showed they would do everything in their power to help me. All that was
possible for us to do, however, was almost to throw things out in a side
yard, for remember, please, we had only three short hours in which to
move everything--and this without, warning or preparation of any kind.
All things, big and small, were out by one o'clock, and just in time,
too, to avoid a collision with the colored soldiers of the incoming
cavalry officer, who commenced taking furniture and boxes in the house
at precisely that hour.
Of course there was no hotel or even restaurant for me to go to, and
I was too proud and too indignant to beg shelter in the house of a
friend--in fact, I felt as if I had no friend. So I sat down on a chair
in the yard with the little dog by me, thinking, I remember, that the
chair was our own property and no one had a right to object to my being
there. And I also remember that the whole miserable affair brought to
mind most vividly scenes of eviction that had been illustrated in
the papers from time to time, when poor women had been evicted for
nonpayment of rent!
Just as I had reached the very lowest depths of misery and woe, Mrs.
Vincent appeared, and Faye almost immediately after. We three went to
Mrs. Vincent's house for luncheon, and in fact I remained there until we
came to this house. She had just heard of what had happened and hastened
down to me. Captain Vincent said it was entirely the fault of the
commanding officer for permitting such a disgraceful order to leave his
office; that Captain Park's family could have remained one night longer
in tents here, as they had been in camp every night on the road from
Fort Sill.
There came a ludicrous turn to all this unpleasantness, for, by the
ranking out of one junior second lieutenant, six or more captains and
first lieutenants had to move. It was great fun the next day to see the
moving up and down the officers' line of all sorts of household goods,
for it showed that a poor second lieutenant was of some importance after
all!
But I am getting on too fast. Faye, of course, was entitled to two
rooms, some place in the post, but it seems that the only quarters he
could take were those occupied by Lieutenant Cole, so Faye decided at
once to go into tents himself, in preference to compelling Lieutenant
Cole to do so. Now it so happened that the inspector general of the
department was in the garrison, and as soon as he learned the condition
of affairs, he ordered the post quartermaster to double two sets
of quarters--that is, make four sets out of two--and designated the
quartermaster's own house for one of the two. But Major Knox divided
off two rooms that no one could possibly occupy, and in consequence has
still all of his large house. But the other large set that was doubled
was occupied by a senior captain, who, when his quarters were reduced
in size, claimed a new choice, and so, turning another captain out, the
ranking out went on down to a second lieutenant. But no one took our old
house from Captain Park, much to my disappointment, and he still has it.
The house that we are in now is built of cedar logs, and was the
commanding officer's house at one time. It has a long hall running
through the center, and on the left side Major Hunt and his family have
the four rooms, and we have the two on the right. Our kitchen is across
the yard, and was a chicken house not so very long ago. It has no floor,
of course, so we had loads of dirt dug out and all filled in again with
clean white sand, and now, after the log walls have been scraped and
whitened, and a number of new shelves put up, it is really quite nice.
Our sleeping room has no canvas on the walls inside, and much of the
chinking has fallen out, leaving big holes, and I never have a light in
that room after dark, fearing that Indians might shoot me through those
holes. They are skulking about the post all the time.
We have another cook now--a soldier of course--and one that is rather
inexperienced. General Phillips ordered Findlay back to the company,
saying he was much needed there, but he was company cook just one
day when he was transferred to the general's own kitchen. Comment is
unnecessary! But it is all for the best, I am sure, for Farrar is very
fond of Hal, and sees how intelligent he is, just as I do. The little
dog is chained to a kennel all the time now, and, like his mistress, is
trying to become dignified.
Faye was made post adjutant this morning, which we consider rather
complimentary, since the post commander is in the cavalry, and there are
a number of cavalry lieutenants here. General Dickinson is a polished
old gentleman, and his wife a very handsome woman who looks almost as
young as her daughter. Miss Dickinson, the general's older daughter, is
very pretty and a fearless rider. In a few days we two are to commence
our morning rides.
