when the storm first came up he was frightened about me, but when the
broad adobe house began to rock he came to the conclusion that I was
about as safe out on the plains as I would be in a house, particularly
as I was on a good horse, and with two splendid horsemen who would take
the very best care of me. My plait of hair was one mass of dirt and was
cut and torn, and is still in a deplorable condition, and my face looks
as though I had just recovered from smallpox. As it was Monday, the
washing of almost every family was out on lines, about every article of
which has gone to regions unknown. The few pieces that were Caught by
the high fences were torn to shreds.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, January, 1872.
OUR little party was a grand success, but I am still wondering how it
came about that Mrs. Barker and I gave it together, for, although we
are all in the same company and next-door neighbors, we have seen very
little of each other. She is very quiet, and seldom goes out, even for
a walk. It was an easy matter to arrange things so the two houses could,
in a way, be connected, as they are under the same long roof, and the
porches divided by a railing only, that was removed for the one evening.
The dancing was in our house, and the supper was served at the Barkers'.
And that supper was a marvel of culinary art, I assure you, even if it
was a fraud in one or two things, We were complimented quite graciously
by some of the older housekeepers, who pride themselves upon knowing how
to make more delicious little dishes out of nothing than anyone else.
But this time it was North and South combined, for you will remember
that Mrs. Barker is from Virginia.
The chicken salad--and it was delicious--was made of tender veal, but
the celery in it was the genuine article, for we sent to Kansas City for
that and a few other things. The turkey galantine was perfect, and the
product of a resourceful brain from the North, and was composed almost
entirely of wild goose! There was no April fool about the delicate
Maryland biscuits, however, and other nice things that were set forth.
We fixed up cozily the back part of our hall with comfortable chairs and
cushions, and there punch was served during the evening. Major Barker
and Faye made the punch. The orchestra might have been better, but the
two violins and the accordion gave us music that was inspiring, and gave
us noise, too, and then Doos, who played the accordion, kept us merry by
the ever-pounding down of one government-shod foot.
Everyone in the garrison came--even the chaplain was here during the
supper. The officers Were in full-dress uniform, and the only man in
plain evening dress was Mr. Dunn, the post trader, and in comparison to
the gay uniforms of the officers he did look so sleek, from his shiny
black hair down to the toes of his shiny black pumps! Mrs. Barker and
I received, of course, and she was very pretty in a pink silk gown
entirely covered with white net, that was caught up at many places
by artificial pink roses. The color was most becoming, and made very
pronounced the rich tint of her dark skin and her big black eyes.
Well, we danced before supper and we danced after supper, and when we
were beginning to feel just a wee bit tired, there suddenly appeared in
our midst a colored woman--a real old-time black mammy--in a dress
of faded, old-fashioned plaids, with kerchief, white apron, and a
red-and-yellow turban tied around her head. We were dancing at the time
she came in, but everyone stopped at once, completely lost in amazement,
and she had the floor to herself. This was what she wanted, and she
immediately commenced to dance wildly and furiously, as though she was
possessed, rolling her big eyes and laughing to show the white teeth.
Gradually she quieted down to a smooth, rhythmic motion, slowly swaying
from side to side, sometimes whirling around, but with feet always flat
on the floor, often turning on her heels. All the time her arms were
extended and her fingers snapping, and snapping also were the
black eyes. She was the personification of grace, but the dance was
weird--made the more so by the setting of bright evening dresses and
glittering uniforms. One never sees a dance of this sort these days,
even in the South, any more than one sees the bright-colored turban.
Both have passed with the old-time darky.
Of course we recognized Mrs. Barker, more because there was no one else
in our small community who could personify a darky so perfectly, than
because there was any resemblance to her in looks or gesture. The
make-up was artistic, and how she managed the quick transformation
from ball dress to that of the plantation, with all its black paint and
rouge, Mrs. Barker alone knows, and where on this earth she got that
dress and turban, she alone knows. But I imagine she sent to Virginia
for the whole costume. At all events, it was very bright in her to think
of this unusual divertissement for our guests when dancing was beginning
to lag a little. The dance she must have learned from a mammy when a
child. I forgot to say that during the time she was dancing our fine
orchestra played old Southern melodies. And all this was arranged and
done by the quietest woman in the garrison!
