Produced by Dianne Bean
ARMY LETTERS FROM AN OFFICER'S WIFE
By Frances M. A. Roe
PREFACE
PERHAPS it is not necessary to say that the events mentioned in the
letters are not imaginary--perhaps the letters themselves tell that!
They are truthful accounts of experiences that came into my own
life with the Army in the far West, whether they be about Indians,
desperadoes, or hunting--not one little thing has been stolen. They
are of a life that has passed--as has passed the buffalo and the
antelope--yes, and the log and adobe quarters for the Army. All flowery
descriptions have been omitted, as it seemed that a simple, concise
narration of events as they actually occurred, was more in keeping with
the life, and that which came into it. FRANCES M. A. ROE.
ARMY LETTERS FROM AN OFFICER'S WIFE
KIT CARSON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1871.
IT is late, so this can be only a note--to tell you that we arrived here
safely, and will take the stage for Fort Lyon to-morrow morning at six
o'clock. I am thankful enough that our stay is short at this terrible
place, where one feels there is danger of being murdered any minute.
Not one woman have I seen here, but there are men--any number of
dreadful-looking men--each one armed with big pistols, and leather belts
full of cartridges. But the houses we saw as we came from the station
were worse even than the men. They looked, in the moonlight, like huge
cakes of clay, where spooks and creepy things might be found. The hotel
is much like the houses, and appears to have been made of dirt, and a
few drygoods boxes. Even the low roof is of dirt. The whole place is
horrible, and dismal beyond description, and just why anyone lives here
I cannot understand.
I am all upset! Faye has just been in to say that only one of my trunks
can be taken on the stage with us, and of course I had to select one
that has all sorts of things in it, and consequently leave my pretty
dresses here, to be sent for--all but the Japanese silk which happens to
be in that trunk. But imagine my mortification in having to go with
Faye to his regiment, with only two dresses. And then, to make my
shortcomings the more vexatious, Faye will be simply fine all the time,
in his brand new uniform!
Perhaps I can send a long letter soon--if I live to reach that army post
that still seems so far away.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1871.
AFTER months of anticipation and days of weary travel we have at last
got to our army home! As you know, Fort Lyon is fifty miles from Kit
Carson, and we came all that distance in a funny looking stage coach
called a "jerkey," and a good name for it, too, for at times it seesawed
back and forth and then sideways, in an awful breakneck way. The day was
glorious, and the atmosphere so clear, we could see miles and miles in
every direction. But there was not one object to be seen on the vast
rolling plains--not a tree nor a house, except the wretched ranch and
stockade where we got fresh horses and a perfectly uneatable dinner.
It was dark when we reached the post, so of course we could see
nothing that night. General and Mrs. Phillips gave us a most cordial
welcome--just as though they had known us always. Dinner was served soon
after we arrived, and the cheerful dining room, and the table with its
dainty china and bright silver, was such a surprise--so much nicer than
anything we had expected to find here, and all so different from the
terrible places we had seen since reaching the plains. It was apparent
at once that this was not a place for spooks! General Phillips is not a
real general--only so by brevet, for gallant service during the war. I
was so disappointed when I was told this, but Faye says that he is very
much afraid that I will have cause, sooner or later, to think that
the grade of captain is quite high enough. He thinks this way because,
having graduated at West Point this year, he is only a second lieutenant
just now, and General Phillips is his captain and company commander.
It seems that in the Army, lieutenants are called "Mister" always, but
all other officers must be addressed by their rank. At least that is
what they tell me. But in Faye's company, the captain is called general,
and the first lieutenant is called major, and as this is most confusing,
I get things mixed sometimes. Most girls would. A soldier in uniform
waited upon us at dinner, and that seemed so funny. I wanted to watch
him all the time, which distracted me, I suppose, for once I called
General Phillips "Mister!" It so happened, too, that just that instant
there was not a sound in the room, so everyone heard the blunder.
General Phillips straightened back in his chair, and his little son gave
a smothered giggle--for which he should have been sent to bed at once.
But that was not all! That soldier, who had been so dignified and stiff,
put his hand over his mouth and fairly rushed from the room so he could
laugh outright. And how I longed to run some place, too--but not to
laugh, oh, no!
These soldiers are not nearly as nice as one would suppose them to be,
when one sees them dressed up in their blue uniforms with bright brass
buttons. And they can make mistakes, too, for yesterday, when I asked
that same man a question, he answered, "Yes, sorr!" Then I smiled, of
course, but he did not seem to have enough sense to see why. When I
told Faye about it, he looked vexed and said I must never laugh at an
enlisted man--that it was not dignified in the wife of an officer to do
so. And then I told him that an officer should teach an enlisted man
not to snicker at his wife, and not to call her "Sorr," which was
disrespectful. I wanted to say more, but Faye suddenly left the room.