How very funny that I should have forgotten to tell you that I have a
horse, at least I hope he will look like a horse when he has gained some
flesh and lost much long hair. He is an Indian pony of very good size,
and has a well-shaped head and slender little legs. He has a fox
trot, which is wonderfully easy, and which he apparently can keep up
indefinitely, and like all Indian horses can "run like a deer." So,
altogether, he will do very well for this place, where rides are
necessarily curtailed. I call him Cheyenne, because we bought him of
Little Raven, a Cheyenne chief. I shall be so glad when I can ride
again, as I have missed so much the rides and grand hunts at Fort Lyon.
Later: The mail is just in, and letters have come from Fort Lyon
telling us of the death of Lieutenant Baldwin! It is dreadful--and seems
impossible. They write that he became more and more despondent, until
finally it was impossible to rouse him sufficiently to take an interest
in his own life. Faye and I have lost a friend--a real, true friend. A
brother could not have been kinder, more considerate than he was to both
of us always. How terribly he must have grieved over the ruin of the
horse he was so proud of, and loved so well!
CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, September, 1872.
THE heat here is still intense, and it never rains, so everything is
parched to a crisp. The river is very low and the water so full of
alkali that we are obliged to boil every drop before it is used for
drinking or cooking, and even then it is so distasteful that we flavor
it with sugar of lemons so we can drink it at all. Fresh lemons are
unknown here, of course. The ice has given out, but we manage to cool
the water a little by keeping it in bottles and canteens down in the
dug-out cellar.
Miss Dickinson and I continue our daily rides, but go out very early in
the morning. We have an orderly now, as General Dickinson considers it
unsafe for us to go without an escort, since we were chased by an Indian
the other day. That morning the little son of General Phillips was with
us, and as it was not quite as warm as usual, we decided to canter down
the sunflower road a little way--a road that runs to the crossing of
Wolf Creek through an immense field of wild sunflowers. These sunflowers
grow to a tremendous height in this country, so tall that sometimes you
cannot see over them even when on horseback. Just across the creek there
is a village of Apache Indians, and as these Indians are known to be
hostile, this particular road is considered rather unsafe.
But we rode on down a mile or more without seeing a thing, and had just
turned our ponies' heads homeward when little Grote, who was back of
us, called out that an Indian was coming. That was startling, but
upon looking back we saw that he was a long distance away and coming
leisurely, so we did not pay much attention to him.
But Grote was more watchful, and very soon screamed, "Mrs. Rae, Mrs.
Rae, the Indian is coming fast--he's going to catch us!" And then,
without wasting time by looking back, we started our ponies with a bound
that put them at their best pace, poor little Grote lashing his most
unmercifully, and crying every minute, "He'll catch us! He'll catch us!"
That the Indian was on a fleet pony and was gaining upon us was very
evident, and what might have happened had we not soon reached the
sutler's store no one can tell, but we did get there just as he caught
up with us, and as we drew in our panting horses that hideous savage
rode up in front of us and circled twice around us, his pony going like
a whirlwind; and in order to keep his balance, the Indian leaned far
over on one side, his head close to the pony's neck. He said "How"
with a fiendish grin that showed how thoroughly he was enjoying our
frightened faces, and then turned his fast little beast back to the
sunflower road. Of course, as long as the road to the post was clear
we were in no very great danger, as our ponies were fast, but if that
savage could have passed us and gotten us in between him and the Apache
village, we would have lost our horses, if not our lives, for turning
off through the sunflowers would have been an impossibility.
The very next morning, I think it was, one of the government mules
wandered away, and two of the drivers went in search of it, but not
finding it in the post, one of the men suggested that they should go
to the river where the post animals are watered. It is a fork of the
Canadian River, and is just over a little sand hill, not one quarter of
a mile back of the quarters, but not in the direction of the sunflower
road. The other man, however, said he would not go--that it was not
safe--and came back to the corral, so the one who proposed going went on
alone.