Our house was upset from one end to the other to make room for the
dancing, but the putting of things in order again did not take long, as
the house has so very little in it. Still, I always feel rebellious when
anything comes up to interfere with my rides, no matter how pleasant it
may be. There have been a great many antelope near the post of late,
and we have been on ever so many hunts for them. The greyhounds have not
been with us, however, for following the hounds when chasing those fleet
animals not only requires the fastest kind of a horse and very good
riding, but is exceedingly dangerous to both horse and rider because of
the many prairie-dog holes, which are terrible death traps. And besides,
the dogs invariably get their feet full of cactus needles, which cause
much suffering for days.
So we have been flagging the antelope, that is, taking a shameful
advantage of their wonderful curiosity, and enticing them within rifle
range. On these hunts I usually hold the horses of the three officers
and my own, and so far they have not given me much trouble, for each one
is a troop-trained animal.
The antelope are shy and wary little creatures, and possess an abnormal
sense of smell that makes it absolutely necessary for hunters to move
cautiously to leeward the instant they discover them. It is always an
easy matter to find a little hill that will partly screen them--the
country is so rolling--as they creep and crawl to position, ever mindful
of the dreadful cactus. When they reach the highest point the flag
is put up, and this is usually made on the spot, of a red silk
handkerchief, one corner run through the rammer of a Springfield rifle.
Then everyone lies down flat on the ground, resting on his elbows, with
rifle in position for firing.
Antelope always graze against the wind, and even a novice can tell when
they discover the flag, for they instantly stop feeding, and the entire
band will whirl around to face it, with big round ears standing straight
up, and in this way they will remain a second or two, constantly
sniffing the air. Failing to discover anything dangerous, they will take
a few steps forward, perhaps run around a little, giving quick tossings
of the head, and sniffing with almost every breath, but whatever they
do the stop is always in the same position--facing the flag, the strange
object they cannot understand. Often they will approach very slowly,
making frequent halts after little runs, and give many tossings of the
head as if they were actually coquetting with death itself! Waiting for
them to come within range of the rifle requires great patience, for the
approach is always more or less slow, and frequently just as they are at
the right distance and the finger is on the trigger, off the whole
band will streak, looking like horizontal bars of brown and white! I am
always so glad when they do this, for it seems so wicked to kill such
graceful creatures. It is very seldom that I watch the approach, but
when I do happen to see them come up, the temptation to do something to
frighten them away from those murderous guns is almost irresistible.
But never once are they killed for mere pleasure! Their meat is tender
and most delicious after one has learned to like the "gamey" flavor.
And a change in meat we certainly do need here, for unless we can have
buffalo or antelope now and then, it is beef every day in the month--not
only one month, but every month.
The prairie-dog holes are great obstacles to following hounds on the
plains, for while running so fast it is impossible for a horse to see
the holes in time to avoid them, and if a foot slips down in one it
means a broken leg for the horse and a hard throw for the rider, and
perhaps broken bones also. Following these English greyhounds--which
have such wonderful speed and keenness of sight--after big game on vast
plains, is very different from running after the slow hounds and foxes
in the East, and requires a very much faster horse and quite superior
riding. One has to learn to ride a horse--to get a perfect balance that
makes it a matter of indifference which-way the horse may jump, at any
speed--in fact, one must become a part of one's mount before these hunts
can be attempted.
Chasing wolves and rabbits is not as dangerous, for they cannot begin
to run as fast as antelope. And it is great fun to chase the big
jack-rabbits. They know their own speed perfectly and have great
confidence in it. When the hounds start one he will give one or two
jumps high up in the air to take a look at things, and then he commences
to run with great bounds, with his enormously long ears straight up like
sails on a boat, and almost challenges the dogs to follow. But the
poor hunted thing soon finds out that he must do better than that if
he wishes to keep ahead, so down go the ears, flat along his back, and
stretching himself out very straight, goes his very fastest, and then
the real chase is on.
