remainder of his leave, and also asked the regimental adjutant if
transportation was being provided for officers' families. The distance
is so great, and the Indians have been so hostile in Montana during the
past two years, that we thought families possibly would not be permitted
to go.
After luncheon we packed the trunks, carefully separating things so
there would be no necessity for repacking if I could not go, and I can
assure you that many an article was folded down damp with hot tears--the
very uncertainty was so trying. In the evening we went around to
say "good-by" to a few of the friends who have been so cordial and
hospitable during the summer. Early this morning we came from Pass
Christian, and soon after we got here telegrams came for Faye, one
ordering him to proceed to Pittsburg and report for duty, and another
saying that officers' families may accompany the regiment. This was
glorious news to me. The fear and dread of having to be left behind had
made me really ill--and what would have become of me if it had actually
come to pass I cannot imagine. I can go--that is all sufficient for
the present, and we expect to leave for Pittsburg this evening at nine
o'clock.
The late start gives us a long day here with nothing to do. After a
while, when it is not quite so hot outside, we are going out to take a
farewell look at some of our old haunts. Our friends are all out of the
city, and Jackson Barracks is too far away for such a warm day--besides,
there is no one there now that we know.
It seems quite natural to be in this dear old hotel, where all during
the past winter our "Army and Navy Club" cotillons were danced every two
weeks. And they were such beautiful affairs, with two splendid military
orchestras to furnish the music, one for the dancing and one to give
choice selections in between the figures. We will carry with us to the
snow and ice of the Rocky Mountains many, many delightful memories of
New Orleans, where the French element gives a charm to everything. The
Mardi-Gras parades, in which the regiment has each year taken such
a prominent part--the courtly Rex balls--the balls of Comus--the
delightful Creole balls in Grunewald Hall--the stately and exclusive
balls of the Washington Artillery in their own splendid hall--the
charming dancing receptions on the ironclad monitor Canonicus, also the
war ship Plymouth, where we were almost afraid to step, things were
so immaculate and shiny--and then our own pretty army fetes at Jackson
Barracks--regimental headquarters--each and all will be remembered, ever
with the keenest pleasure.
But the event in the South that has made the deepest impression of all
occurred at Vicksburg, where for three weeks we lived in the same house,
en famille and intimately, with Jefferson Davis! I consider that to have
been a really wonderful experience. You probably can recall a little of
what I wrote you at the time--how we were boarding with his niece in her
splendid home when he came to visit her.
I remember so well the day he arrived. He knew, of course, that an
army officer was in the house, and Mrs. Porterfield had told us of his
coming, so the meeting was not unexpected. Still, when we went down to
dinner that night I was almost shivering from nervousness, although the
air was excessively warm. I was so afraid of something unpleasant coming
up, for although Mrs. Porterfield and her daughter were women of culture
and refinement, they were also rebels to the very quick, and never
failed at any time to remind one that their uncle was "President" Davis!
And then, as we went in the large dining room, Faye in his very bluest,
shiniest uniform, looked as if he might be Uncle Sam himself.
But there was nothing to fear--nothing whatever. A tall, thin old man
came forward with Mrs. Porterfield to meet us--a courtly gentleman of
the old Southern school--who, apparently, had never heard of the Civil
War, and who, if he noticed the blue uniform at all, did not take the
slightest interest in what it represented. His composure was really
disappointing! After greeting me with grave dignity, he turned to Faye
and grasped his hand firmly and cordially, the whole expression of his
face softening just a little. I have always thought that he was
deeply moved by once again seeing the Federal Blue under such friendly
circumstances, and that old memories came surging back, bringing with
them the almost forgotten love and respect for the Academy--a love that
every graduate takes to his grave, whether his life be one of honor or
of disgrace.
One could very easily have become sentimental, and fancied that he was
Old West Point, misled and broken in spirit, admitting in dignified
silence his defeat and disgrace to Young West Point, who, with Uncle
Sam's shoulder straps and brass buttons, could be generously oblivious
to the misguidance and treason of the other. We wondered many times if
Jefferson Davis regretted his life. He certainly could not have been
satisfied with it.
There was more in that meeting than a stranger would have known of. In
the splendid dining room where we sat, which was forty feet in length
and floored with tiles of Italian marble, as was the entire large
basement, it was impossible not to notice the unpainted casing of
one side of a window, and also the two immense patches of common gray
plaster on the beautifully frescoed walls, which covered holes made by
a piece of shell that had crashed through the house during the siege
of Vicksburg. The shell itself had exploded outside near the servants'
quarters.
Then, again, every warm evening after dinner, during the time he was at
the house, Jefferson Davis and Faye would sit out on the grand, marble
porch and smoke and tell of little incidents that had occurred at West
Point when each had been a cadet there. At some of these times they
would almost touch what was left of a massive pillar at one end,
that had also been shattered and cracked by pieces of shell from U.S.
gunboats, one piece being still imbedded in the white marble.