Time passed and the man did not return, and finally a detail was sent
out to look him up. They went directly to the river, and there they
found him, just on the other side of the hill--dead. He had been shot
by some fiendish Indian soon after leaving his companion. The mule has
never been found, and is probably in a far-away Indian village, where
he brays in vain for the big rations of corn he used to get at the
government corral.
Last Monday, soon after luncheon, forty or fifty Indians came rushing
down the drive in front of the officers' quarters, frightening some of
us almost out of our senses. Where they came from no one could tell, for
not one sentry had seen them until they were near the post. They rode
past the houses like mad creatures, and on out to the company gardens,
where they made their ponies trample and destroy every growing thing.
Only a few vegetables will mature in this soil and climate, but melons
are often very good, and this season the gardeners had taken much pains
with a crop of fine watermelons that were just beginning to ripen. But
not one of these was spared--every one was broken and crushed by the
little hoofs of the ponies, which seem to enjoy viciousness of this kind
as much as the Indians themselves.
A company of infantry was sent at once to the gardens, but as it was not
quite possible for the men to outrun the ponies, the mischief had been
done before they got there, and all they could do was to force them back
at the point of the bayonet. Cavalry was ordered out, also, to drive
them away, but none of the troops were allowed to fire upon them, and
that the Indians knew very well. It might have brought on an uprising!
It seems that the Indians were almost all young bucks out for a frolic,
but quite ready, officers say, for any kind of devilment. They rode
around the post three or four times at breakneck speed, each circle
being larger, and taking them farther away. At last they all started for
the hills and gradually disappeared--all but one, a sentinel, who could
be seen until dark sitting his pony on the highest hill. I presume there
were dozens of Indians on the sand hills around the post peeking over to
see how the fun went on.
They seem to be watching the post every second of the day, ready to
pounce upon any unprotected thing that ventures forth, be it man or
beast. At almost any time two or three black dots can be seen on the top
of the white sand hills, and one wonders how they can lie for hours in
the hot, scorching sand with the sun beating down on their heads and
backs. And all the time their tough little ponies will stand near them,
down the hill, scarcely moving or making a sound. Some scouts declare
that an Indian pony never whinnies or sneezes! But that seems absurd,
although some of those little beasts show wonderful intelligence and
appear to have been apt pupils in treachery.
CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, October, 1872.
THIS place is becoming more dreadful each day, and every one of the
awful things I feared might happen here seems to be coming to pass.
Night before last the post was actually attacked by Indians! It was
about one o'clock when the entire garrison was awakened by rifle shots
and cries of "Indians! Indians!" There was pandemonium at once. The
"long roll" was beaten on the infantry drums, and "boots and saddles"
sounded by the cavalry bugles, and these are calls that startle all who
hear them, and strike terror to the heart of every army woman. They mean
that something is wrong--very wrong--and demand the immediate report
for duty at their respective companies of every officer and man in the
garrison.
Faye jumped into his uniform, and saying a hasty good-by, ran to his
company, as did all the other officers, and very soon we could hear the
shouting of orders from every direction.
Our house is at the extreme end of the officers' line and very isolated,
therefore Mrs. Hunt and I were left in a most deplorable condition, with
three little children--one a mere baby--to take care of. We put them all
in one bed and covered them as well as we could without a light, which
we did not dare have, of course. Then we saw that all the doors and
windows were fastened on both sides. We decided that it would be quite
impossible for us to remain shut up inside the house, so we dressed our
feet, put on long waterproof coats over our nightgowns as quickly and
silently as possible, and then we sat down on the steps of the front
door to await--we knew not what. I had firm hold of a revolver, and felt
exceedingly grateful all the time that I had been taught so carefully
how to use it, not that I had any hope of being able to do more with it
than kill myself, if I fell in the hands of a fiendish Indian. I believe
that Mrs. Hunt, however, was almost as much afraid of the pistol as she
was of the Indians.