The post is not at all as you and I had imagined it to be. There is no
high wall around it as there is at Fort Trumbull. It reminds one of a
prim little village built around a square, in the center of which is a
high flagstaff and a big cannon. The buildings are very low and broad
and are made of adobe--a kind of clay and mud mixed together--and the
walls are very thick. At every window are heavy wooden shutters, that
can be closed during severe sand and wind storms. A little ditch--they
call it acequia--runs all around the post, and brings water to the trees
and lawns, but water for use in the houses is brought up in wagons from
the Arkansas River, and is kept in barrels.
Yesterday morning--our first here--we were awakened by the sounds of
fife and drum that became louder and louder, until finally I thought the
whole Army must be marching to the house. I stumbled over everything
in the room in my haste to get to one of the little dormer windows, but
there was nothing to be seen, as it was still quite dark. The drumming
became less loud, and then ceased altogether, when a big gun was fired
that must have wasted any amount of powder, for it shook the house and
made all the windows rattle. Then three or four bugles played a little
air, which it was impossible to hear because of the horrible howling
and crying of dogs--such howls of misery you never heard--they made
me shiver. This all suddenly ceased, and immediately there were lights
flashing some distance away, and dozens of men seemed to be talking
all at the same time, some of them shouting, "Here!" "Here!" I began
to think that perhaps Indians had come upon us, and called to Faye, who
informed me in a sleepy voice that it was only reveille roll-call, and
that each man was answering to his name. There was the same performance
this morning, and at breakfast I asked General Phillips why soldiers
required such a beating of drums, and deafening racket generally, to
awaken them in the morning. But he did not tell me--said it was an
old army custom to have the drums beaten along the officers' walk at
reveille.
Yesterday morning, directly after guard-mounting, Faye put on his
full-dress uniform--epaulets, beautiful scarlet sash, and sword--and
went over to the office of the commanding officer to report officially.
The officer in command of the post is lieutenant colonel of the
regiment, but he, also, is a general by brevet, and one can see by
his very walk that he expects this to be remembered always. So it
is apparent to me that the safest thing to do is to call everyone
general--there seem to be so many here. If I make a mistake, it will be
on the right side, at least.
Much of the furniture in this house was made by soldier carpenters here
at the post, and is not only very nice, but cost General Phillips
almost nothing, and, as we have to buy everything, I said at dinner last
evening that we must have some precisely like it, supposing, of course,
that General Phillips would feel highly gratified because his taste
was admired. But instead of the smile and gracious acquiescence I had
expected, there was another straightening back in the chair, and a
silence that was ominous and chilling. Finally, he recovered sufficient
breath to tell me that at present, there were no good carpenters in the
company. Later on, however, I learned that only captains and officers of
higher rank can have such things. The captains seem to have the best of
everything, and the lieutenants are expected to get along with smaller
houses, much less pay, and much less everything else, and at the same
time perform all of the disagreeable duties.
Faye is wonderfully amiable about it, and assures me that when he gets
to be a captain I will see that it is just and fair. But I happen
to remember that he told me not long ago that he might not get his
captaincy for twenty years. Just think of it--a whole long lifetime--and
always a Mister, too--and perhaps by that time it will be "just and
fair" for the lieutenants to have everything!
We saw our house yesterday--quarters I must learn to say--and it is
ever so much nicer than we had expected it to be. All of the officers'
quarters are new, and this set has never been occupied. It has a hall
with a pretty stairway, three rooms and a large shed downstairs, and
two rooms and a very large hall closet on the second floor. A soldier is
cleaning the windows and floors, and making things tidy generally. Many
of the men like to cook, and do things for officers of their company,
thereby adding to their pay, and these men are called strikers.
There are four companies here--three of infantry and one troop of
cavalry. You must always remember that Faye is in the infantry. With
the cavalry he has a classmate, and a friend, also, which will make
it pleasant for both of us. In my letters to you I will disregard army
etiquette, and call the lieutenants by their rank, otherwise you would
not know of whom I was writing--an officer or civilian. Lieutenant
Baldwin has been on the frontier many years, and is an experienced
hunter of buffalo and antelope. He says that I must commence riding
horseback at once, and has generously offered me the use of one of his
horses. Mrs. Phillips insists upon my using her saddle until I can get
one from the East, so I can ride as soon as our trunks come. And I am to
learn to shoot pistols and guns, and do all sorts of things.
We are to remain with General and Mrs. Phillips several days, while our
own house is being made habitable, and in the meantime our trunks and
boxes will come, also the colored cook. I have not missed my dresses
very much--there has been so much else to think about. There is a little
store just outside the post that is named "Post Trader's," where many
useful things are kept, and we have just been there to purchase some
really nice furniture that an officer left to be sold when he was
retired last spring. We got only enough to make ourselves comfortable
during the winter, for it seems to be the general belief here that these
companies of infantry will be ordered to Camp Supply, Indian Territory,
in the spring. It must be a most dreadful place--with old log houses
built in the hot sand hills, and surrounded by almost every tribe of
hostile Indians.
It may not be possible for me to write again for several days, as I will
be very busy getting settled in the house. I must get things arranged
just as soon as I can, so I will be able to go out on horseback with
Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1871.