For Jefferson Davis knew that Faye's father was an officer in the Navy,
and that he had bravely and boldly done his very best toward the undoing
of the Confederacy; and by his never-failing, polished courtesy to
that father's son--even when sitting by pieces of shell and patched-up
walls--the President of the Confederacy set an example of dignified
self-restraint, that many a Southern man and woman--particularly
woman--would do well to follow.
For in these days of reconstruction officers and their families are not
always popular. But at Pass Christian this summer we have received the
most hospitable, thoughtful attention, and never once by word or deed
were we reminded that we were "Yank-Tanks," as was the case at Holly
Springs the first year we were there. However, we did some fine
reconstruction business for Uncle Sam right there with those pert
Mississippi girls--two of whom were in a short time so thoroughly
reconstructed that they joined his forces "for better or for worse!"
The social life during the three years we have been in the South has
most of the time been charming, but the service for officers has often
been most distasteful. Many times they have been called upon to escort
and protect carpetbag politicians of a very low type of manhood--men
who could never command one honest vote at their own homes in the
North. Faye's company has been moved twenty-one times since we came from
Colorado three years ago, and almost every time it was at the request of
those unprincipled carpetbaggers. These moves did not always disturb us,
however, as during most of the time Faye has been adjutant general of
the District of Baton Rouge, and this kept us at Baton Rouge, but during
the past winter we have been in New Orleans.
Several old Creole families whose acquaintance we made in the city last
winter, have charming old-style Southern homes at Pass Christian, where
we have ever been cordially welcomed. It was a common occurrence for me
to chaperon their daughters to informal dances at the different cottages
along the beach, and on moonlight sailing parties on Mr. Payne's
beautiful yacht, and then, during the entire summer, from the time we
first got there, I have been captain of one side of a croquet team, Mr.
Payne having been captain of the other. The croquet part was, of course,
the result of Major Borden's patient and exacting teaching at Baton
Rouge.
Mentioning Baton Rouge reminds me of my dear dog that was there almost
a year with the hospital steward. He is now with the company at Mount
Ver-non Barracks, Alabama, and Faye has telegraphed the sergeant to see
that he is taken to Pittsburg with the company.
We are going out now, first of all to Michaud's for some of his
delicious biscuit glace! Our city friends are all away still, so there
will be nothing for us to do but wander around, pour passer le temps
until we go to the station.
MONONGAHELA HOUSE, PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA, September, 1877.
ONCE again we have our trunks packed for the long trip to Montana, and
this time I think we will go, as the special train that is to take us
is now at the station, and baggage of the regiment is being hurriedly
loaded. Word came this morning that the regiment would start to-night,
so it seems that at last General Sherman has gained his point. For
three long weeks we have been kept here in suspense--packing and then
unpacking--one day we were to go, the next we were not to go, while the
commanding general and the division commander were playing "tug of war"
with us.
The trip will be long and very expensive, and we go from a hot climate
to a cold one at a season when the immediate purchase of warm clothing
is imperative, and with all this unexpected expense we have been forced
to pay big hotel bills for weeks, just because of a disagreement between
two generals that should have been settled in one day. Money is very
precious to the poor Army at present, too, for not one dollar has been
paid to officers or enlisted men for over three months! How officers
with large families can possibly manage this move I do not see--sell
their pay accounts I expect, and then be court martialed for having done
so.
Congress failed to pass the army appropriation bill before it adjourned,
consequently no money can be paid to the Army until the next session!
Yet the Army is expected to go along just the same, promptly pay Uncle
Sam himself all commissary and quartermaster bills at the end of each
month, and without one little grumble do his bidding, no matter what the
extra expense may be. I wonder what the wise men of Congress, who were
too weary to take up the bill before going to their comfortable homes--I
wonder what they would do if the Army as a body would say, "We are
tired. Uncle, dear, and are going home for the summer to rest. You will
have to get along without us and manage the Indians and strikers the
best way you can." This would be about as sensible as forcing the Army
to be paupers for months, and then ordering regiments from East to West
and South to North. Of course many families will be compelled to remain
back, that might otherwise have gone.
We are taking out a young colored man we brought up with us from Holly
Springs. He has been at the arsenal since we have been here, and Hal has
been with him. It is over one year since the dog saw me, and I am almost
afraid he will not know me tonight at the station. Before we left Pass
Christian Faye telegraphed the sergeant to bring Hal with the company
and purchase necessary food for him on the way up. So, when the company
got here, bills were presented by several of the men, who claimed to
have bought meat for the dog, the sum total of which was nine dollars
for the two days! We were so pleased to know that Hal had been so well
cared for. But the soldiers were welcome to the money and more with it,
for we were so glad to have the dog with us again, safe and well.