Ten minutes after the shots were fired there was perfect silence
throughout the garrison, and we knew absolutely nothing of what was
taking place around us. Not one word did we dare even whisper to each
other, our only means of communication being through our hands. The
night was intensely dark and the air was close--almost suffocating.
In this way we sat for two terrible hours, ever on the alert, ever
listening for the stealthy tread of a moccasined foot at a corner of the
house. And then, just before dawn, when we were almost exhausted by the
great strain on our strength and nerves, our husbands came. They told us
that a company of infantry had been quite near us all the time, and that
a troop of cavalry had been constantly patrolling around the post. I
cannot understand how such perfect silence was maintained by the troops,
particularly the cavalry. Horses usually manage to sneeze at such times.
There is always a sentry at our corner of the garrison, and it was
this sentinel who was attacked, and it is the general belief among the
officers that the Indians came to this corner hoping to get the-troops
concentrated at the beat farthest from the stables, and thus give them
a chance to steal some, if not all, of the cavalry horses. But Mr.
Red Man's strategy is not quite equal to that of the Great Father's
soldiers, or he would have known that troops would be sent at once to
protect the horses.
There were a great many pony tracks to be seen in the sand the next
morning, and there was a mounted sentinel on a hill a mile or so away.
It was amusing to watch him through a powerful field glass, and we
wished that he could know just how his every movement could be seen.
He sat there on his pony for hours, both Indian and horse apparently
perfectly motionless, but with his face always turned toward the post,
ready to signal to his people the slightest movement of the troops.
Faye says that the colored troops were real soldiers that night, alert
and plucky. I can readily believe that some of them can be alert, and
possibly good soldiers, and that they can be good thieves too, for last
Saturday night they stole from us the commissary stores we had expected
to last us one week--everything, in fact, except coffee, sugar, and such
things that we keep in the kitchen, where it is dry.
The commissary is open Saturday mornings only, at which time we are
requested to purchase all supplies we will need from there for the
following week, and as we have no fresh vegetables whatever, and no
meat except beef, we are very dependent upon the canned goods and other
things in the commissary.
Last Saturday Mrs. Hunt and I sent over as usual, and most of the
supplies were put in a little dug-out cellar in the yard that we use
together--she having one side, I the other. On Sunday morning Farrar
happened to be the first cook to go out for things for breakfast, and
he found that the door had been broken open and the shelves as bare as
Mother Hubbard's. Everything had been carried off except a few candles
on Mrs. Hunt's side, and a few cakes of laundry soap on mine! The
candles they had no use for, and the thieves were probably of a class
that had no use for soap, either.
Our breakfast that morning was rather light, but as soon as word got
abroad of our starving condition, true army hospitality and generosity
manifested itself. We were invited out to luncheon, and to dinner, and
to breakfast the next morning. You can see how like one big family
a garrison can be, and how in times of trouble we go to each other's
assistance. Of course, now and then we have disagreeable persons with
us--those who will give you only three hours to move out of your house,
or one who will order your cook from you.
CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY, January, 1873.
ALL that remained of Captain White was carried to the little cemetery
yesterday, with all the military honors possible at such a far-away
post We have no chaplain, therefore one of the cavalry officers read
the service for the dead at the house, just before the march to the
cemetery. Almost all of the cavalry of the garrison was out, mounted,
Captain White's own troop having the lead, of course, and the greater
part of the infantry was out also, and there was a firing detail, with
guns reversed.
The casket, covered with a large flag, was carried on a caisson, and
his horse, led by an orderly, was covered with a large blanket of black
cloth. Over this was the saddle, and on top of the saddle rested his
helmet--the yellow horsehair plume and gold trimmings looking soiled by
long service. His sabre was there, too, and strapped to the saddle on
each side were his uniform boots, toes in stirrups--all reversed! This
riderless horse, with its pall of black, yellow helmet, and footless
boots, was the saddest sight imaginable.