WHEN a very small girl, I was told many wonderful tales about a grand
Indian chief called Red Jacket, by my great-grandmother, who, you will
remember, saw him a number of times when she, also, was a small girl.
And since then--almost all my life--I have wanted to see with my very
own eyes an Indian--a real noble red man--dressed in beautiful skins
embroidered with beads, and on his head long, waving feathers.
Well, I have seen an Indian--a number of Indians--but they were not Red
Jackets, neither were they noble red men. They were simply, and only,
painted, dirty, and nauseous-smelling savages! Mrs. Phillips says that
Indians are all alike--that when you have seen one you have seen all.
And she must know, for she has lived on the frontier a long time, and
has seen many Indians of many tribes.
We went to Las Animas yesterday, Mrs. Phillips, Mrs. Cole, and I, to do
a little shopping. There are several small stores in the half-Mexican
village, where curious little things from Mexico can often be found,
if one does not mind poking about underneath the trash and dirt that is
everywhere. While we were in the largest of these shops, ten or twelve
Indians dashed up to the door on their ponies, and four of them,
slipping down, came in the store and passed on quickly to the counter
farthest back, where the ammunition is kept. As they came toward us in
their imperious way, never once looking to the right or to the left,
they seemed like giants, and to increase in size and numbers with every
step.
Their coming was so sudden we did not have a chance to get out of their
way, and it so happened that Mrs. Phillips and I were in their line of
march, and when the one in the lead got to us, we were pushed aside with
such impatient force that we both fell over on the counter. The others
passed on just the same, however, and if we had fallen to the floor, I
presume they would have stepped over us, and otherwise been oblivious to
our existence. This was my introduction to an Indian--the noble red man!
As soon as they got to the counter they demanded powder, balls, and
percussion caps, and as these things were given them, they were stuffed
down their muzzle-loading rifles, and what could not be rammed down the
barrels was put in greasy skin bags and hidden under their blankets. I
saw one test the sharp edge of a long, wicked-looking knife, and then
it, also, disappeared under his blanket. All this time the other Indians
were on their ponies in front, watching every move that was being made
around them.
There was only the one small door to the little adobe shop, and into
this an Indian had ridden his piebald pony; its forefeet were up a step
on the sill and its head and shoulders were in the room, which made it
quite impossible for us three frightened women to run out in the street.
So we got back of a counter, and, as Mrs. Phillips expressed it, "midway
between the devil and the deep sea." There certainly could be no mistake
about the "devil" side of it!
It was an awful situation to be in, and one to terrify anybody. We were
actually prisoners--penned in with all those savages, who were evidently
in an ugly mood, with quantities of ammunition within their reach, and
only two white men to protect us. Even the few small windows had iron
bars across. They could have killed every one of us, and ridden far away
before anyone in the sleepy town found it out.
Well, when those inside had been given, or had helped themselves to,
whatever they wanted, out they all marched again, quickly and silently,
just as they had come in. They instantly mounted their ponies, and all
rode down the street and out of sight at race speed, some leaning so far
over on their little beasts that one could hardly see the Indian at all.
The pony that was ridden into the store door was without a bridle, and
was guided by a long strip of buffalo skin which was fastened around his
lower jaw by a slipknot. It is amazing to see how tractable the Indians
can make their ponies with only that one rein.
The storekeeper told us that those Indians were Utes, and were greatly
excited because they had just heard there was a small party of Cheyennes
down the river two or three miles. The Utes and Cheyennes are bitter
enemies. He said that the Utes were very cross--ready for the blood of
Indian or white man--therefore he had permitted them to do about as they
pleased while in the store, particularly as we were there, and he
saw that we were frightened. That young man did not know that his own
swarthy face was a greenish white all the time those Indians were in the
store! Not one penny did they pay for the things they carried off. Only
two years ago the entire Ute nation was on the warpath, killing every
white person they came across, and one must have much faith in Indians
to believe that their "change of heart" has been so complete that these
Utes have learned to love the white man in so short a time.
No! There was hatred in their eyes as they approached us in that store,
and there was restrained murder in the hand that pushed Mrs. Phillips
and me over. They were all hideous--with streaks of red or green paint
on their faces that made them look like fiends. Their hair was roped
with strips of bright-colored stuff, and hung down on each side of their
shoulders in front, and on the crown of each black head was a small,
tightly plaited lock, ornamented at the top with a feather, a piece of
tin, or something fantastic. These were their scalp locks. They wore
blankets over dirty old shirts, and of course had on long, trouserlike
leggings of skin and moccasins. They were not tall, but rather short and
stocky. The odor of those skins, and of the Indians themselves, in that
stuffy little shop, I expect to smell the rest of my life!
We heard this morning that those very savages rode out on the plains in
a roundabout way, so as to get in advance of the Cheyennes, and then had
hidden themselves on the top of a bluff overlooking the trail they knew
the Cheyennes to be following, and had fired upon them as they passed
below, killing two and wounding a number of others. You can see how
treacherous these Indians are, and how very far from noble is their
method of warfare! They are so disappointing, too--so wholly unlike
Cooper's red men.