We have quite a Rae family now--Faye and I--a darky, a greyhound, and
one small gray squirrel! It will be a hard trip for Billie, but I have
made for him a little ribbon collar and sewed securely to it a long tape
which makes a fine "picket rope" that can be tied to various things
in various places, and in this way he can be picketed and yet receive
exercise and air.
We are to go almost straight north from the railroad for a distance
of over four hundred miles, and of course this will take several weeks
under the most favorable conditions. But you must not mind our going
so far away--it will be no farther than the Indian Territory, and the
climate of Montana must be very much better than it was at Camp Supply,
and the houses must certainly be more comfortable, as the winters are so
long and severe. I shall be so glad to have a home of my own again, and
have a horse to ride also.
Faye has just come from the station and says that almost everything has
been loaded, and that we are really to start to-night at eight o'clock.
This is cheering news, for I think that everyone is anxious to get
to Montana, except the poor officers who cannot afford to take their
families with them.
CORINNE, UTAH TERRITORY, September, 1877.
WE were almost one week coming out, but finally got here yesterday
morning. Our train was a special, and having no schedule, we were often
sidetracked for hours at a time, to make way for the regular trains. As
soon as possible after we arrived, the tents were unpacked and put up,
and it was amazing to see how soon there was order out of chaos. This
morning the camp looks like a little white city--streets and all. There
is great activity everywhere, as preparations have already commenced for
the march north. Our camp "mess" has been started, and we will be very
comfortable, I think, with a good soldier cook and Cagey to take care of
the tents. I am making covers for the bed, trunk, and folding table,
of dark-blue cretonne with white figures, which carries out the color
scheme of the folding chairs and will give a little air of cheeriness
to the tent, and of the same material I am making pockets that can be
pinned on the side walls of the tent, in which various things can be
tucked at night. These covers and big pockets will be folded and put in
the roll of bedding every morning.
There are not enough ambulances to go around, so I had my choice between
being crowded in with other people, or going in a big army wagon by
myself, and having had one experience in crowding, I chose the wagon
without hesitation. Faye is having the rear half padded with straw and
canvas on the sides and bottom, and the high top will be of canvas drawn
over "bows," in true emigrant fashion. Our tent will be folded to form
a seat and placed in the back, upon which I can sit and look out through
the round opening and gossip with the mules that will be attached to
the wagon back of me. In the front half will be packed all of our camp
furniture and things, the knockdown bed, mess-chest, two little stoves
(one for cooking), the bedding which will be tightly rolled in canvas
and strapped, and so on. Cagey will sit by the driver. There is not one
spring in the wagon, but even without, I will be more comfortable than
with Mrs. Hayden and three small children. They can have the ambulance
to themselves perhaps, and will have all the room. I thought of Billie,
too. He can be picketed all the time in the wagon, but imagine the
little fellow's misery in an ambulance with three restless children for
six or eight hours each day!
Hal is with us--in fact, I can hardly get away from the poor dog, he is
so afraid of being separated from me again. When we got to the station
at Pittsburg he was there with Cagey, and it took only one quick glance
to see that he was a heart-broken, spirit-broken dog. Not one spark was
left of the fire that made the old Hal try to pull me through an immense
plate-glass mirror, in a hotel at Jackson, Mississippi, to fight his
own reflection (the time the strange man offered one hundred and fifty
dollars for him), and certainly he was not the hound that whipped the
big bulldog at Monroe, Louisiana, two years ago. He did not see me as I
came up back of him, and as he had not even heard my voice for over
one year, I was almost childishly afraid to speak to him. But I
finally said, "Hal, you have not forgotten your old friend?" He turned
instantly, but as I put my hand upon his head there was no joyous bound
or lifting of the ears and tail--just a look of recognition, then a
raising up full length of the slender body on his back legs, and putting
a forefoot on each of my shoulders as far over as he could reach, he
gripped me tight, fairly digging his toe nails into me, and with his
head pressed close to my neck he held on and on, giving little low
whines that were more like human sobs than the cry of a dog. Of course I
had my arms around him, and of course I cried, too. It was so pitifully
distressing, for it told how keenly the poor dumb beast had suffered
during the year he had been away from us. People stared, and soon there
was a crowd about us with an abundance of curiosity. Cagey explained the
situation, and from then on to train time, Hal was patted and petted and
given dainties from lunch baskets.
He was in the car next to ours, coming out, and we saw him often. Many
times there were long runs across the plains, when the only thing to
be seen, far or near, would be the huge tanks containing water for the
engines. At one of these places, while we were getting water. Cagey
happened to be asleep, and a recruit, thinking that Hal was ill-treated
by being kept tied all the time, unfastened the chain from his collar
and led him from the car.