I did not go to the cemetery, but we heard distinctly the firing of the
three volleys over the grave and the sounding of taps on the bugles. The
garrison flag had been drawn to half mast almost the moment of Captain
White's death, but at the last sound of taps it was immediately pulled
up to full mast, and soon the troops came back to their quarters, the
field music playing lively airs.
This seemed so unnecessarily cruel, for Mrs. White must have heard every
note, and she is still so wretchedly ill. The tiny baby has been
taken from the house by the motherly wife of an officer, and the other
tots--four in all--are being cared for by others. We have all been
taking turns in sitting up nights during the illness of husband and
wife, and last night three of us were there, Captain Tillman and Faye in
one room, and I with Mrs. White. It was a terrible night, probably the
one that has exacted, or will exact, the greatest self-control, as it
was the one before the burial.
In civil life a poor widow can often live right on in her old home, but
in the Army, never! Mrs. White will have to give up the quarters just
as soon as she and the little baby are strong enough to travel. She has
been in a warm climate many years, and her friends are all in the North,
so to-morrow a number of us are to commence making warm clothing for her
and the children. She has absolutely nothing of the kind, and seems to
be pitifully helpless and incapable of thinking for herself.
Soon after I got home this morning and was trying to get a little sleep,
I heard screams and an awful commotion across the hall in one of Mrs.
Hunt's rooms, and running over to see what was the matter, I found Mrs.
Hunt standing upon a chair, and her cook running around like a madman,
with a stick of wood in his hand, upsetting furniture and whacking
things generally. I naturally thought of a mouse, and not being afraid
of them, I went on in and closed the door. I doubt if Mrs. Hunt saw me,
she was so intently watching the man, who kept on upsetting things.
He stopped finally, and then held up on the wood a snake--a dead
rattlesnake! We measured it, and it was over two feet long.
You can see how the house is built by the photograph I sent you, that
there are no chimneys, and that the stovepipes go straight up through
the pole and sod roof. The children insist that the snake came down the
pipe in the liveliest kind of a way, so it must have crawled up the logs
to the roof, and finding the warmth of the pipe, got too close to the
opening and slipped through. However that may be, he got into the room
where the three little children were playing alone. Fortunately, the
oldest recognized the danger at once, and ran screaming to her mother,
the other two following. Mrs. Hunt was almost ill over the affair,
and Major Hunt kept a man on top and around the old house hunting for
snakes, until we began to fear it would be pulled down on our heads.
This country itself is bad enough, and the location of the post is most
unfortunate, but to compel officers and men to live in these old huts
of decaying, moldy wood, which are reeking with malaria and alive with
bugs, and perhaps snakes, is wicked. Officers' families are not obliged
to remain here, of course.
But at dreadful places like this is where the plucky army wife is most
needed. Her very presence has often a refining and restraining influence
over the entire garrison, from the commanding officer down to the last
recruit. No one can as quickly grasp the possibilities of comfort in
quarters like these, or as bravely busy herself to fix them up. She
knows that the stay is indefinite, that it may be for six months, or
possibly six years, but that matters not. It is her army home--Brass
Button's home--and however discouraging its condition may be, for his
sake she pluckily, and with wifely pride, performs miracles, always
making the house comfortable and attractive.
FORT DODGE, KANSAS, January, 1873.
OUR coming here was most unexpected and very unpleasant in every way.
General Phillips and Major Barker quarreled over something, and Major
Barker preferred charges against the general, who is his company
commander, and now General Phillips is being tried here by general court
martial. Faye and I were summoned as witnesses by Major Barker, just
because we heard a few words that were said in front of our window late
one night! The court has thoughtfully excused me from going into the
court room, as I could only corroborate Faye's testimony. I am so
relieved, for it would have been a terrible ordeal to have gone in that
room where all those officers are sitting, in full-dress uniform, too,
and General Phillips with them. I would have been too frightened to have
remembered one thing, or to have known whether I was telling the truth
or not.