We were glad enough to get in the ambulance and start on our way to the
post, but alas! our troubles were not over. The mules must have felt
the excitement in the air, for as soon as their heads were turned toward
home they proceeded to run away with us. We had the four little mules
that are the special pets of the quartermaster, and are known throughout
the garrison as the "shaved-tails," because the hair on their tails is
kept closely cut down to the very tips, where it is left in a square
brush of three or four inches. They are perfectly matched--coal-black
all over, except their little noses, and are quite small. They are full
of mischief, and full of wisdom, too, even for government mules, and
when one says, "Let's take a sprint," the others always agree--about
that there is never the slightest hesitation.
Therefore, when we first heard the scraping of the brake, and saw that
the driver was pulling and sawing at the tough mouths with all his
strength, no one was surprised, but we said that we wished they had
waited until after we had crossed the Arkansas River. But we got over
the narrow bridge without meeting more than one man, who climbed over
the railing and seemed less anxious to meet us than we were to meet him.
As soon as we got on the road again, those mules, with preliminary kicks
and shakes of their big heads, began to demonstrate how fast they
could go. We had the best driver at the post, and the road was good and
without sharp turns, but the ambulance was high and swayed, and the pace
was too fast for comfort.
The little mules ran and ran, and we held ourselves on our seats the
best we could, expecting to be tipped over any minute. When we reached
the post they made a wonderful turn and took us safely to the government
corral, where they stopped, just when they got ready. One leader looked
around at us and commenced to bray, but the driver was in no mood for
such insolence, and jerked the poor thing almost down.
Three tired, disheveled women walked from the corral to their homes; and
very glad one of them was to get home, too! Hereafter I shall confine
myself to horseback riding--for, even if John is frisky at times, I
prefer to take my chances with the one horse, to four little long-eared
government mules! But I have learned to ride very well, and have a
secure seat now. My teachers, Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin, have been
most exacting, but that I wanted. Of course I ride the army way, tight
in the saddle, which is more difficult to learn. Any attempt to "rise"
when on a trot is ridiculed at once here, and it does look absurd after
seeing the splendid and graceful riding of the officers. I am learning
to jump the cavalry hurdles and ditches, too. I must confess, however,
that taking a ditch the first time was more exciting than enjoyable.
John seemed to like it better than I did.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, November, 1871.
IN many of my letters I have written about learning to ride and to
shoot, and have told you, also, of having followed the greyhounds after
coyotes and rabbits with Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin. These hunts exact
the very best of riding and a fast horse, for coyotes are very swift,
and so are jack-rabbits, too, and one look at a greyhound will tell
anyone that he can run--and about twice as fast as the big-eared
foxhounds in the East. But I started to write you about something quite
different from all this--to tell you of a really grand hunt I have been
on--a splendid chase after buffalo!
A week or so ago it was decided that a party of enlisted men should
be sent out to get buffalo meat for Thanksgiving dinner for
everybody--officers and enlisted men--and that Lieutenant Baldwin, who
is an experienced hunter, should command the detail. You can imagine how
proud and delighted I was when asked to go with them. Lieutenant Baldwin
saying that the hunt would be worth seeing, and well repay one for the
fatigue of the hard ride.
So, one morning after an early breakfast, the horses were led up from
the stables, each one having on a strong halter, and a coiled picket
rope with an iron pin fastened to the saddle. These were carried so that
if it should be found necessary to secure the horses on the plains, they
could be picketed out. The bachelors' set of quarters is next to ours,
so we all got ready together, and I must say that the deliberate way
in which each girth was examined, bridles fixed, rifles fastened to
saddles, and other things done, was most exasperating. But we finally
started, about seven o'clock, Lieutenant Baldwin and I taking the lead,
and Faye and Lieutenant Alden following.
The day was very cold, with a strong wind blowing, so I wore one of
Faye's citizen caps, with tabs tied down over my ears, and a large silk
handkerchief around my neck, all of which did not improve my looks
in the least, but it was quite in keeping with the dressing of the
officers, who had on buckskin shirts, with handkerchiefs, leggings, and
moccasins. Two large army wagons followed us, each drawn by four mules,
and carrying several enlisted men. Mounted orderlies led extra horses
that officers and men were to ride when they struck the herd.
Well, we rode twelve miles without seeing one living thing, and then
we came to a little adobe ranch where we dismounted to rest a while. By
this time our feet and hands were almost frozen, and Faye suggested that
I should remain at the ranch until they returned; but that I refused
to do--to give up the hunt was not to be thought of, particularly as
a ranchman had just told us that a small herd of buffalo had been seen
that very morning only two miles farther on. So, when the horses were a
little rested, we started, and, after riding a mile or more, we came to
a small ravine, where we found one poor buffalo, too old and emaciated
to keep up with his companions, and who, therefore, had been abandoned
by them, to die alone. He had eaten the grass as far as he could reach,
and had turned around and around until the ground looked as though it
had been spaded.