But Mr. Jack-Rabbit is cunning, and when he sees that the long-legged
dogs are steadily gaining upon him and getting closer with every jump,
he will invariably make a quick turn and run back on his own tracks,
often going right underneath the fast-running dogs that cannot stop
themselves, and can only give vicious snaps as they jump over him. Their
stride--often fifteen and twenty feet--covers so much more ground
than the rabbit's, it is impossible for them to make as quick turns,
therefore it is generally the slow dog of the pack that catches the
rabbit. And frequently a wise old rabbit will make many turns and
finally reach a hole in safety.
The tail of a greyhound is his rudder and his brake, and the sight is
most laughable when a whole pack of them are trying to stop, each tail
whirling around like a Dutch windmill. Sometimes, in their frantic
efforts to stop quickly, they will turn complete somersaults and roll
over in a cloud of dust and dirt. But give up they never do, and once
on their feet they start back after that rabbit with whines of
disappointment and rage. Many, many times, also, I have heard the dogs
howl and whine from the pain caused by the cactus spines in their feet,
but not once have I ever seen any one of them lag in the chase.
But the pack here is a notoriously fine one. The leader. Magic, is a
splendid dog, dark brindle in color, very swift and very plucky,
also most intelligent. He is a sly rascal, too. He loves to sleep
on Lieutenant Baldwin's bed above all things, and he sneaks up on it
whenever he can, but the instant he hears Lieutenant Baldwin's step on
the walk outside, down he jumps, and stretching himself out full length
in front of the fire, he shuts his eyes tight, pretends to be fast
asleep, and the personification of an innocent, well-behaved dog! But
Lieutenant Baldwin knows his tricks now, and sometimes, going to the
bed, he can feel the warmth from his body that is still there, and if he
says, "Magic, you old villain," Magic will wag his tail a little, which
in dog language means, "You are pretty smart, but I'm smart, too!"
With all this outdoor exercise, one can readily perceive that the
days are not long and tiresome. Of course there are a few who yawn
and complain of the monotony of frontier life, but these are the
stay-at-homes who sit by their own fires day after day and let cobwebs
gather in brain and lungs. And these, too, are the ones who have time to
discover so many faults in others, and become our garrison gossips! If
they would take brisk rides on spirited horses in this wonderful air,
and learn to shoot all sorts of guns in all sorts of positions,
they would soon discover that a frontier post can furnish plenty of
excitement. At least, I have found that it can.
Faye was very anxious for me to become a good shot, considering it
most essential in this Indian country, and to please him I commenced
practicing soon after we got here. It was hard work at first, and I had
many a bad headache from the noise of the guns. It was all done in a
systematic way, too, as though I was a soldier at target practice. They
taught me to use a pistol in various positions while standing; then
I learned to use it from the saddle. After that a little four-inch
bull's-eye was often tacked to a tree seventy-five paces away, and I
was given a Spencer carbine to shoot (a short magazine rifle used by the
cavalry), and many a time I have fired three rounds, twenty-one shots in
all, at the bull's-eye, which I was expected to hit every time, too.
Well, I obligingly furnished amusement for Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin
until they asked me to fire a heavy Springfield rifle--an infantry gun.
After one shot I politely refused to touch the thing again. The noise
came near making me deaf for life; the big thing rudely "kicked" me over
on my back, and the bullet--I expect that ball is still on its way to
Mars or perhaps the moon. This earth it certainly did not hit! Faye is
with the company almost every morning, but after luncheon we usually
go out for two or three hours, and always come back refreshed by the
exercise. And the little house looks more cozy, and the snapping of the
blazing logs sounds more cheerful because of our having been away from
them.
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, April, 1872.
