lying neglected, deprived of the most common care, when
if money could have availed she would have been enveloped in luxury.
Of course, attentions were received from other ladies, but hers was
one of the many cases I have known where Dame Nature alone was at
hand to assist.
My pen glides lovingly over the paper when I begin to describe army
ladies, and fain would linger to fill page after page with loving
reminiscences of their sweet goodness and devotion to husbands and
the cause they represented. Surely in no other life can women be
found who are at once so brave and true.
At each post I formed devoted attachments to some woman, and were the
love experienced for them all and their perfections to be described,
this book could contain little else; for one story after another of
their wifely devotion and absolute self-abnegation, carried to such
an extent as to be actually heroic, is recalled.
No murmur was ever heard at the order to move, if women were to be
included; for no matter how hard, long, or wearisome the journey,
they were content if permitted to accompany their husbands. But when
the officers were sent away on the many expeditions cavalry service
demanded, where their wives could not go with them, then were they
indeed wretched; hours and days seemed endless until the return of
loved ones.
This intense devotion was the cause of incessant hardships being
borne; for in many instances, if the ladies would have returned to
their Eastern homes, care and attention would have been bestowed
which can never be expected on the frontier.
The difficulty of obtaining competent help in household cares could
never be surmounted. Even when near Mexican settlements we would find
that a long line of idle ancestry, together with every tendency of
climate, surroundings, and viciousness, had so developed indolence
in the natives as to utterly incapacitate them for any serious
employment. They were capable only of such tasks as allowed them
to bask in the sun and smoke cigarettes all day long. As they made
admirable nurses, and we liked to have our children live out of
doors, they could be utilized in that way; but heavier household
tasks were left for more energetic hands.
When I think of that delicious sun and air, and recall those happy
days, I wonder how any thing can be remembered except the absolute
content experienced when we finally moved into our new quarters, and
regularly settled down into sweet home life. The children throve and
bloomed like flowers, and were never ill.
In the South-western climate ordinary diseases do not prevail, and
if any of the epidemics which mothers usually dread break out, the
absolute pureness of the air renders them innocuous; and with even
ordinary care children speedily recover. Army doctors, in the double
capacity of physician and family friend, also give most extraordinary
care, so sickness is rarely fatal. Except from teething and its
attendant ills, babies are almost exempt from maladies, and children
live so secluded from outside influences that mine never even had
measles or any other childish disease.
One beautiful babe died from teething, and during its illness every
lady in the post passed her entire time at its bedside when allowed
to do so. But that may be instanced as only one proof of the sincere
interest felt in each other by people who are isolated from all the
rest of the world.