He got up on his old legs as we approached him, and tried to show fight
by dropping his head and throwing his horns to the front, but a child
could have pushed him over. One of the officers tried to persuade me to
shoot him, saying it would be a humane act, and at the same time give
me the prestige of having killed a buffalo! But the very thought of
pointing a pistol at anything so weak and utterly helpless was revolting
in the extreme. He was such an object of pity, too, left there all alone
to die of starvation, when perhaps at one time he may have been leader
of his herd. He was very tall, had a fine head, with an uncommonly long
beard, and showed every indication of having been a grand specimen of
his kind.
We left him undisturbed, but only a few minutes later we heard the sharp
report of a rifle, and at once suspected, what we learned to be a
fact the next day, that one of the men with the wagons had killed him.
Possibly this was the most merciful thing to do, but to me that shot
meant murder. The pitiful bleary eyes of the helpless old beast have
haunted me ever since we saw him.
We must have gone at least two miles farther before we saw the herd we
were looking for, making fifteen or sixteen miles altogether that we had
ridden. The buffalo were grazing quietly along a meadow in between low,
rolling hills. We immediately fell back a short distance and waited for
the wagons, and when they came up there was great activity, I assure
you. The officers' saddles were transferred to their hunters, and the
men who were to join in the chase got their horses and rifles ready.
Lieutenant Baldwin gave his instructions to everybody, and all started
off, each one going in a different direction so as to form a cordon,
Faye said, around the whole herd. Faye would not join in the hunt, but
remained with me the entire day. He and I rode over the hill, stopping
when we got where we could command a good view of the valley and watch
the run.
It seemed only a few minutes when we saw the buffalo start, going from
some of the men, of course, who at once began to chase them. This kept
them running straight ahead, and, fortunately, in Lieutenant Baldwin's
direction, who apparently was holding his horse in, waiting for them
to come. We saw through our field glasses that as soon as they got
near enough he made a quick dash for the herd, and cutting one out, had
turned it so it was headed straight for us.
Now, being on a buffalo hunt a safe distance off, was one thing, but to
have one of those huge animals come thundering along like a steam
engine directly upon you, was quite another. I was on one of Lieutenant
Baldwin's horses, too, and I felt that there might be danger of his
bolting to his companion, Tom, when he saw him dashing by, and as I was
not anxious to join in a buffalo chase just at that time, I begged Faye
to go with me farther up the hill. But he would not go back one step,
assuring me that my horse was a trained hunter and accustomed to such
sights.
Lieutenant Baldwin gained steadily on the buffalo, and in a wonderfully
short time both passed directly in front of us--within a hundred feet,
Faye said. Lieutenant Baldwin was close upon him then, his horse looking
very small and slender by the side of the grand animal that was taking
easy, swinging strides, apparently without effort and without speed, his
tongue lolling at one side. But we could see that the pace was really
terrific--that Lieutenant Baldwin was freely using the spur, and that
his swift thoroughbred was stretched out like a greyhound, straining
every muscle in his effort to keep up. He was riding close to the
buffalo on his left, with revolver in his right hand, and I wondered why
he did not shoot, but Faye said it would be useless to fire then--that
Lieutenant Baldwin must get up nearer the shoulder, as a buffalo is
vulnerable only in certain parts of his body, and that a hunter of
experience like Lieutenant Baldwin would never think of shooting unless
he could aim at heart or lungs.
My horse behaved very well--just whirling around a few times--but Faye
was kept busy a minute or two by his, for the poor horse was awfully
frightened, and lunged and reared and snorted; but I knew that he could
not unseat Faye, so I rather enjoyed it, for you know I had wanted to go
back a little!
Lieutenant Baldwin and the buffalo were soon far away, and when our
horses had quieted down we recalled that shots had been fired in another
direction, and looking about, we saw a pathetic sight. Lieutenant
Alden was on his horse, and facing him was an immense buffalo, standing
perfectly still with chin drawn in and horns to the front, ready for
battle. It was plain to be seen that the poor horse was not enjoying
the meeting, for every now and then he would try to back away, or give
a jump sideways. The buffalo was wounded and unable to run, but he could
still turn around fast enough to keep his head toward the horse, and
this he did every time Lieutenant Alden tried to get an aim at his side.
There was no possibility of his killing him without assistance, and
of course the poor beast could not be abandoned in such a helpless
condition, so Faye decided to go over and worry him, while Lieutenant
Alden got in the fatal shot. As soon as Faye got there I put my fingers
over my ears so that I would not hear the report of the pistol. After
a while I looked across, and there was the buffalo still standing, and
both Faye and Lieutenant Alden were beckoning for me to come to them. At
first I could not understand what they wanted, and I started to go over,
but it finally dawned upon me that they were actually waiting for me to
come and kill that buffalo! I saw no glory in shooting a wounded animal,
so I turned my horse back again, but had not gone far before I heard the
pistol shot.