SOME of the most dreadful things have occurred since I wrote you last,
and this letter will make you unhappy, I know. To begin with, orders
have actually come from Department Headquarters at Leavenworth for two
companies of infantry here--General Phillips' and Captain Giddings'--to
go to Camp Supply! So that is settled, and we will probably leave this
post in about ten days, and during that time we are expected to sell,
give away, smash up, or burn about everything we possess, for we have
already been told that very few things can be taken with us. I do not
see how we can possibly do with less than we have had since we came
here.
Eliza announced at once that she could not be induced to go where there
are so many Indians--said she had seen enough of them while in New
Mexico. I am more than sorry to lose her, but at the same time I cannot
help admiring her common sense. I would not go either if I could avoid
it.
You will remember that not long ago I said that Lieutenant Baldwin was
urging me to ride Tom, his splendid thoroughbred, as soon as he could be
quieted down a little so I could control him. Well, I was to have ridden
him to-day for the first time! Yesterday morning Lieutenant Baldwin had
him out for a long, hard run, but even after that the horse was nervous
when he came in, and danced sideways along the officers' drive in his
usual graceful way. Just as they got opposite the chaplain's house, two
big St. Bernard dogs bounded over the fence and landed directly under
the horse, entangling themselves with his legs so completely that when
he tried to jump away from them he was thrown down on his knees with
great force, and Lieutenant Baldwin was pitched over the horse's head
and along the ground several feet.
He is a tall, muscular man and went down heavily, breaking three ribs
and his collar bone on both sides! He is doing very well, and is as
comfortable to-day as can be expected, except that he is grieving
piteously over his horse, for the poor horse--beautiful Tom--is utterly
ruined! Both knees have been sprung, and he is bandaged almost as much
as his master.
The whole occurrence is most deplorable and distressing. It seems so
dreadful that a strong man should be almost killed and a grand horse
completely ruined by two clumsy, ill-mannered dogs. One belongs to the
chaplain, too, who is expected to set a model example for the rest of
us. Many, many times during the winter I have ridden by the side of Tom,
and had learned to love every one of his pretty ways, from the working
of his expressive ears to the graceful movement of his slender legs. He
was a horse for anyone to be proud of, not only for his beauty but as a
hunter, too, and he was Lieutenant Baldwin's delight and joy.
It does seem as if everything horrible had come all at once. The order
we have been expecting, of course, as so many rumors have reached us
that we were to go, but all the time there has been hidden away a little
hope that we might be left here another year.
I shall take the greyhound puppy, of course. He is with Blue, his
mother, at Captain Richardson's quarters, but he is brought over every
day for me to see. His coat is brindled, dark brown and black--just like
Magic's--and fine as the softest satin. One foot is white, and there is
a little white tip to his tail, which, it seems, is considered a mark of
great beauty in a greyhound. We have named him Harold.
Nothing has been done about packing yet, as the orders have just been
received. The carpenters in the company will not be permitted to do one
thing for us until the captain and first lieutenant have had made every
box and crate they want for the move. I am beginning to think that it
must be nice to be even a first lieutenant. But never mind, perhaps Faye
will get his captaincy in twenty years or so, and then it will be all
"fair and square."
FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, May, 1872.
EVERYTHING is packed or disposed of, and we are ready to start to-morrow
on the long march to Camp Supply. Two large army wagons have been
allowed to each company for the officers' baggage, but as all three
officers are present with the company Faye is in, and the captain has
taken one of the wagons for his own use, we can have just one half of
one of those wagons to take our household goods to a country where it is
absolutely impossible to purchase one thing! We have given away almost
all of our furniture, and were glad that we had bought so little when
we came here. Our trunks and several boxes are to be sent by freight to
Hays City at our own expense, and from there down to the post by wagon,
and if we ever see them again I will be surprised, as Camp Supply is
about one hundred and fifty miles from the railroad. We are taking
only one barrel of china--just a few pieces we considered the most
necessary--and this morning Faye discovered that the first lieutenant
had ordered that one barrel to be taken from the wagon to make more room
for his own things. Faye ordered it to be put back at once, and says it
will stay there, too, and I fancy it will! Surely we are entitled to all
of our one half of the wagon--second choice at that.