Then I rode over to see the huge animal, and found Faye and Lieutenant
Alden in a state of great excitement. They said he was a magnificent
specimen--unusually large, and very black--what they call a blue
skin--with a splendid head and beard. I had been exposed to a bitterly
cold wind, without the warming exercise of riding, for over an hour, and
my hands were so cold and stiff that I could scarcely hold the reins,
so they jumped me up on the shoulders of the warm body, and I buried
my hands in the long fur on his neck. He fell on his wounded side,
and looked precisely as though he was asleep---so much so that I
half expected him to spring up and resent the indignity he was being
subjected to.
Very soon after that Faye and I came on home, reaching the post about
seven o'clock. We had been in our saddles most of the time for twelve
hours, on a cold day, and were tired and stiff, and when Faye tried
to assist me from my horse I fell to the ground in a heap. But I got
through the day very well, considering the very short time I have
been riding--that is, really riding. The hunt was a grand sight, and
something that probably I will never have a chance of seeing again--and,
to be honest, I do not want to see another, for the sight of one of
those splendid animals running for his life is not a pleasant one.
The rest of the party did not come in until several hours later;
but they brought the meat and skins of four buffalo, and the head of
Lieutenant Alden's, which he will send East to be mounted. The skin
he intends to take to an Indian camp, to be tanned by the squaws.
Lieutenant Baldwin followed his buffalo until he got in the position he
wanted, and then killed him with one shot. Faye says that only a cool
head and experience could have done that. Much depends upon the horse,
too, for so many horses are afraid of a buffalo, and lunge sideways just
at the critical moment.
Several experienced hunters tell marvelous tales of how they have
stood within a few yards of a buffalo and fired shot after shot from a
Springfield rifle, straight at his head, the balls producing no effect
whatever, except, perhaps, a toss of the head and the flying out of a
tuft of hair. Every time the ball would glance off from the thick skull.
The wonderful mat of curly hair must break the force some, too. This
mat, or cushion, in between the horns of the buffalo Lieutenant Alden
killed, was so thick and tangled that I could not begin to get my
fingers in it.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, December, 1871.
OUR first Christmas on the frontier was ever so pleasant, but it
certainly was most vexatious not to have that box from home. And I
expect that it has been at Kit Carson for days, waiting to be brought
down. We had quite a little Christmas without it, however, for a number
of things came from the girls, and several women of the garrison sent
pretty little gifts to me. It was so kind and thoughtful of them
to remember that I might be a bit homesick just now. All the little
presents were spread out on a table, and in a way to make them present
as fine an appearance as possible. Then I printed in large letters, on a
piece of cardboard, "One box--contents unknown!" and stood it up on the
back of the table. I did this to let everyone know that we had not been
forgotten by home people. My beautiful new saddle was brought in, also,
for although I had had it several weeks, it was really one of Faye's
Christmas gifts to me.
They have such a charming custom in the Army of going along the line
Christmas morning and giving each other pleasant greetings and looking
at the pretty things everyone has received. This is a rare treat out
here, where we are so far from shops and beautiful Christmas displays.
We all went to the bachelors' quarters, almost everyone taking over some
little remembrance--homemade candy, cakes, or something of that sort.
I had a splendid cake to send over that morning, and I will tell you
just what happened to it. At home we always had a large fruit cake made
for the holidays, long in advance, and I thought I would have one this
year as near like it as possible. But it seemed that the only way to get
it was to make it. So, about four weeks ago, I commenced. It was quite
an undertaking for me, as I had never done anything of the kind, and
perhaps I did not go about it the easiest way, but I knew how it should
look when done, and of course I knew precisely how it should taste.
Eliza makes delicious every-day cake, but was no assistance whatever
with the fruit cake, beyond encouraging me with the assurance that it
would not matter in the least if it should be heavy.
Well, for two long, tiresome days I worked over that cake, preparing
with my own fingers every bit of the fruit, which I consider was a fine
test of perseverance and staying qualities. After the ingredients were
all mixed together there seemed to be enough for a whole regiment, so we
decided to make two cakes of it. They looked lovely when baked, and just
right, and smelled so good, too! I wrapped them in nice white paper that
had been wet with brandy, and put them carefully away--one in a stone
jar, the other in a tin box--and felt that I had done a remarkably fine
bit of housekeeping. The bachelors have been exceedingly kind to me,
and I rejoiced at having a nice cake to send them Christmas morning. But
alas! I forgot that the little house was fragrant with the odor of spice
and fruit, and that there was a man about who was ever on the lookout
for good things to eat. It is a shame that those cadets at West Point
are so starved. They seem to be simply famished for months after they
graduate.
It so happened that there was choir practice that very evening, and that
I was at the chapel an hour or so. When I returned, I found the three
bachelors sitting around the open fire, smoking, and looking very
comfortable indeed. Before I was quite in the room they all stood up
and began to praise the cake. I think Faye was the first to mention
it, saying it was a "great success"; then the others said "perfectly
delicious," and so on, but at the same time assuring me that a large
piece had been left for me.
For one minute I stood still, not in the least grasping their meaning;
but finally I suspected mischief, they all looked so serenely contented.