I am to ride in an ambulance with Mrs. Phillips, her little son and her
cook, Mrs. Barker and her small son. There will be seats for only four,
as the middle seat has been taken out to make room for a comfortable
rocking-chair that will be for Mrs. Phillips's exclusive use! The dear
little greyhound puppy I have to leave here. Faye says I must not take
him with so many in the ambulance, as he would undoubtedly be in the
way. But I am sure the puppy would not be as troublesome as one small
boy, and there will be two small boys with us. It would be quite bad
enough to be sent to such a terrible place as Camp Supply has been
represented to us, without having all this misery and mortification
added, and all because Faye happens to be a second lieutenant!
I have cried and cried over all these things until I am simply hideous,
but I have to go just the same, and I have made up my mind never again
to make myself so wholly disagreeable about a move, no matter where we
may have to go. I happened to recall yesterday what grandmother said to
me when saying good-by: "It is a dreadful thing not to become a woman
when one ceases to be a girl!" I am no longer a girl, I suppose, so I
must try to be a woman, as there seems to be nothing in between. One can
find a little comfort, too, in the thought that there is no worse place
possible for us to be sent to, and when once there we can look forward
to better things sometime in the future. I do not mind the move as much
as the unpleasant experiences connected with it.
But I shall miss the kind friends, the grand hunts and delightful rides,
and shall long for dear old John, who has carried me safely so many,
many miles.
Lieutenant Baldwin is still ill and very depressed, and Doctor Wilder is
becoming anxious about him. It is so dreadful for such a powerful man as
he has been to be so really broken in pieces. He insists upon being up
and around, which is bad, very bad, for the many broken bones.
I will write whenever I find an opportunity.
OLD FORT ZARAH, KANSAS, April, 1872.
OUR camp to-night is near the ruins of a very old fort, and ever
since we got here, the men have been hunting rattlesnakes that have
undoubtedly been holding possession of the tumble-down buildings, many
snake generations. Dozens and dozens have been killed, of all sizes,
some of them being very large. The old quarters were evidently made of
sods and dirt, and must have been dreadful places to live in even when
new.
I must tell you at once that I have the little greyhound. I simply took
matters in my own hands and got him! We came only five miles our first
day out, and after the tents had been pitched that night and the various
dinners commenced, it was discovered that many little things had been
left behind, so General Phillips decided to send an ambulance and two
or three men back to the post for them, and to get the mail at the same
time. It so happened that Burt, our own striker, was one of the men
detailed to go, and when I heard this I at once thought of the puppy I
wanted so much. I managed to see Burt before he started, and when asked
if he could bring the little dog to me he answered so heartily, "That
I can, mum," I felt that the battle was half won, for I knew that if
I could once get the dog in camp he would take care of him, even if I
could not.
Burt brought him and kept him in his tent that night, and the little
fellow seemed to know that he should be good, for Burt told me that he
did not whimper once, notwithstanding it was his first night from his
mother and little companions. The next morning, when he was brought to
me, Faye's face was funny, and after one look of astonishment at the
puppy he hurried out of the tent--so I could not see him laugh, I think.
He is quite as pleased as I am, now, to have the dog, for he gives
no trouble whatever. He is fed condensed milk, and I take care of him
during the day and Burt has him at night. He is certainly much better
behaved in the ambulance than either of the small boys who step upon
our feet, get into fierce fights, and keep up a racket generally. The
mothers have been called upon to settle so many quarrels between their
sons, that the atmosphere in the ambulance has become quite frigid.
The day we came from the post, while I was grieving for the little
greyhound and many other things I had not been permitted to bring with
me, and the rocking-chair was bruising my ankles, I felt that it was not
dignified in me to submit to the treatment I was being subjected to, and
I decided to rebel. Mrs. Barker and her small son had been riding on the
back seat, and I felt that I was as much entitled to a seat here as the
boy, nevertheless I had been sitting on the seat with Mrs. Phillips's
servant and riding backward. This was the only place that had been left
for me at the post that morning. After thinking it all over I made up my
mind to take the small boy's seat, but just where he would sit I did not
know.