So I passed on to the dining room, and there, on the table, was one of
the precious cakes---at least what was left of it, the very small piece
that had been so generously saved for me. And there were plates with
crumbs, and napkins, that told the rest of the sad tale--and there was
wine and empty glasses, also. Oh, yes! Their early Christmas had been
a fine one. There was nothing for me to say or do--at least not just
then--so I went back to the little living-room and forced myself to
be halfway pleasant to the four men who were there, each one looking
precisely like the cat after it had eaten the canary! The cake was
scarcely cold, and must have been horribly sticky--and I remember
wondering, as I sat there, which one would need the doctor first, and
what the doctor would do if they were all seized with cramps at the same
time. But they were not ill--not in the least--which proved that the
cake was well baked. If they had discovered the other one, however,
there is no telling what might have happened.
At half after ten yesterday the chaplain held service, and the little
chapel was crowded--so many of the enlisted men were present. We sang
our Christmas music, and received many compliments. Our little choir
is really very good. Both General Phillips and Major Pierce have fine
voices. One of the infantry sergeants plays the organ now, for it was
quite too hard for me to sing and work those old pedals. Once I forgot
them entirely, and everybody smiled--even the chaplain!
From the chapel we--that is, the company officers and their wives--went
to the company barracks to see the men's dinner tables. When we entered
the dining hall we found the entire company standing in two lines, one
down each side, every man in his best inspection uniform, and every
button shining. With eyes to the front and hands down their sides they
looked absurdly like wax figures waiting to be "wound up," and I did
want so much to tell the little son of General Phillips to pinch one and
make him jump. He would have done it, too, and then put all the blame
upon me, without loss of time.
The first sergeant came to meet us, and went around with us. There
were three long tables, fairly groaning with things upon them: buffalo,
antelope, boiled ham, several kinds of vegetables, pies, cakes,
quantities of pickles, dried "apple-duff," and coffee, and in the center
of each table, high up, was a huge cake thickly covered with icing.
These were the cakes that Mrs. Phillips, Mrs. Barker, and I had sent
over that morning. It is the custom in the regiment for the wives of
the officers every Christmas to send the enlisted men of their husbands'
companies large plum cakes, rich with fruit and sugar. Eliza made the
cake I sent over, a fact I made known from its very beginning, to keep
it from being devoured by those it was not intended for.
The hall was very prettily decorated with flags and accoutrements,
but one missed the greens. There are no evergreen trees here, only
cottonwood. Before coming out, General Phillips said a few pleasant
words to the men, wishing them a "Merry Christmas" for all of us.
Judging from the laughing and shuffling of feet as soon as we got
outside, the men were glad to be allowed to relax once more.
At six o'clock Faye and I, Lieutenant Baldwin, and Lieutenant Alden
dined with Doctor and Mrs. Wilder. It was a beautiful little dinner,
very delicious, and served in the daintiest manner possible. But out
here one is never quite sure of what one is eating, for sometimes
the most tempting dishes are made of almost nothing. At holiday time,
however, it seems that the post trader sends to St. Louis for turkeys,
celery, canned oysters, and other things. We have no fresh vegetables
here, except potatoes, and have to depend upon canned stores in the
commissary for a variety, and our meat consists entirely of beef, except
now and then, when we may have a treat to buffalo or antelope.
The commanding officer gave a dancing party Friday evening that was most
enjoyable. He is a widower, you know. His house is large, and the rooms
of good size, so that dancing was comfortable. The music consisted of
one violin with accordion accompaniment. This would seem absurd in the
East, but I can assure you that one accordion, when played well by a
German, is an orchestra in itself. And Doos plays very well. The girls
East may have better music to dance by, and polished waxed floors to
slip down upon, but they cannot have the excellent partners one has at
an army post, and I choose the partners!
The officers are excellent dancers--every one of them--and when you are
gliding around, your chin, or perhaps your nose, getting a scratch now
and then from a gorgeous gold epaulet, you feel as light as a feather,
and imagine yourself with a fairy prince. Of course the officers were in
full-dress uniform Friday night, so I know just what I am talking about,
scratches and all. Every woman appeared in her finest gown. I wore my
nile-green silk, which I am afraid showed off my splendid coat of tan
only too well.
The party was given for Doctor and Mrs. Anderson, who are guests of
General Bourke for a few days. They are en route to Fort Union,
New Mexico. Mrs. Anderson was very handsome in an elegant gown of
London-smoke silk. I am to assist Mrs. Phillips in receiving New Year's
day, and shall wear my pearl-colored Irish poplin. We are going out now
for a little ride.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, January, 1872.
WHEN we came over on the stage from Kit Carson last fall, I sat on top
with the driver, who told me of many terrible experiences he had passed
through during the years he had been driving a stage on the plains, and
some of the most thrilling were of sand storms, when he had, with great
difficulty, saved the stage and perhaps his own life. There have been
ever so many storms, since we have been here, that covered everything in
the houses with dust and sand, but nothing at all like those the driver
described. But yesterday one came--a terrific storm--and it so happened
that I was caught out in the fiercest part of it.
As Faye was officer of the day, he could not leave the garrison, so
I rode with Lieutenant Baldwin and Lieutenant Alden. The day was
glorious--sunny, and quite warm--one of Colorado's very best, without a
cloud to be seen in any direction. We went up the river to the mouth of
a pretty little stream commonly called "The Picket Wire," but the real
name of which is La Purgatoire. It is about five miles from the post
and makes a nice objective point for a short ride, for the clear water
gurgling over the stones, and the trees and bushes along its banks, are
always attractive in this treeless country.
The canter up was brisk, and after giving our horses the drink from the
running stream they always beg for, we started back on the road to the
post in unusually fine spirits. Almost immediately, however, Lieutenant
Baldwin said, "I do not like the looks of that cloud over there!" We
glanced back in the direction he pointed, and seeing only a streak
of dark gray low on the horizon, Lieutenant Alden and I paid no more
attention to it. But Lieutenant Baldwin was very silent, and ever
looking back at the queer gray cloud. Once I looked at it, too, and was
amazed at the wonderfully fast way it had spread out, but just then John
shied at something, and in managing the horse I forgot the cloud.
When about two miles from the post, Lieutenant Baldwin, who had fallen
back a little, called to us, "Put your horses to their best pace--a sand
storm is coming!" Then we knew there was a possibility of much
danger, for Lieutenant Baldwin is known to be a keen observer, and our
confidence in his judgment was great, so, without once looking back to
see what was coming after us, Lieutenant Alden and I started our horses
on a full run.
Well, that cloud increased in size with a rapidity you could never
imagine, and soon the sun was obscured as if by an eclipse. It became
darker and darker, and by the time we got opposite the post trader's
there could be heard a loud, continuous roar, resembling that of a heavy
waterfall.
Just then Lieutenant Baldwin grasped my bridle rein on the right and
told Lieutenant Alden to ride close on my left, which was done not a
second too soon, for as we reached the officers' line the storm struck
us, and with such force that I was almost swept from my saddle. The wind
was terrific and going at hurricane speed, and the air so thick with
sand and dirt we could not see the ears of our own horses. The world
seemed to have narrowed to a space that was appalling! You will think
that this could never have been--that I was made blind by terror--but I
can assure you that the absolute truth is being written.
Lieutenant Baldwin's voice sounded strange and far, far away when he
called to me, "Sit tight in your saddle and do not jump!" And then
again he fairly yelled, "We must stay together--and keep the horses from
stampeding to the stables!" He was afraid they would break away and
dash us against the iron supports to the flagstaff in the center of the
parade ground. How he could say one word, or even open his mouth, I do
not understand, for the air was thick with gritty dirt. The horses were
frantic, of course, whirling around each other, rearing and pulling, in
their efforts to get free.
We must have stayed in about the same place twenty minutes or longer,
when, just for one instant, there was a lull in the storm, and I caught
a glimpse of the white pickets of a fence! Without stopping to think of
horse's hoofs and, alas! without calling one word to the two officers
who were doing everything possible to protect me, I shut my eyes tight,
freed my foot from the stirrup, and, sliding down from my horse, started
for those pickets! How I missed Lieutenant Alden's horse, and how I got
to that fence, I do not know. The force of the wind was terrific, and
besides, I was obliged to cross the little acequia. But I did get over
the fifteen or sixteen feet of ground without falling, and oh, the joy
of getting my arms around those pickets!
The storm continued for some time; but finally the atmosphere began
to clear, and I could see objects around me. And then out of the dust
loomed up Lieutenant Baldwin. He was about halfway down the line and
riding close to the fence, evidently looking for me. When he came up,
leading my horse, his face was black with more than dirt. He reminded me
of having told me positively not to jump from my horse, and asked if
I realized that I might have been knocked down and killed by the crazy
animals. Of course I had perceived all that as soon as I reached safety,
but I could not admit my mistake at that time without breaking down and
making a scene. I was nervous and exhausted, and in no condition to be
scolded by anyone, so I said: "If you were not an old bachelor you would
have known better than to have told a woman not to do a thing--you would
have known that, in all probability, that would be the very thing she
would do first!" That mollified him a little, but we did not laugh--life
had just been too serious for that.
The chaplain had joined us, and so had Lieutenant Alden. The fence I had
run to was the chaplain's, and when the good man saw us he came out and
assisted me to his house, where I received the kindest care from Mrs.
Lawton. I knew that Faye would be greatly worried about me, so as soon
as I had rested a little--enough to walk--and had got some of the dust
out of my eyes, the chaplain and I hurried down to our house to let him
know that I was safe.
At every house along the line the heavy shutters were closed, and not
one living thing was to be seen, and the post looked as though it might
have been long abandoned. There was a peculiar light, too, that made the
most familiar objects seem strange. Yes, we saw a squad of enlisted men
across the parade ground, trying with immense ropes to get back in place
the heavy roof of the long commissary building which had been partly
blown off.