The first thing the dog saw was another dog, and alas! a greyhound
belonging to Ryan, an old soldier. The next thing he saw was the dear,
old, beautiful plains, for which he had pined so long and wearily. The
two dogs had never seen each other before, but hounds are clannish and
never fail to recognize their own kind, so with one or two jumps by way
of introduction, the two were off and out of sight before anyone at the
cars noticed what they were doing. I was sitting by the window in our
car and saw the dogs go over the rolling hill, and saw also that a dozen
or more soldiers were running after them. I told Faye what had happened,
and he started out and over the hill on a hard run. Time passed, and we
in the cars watched, but neither men nor dogs came back. Finally a long
whistle was blown from the engine, and in a short time the train began
to move very slowly. The officers and men came running back, but
the dogs were not with them! My heart was almost broken; to leave my
beautiful dog on the plains to starve to death was maddening. I wanted
to be alone, so to the dressing room I went, and with face buried in a
portiere was sobbing my very breath away when Mrs. Pierce, wife of Major
Pierce, came in and said so sweetly and sympathetically: "Don't cry,
dear; Hal is following the car and the conductor is going to stop the
train."
Giving her a hasty embrace, I ran back to the end of the last car, and
sure enough, there was Hal, the old Hal, bounding along with tail high
up and eyes sparkling, showing that the blood of his ancestors was still
in his veins. The conductor did not stop the train, simply because the
soldiers did not give him an opportunity. They turned the brakes and
then held them, and if a train man had interfered there would have been
a fight right then and there.
As soon as the train was stopped Faye and Ryan were the first to go for
the dogs, but by that time the hounds thought the whole affair great fun
and objected to being caught--at least Ryan's dog objected. The porter
in our car caught Hal, but Ryan told him to let the dog go, that he
would bring the two back together. This was shrewd in Ryan, for he
reasoned that Major Carleton might wait for an officer's dog, but never
for one that belonged to only an enlisted man; but really it was the
other way, the enlisted men held the brakes. The dogs ran back almost
a mile to the water tank, and the conductor backed the train down after
them, and not until both dogs were caught and on board could steam budge
it ahead.
The major was in temporary command of the regiment at that time. He is
a very pompous man and always in fear that proper respect will not be
shown his rank, and when we were being backed down he went through our
car and said in a loud voice: "I am very sorry Mrs. Rae, that you
should lose your fine greyhound, but this train cannot be detained any
longer--it must move on!" I said nothing, for I saw the two big men in
blue at the brake in front, and knew Major Carleton would never order
them away, much as he might bluster and try to impress us with his
importance, for he is really a tender-hearted man.
Poor Faye was utterly exhausted from running so long, and for some time
Ryan was in a critical condition. It seems that he buried his wife quite
recently, and has left his only child in New Orleans in a convent, and
the greyhound, a pet of both wife and little girl, is all he has left
to comfort him. Everyone is so glad that he got the dog. Hal was not
unchained again, I assure you, until we got here, but poor Cagey almost
killed himself at every stopping place running up and down with the dog
to give him a little exercise.
It is really delightful to be in a tent once more, and I am anticipating
much pleasure in camping through a strange country. A large wagon
train of commissary stores will be with us, so we can easily add to
our supplies now and then. It is amazing to see the really jolly mood
everyone seems to be in. The officers are singing and whistling, and we
can often hear from the distance the boisterous laughter of the men. And
the wives! there is an expression of happy content on the face of each
one. We know, if the world does not, that the part we are to take
on this march is most important. We will see that the tents are made
comfortable and cheerful at every camp; that the little dinner after the
weary march, the early breakfast, and the cold luncheon are each and
all as dainty as camp cooking will permit. Yes, we are sometimes called
"camp followers," but we do not mind--it probably originated with some
envious old bachelor officer. We know all about the comfort and cheer
that goes with us, and then--we have not been left behind!
RYAN'S JUNCTION, IDAHO TERRITORY, October, 1877.
WE are snow-bound, and everyone seems to think we that we will be
compelled to remain here several days. It was bright and sunny when the
camp was made yesterday, but before dark a terrible blizzard came up,
and by midnight the snow was deep and the cold intense. As long as we
remain inside the tents we are quite comfortable with the little conical
sheet-iron stoves that can make a tent very warm. And the snow that had
banked around the canvas keeps out the freezing-wind. We have everything
for our comfort, but such weather does not make life in camp at all
attractive.
Faye just came in from Major Pierce's tent, where he says he saw a funny
sight. They have a large hospital tent, on each side of which is a row
of iron cots, and on the cots were five chubby little children--one a
mere baby--kicking up their little pink feet in jolly defiance of their
patient old mammy, who was trying to keep them covered up. The tent was
warm and cozy, but outside, where the snow was so deep and the cold
so penetrating, one could hardly have believed that these small people
could have been made so warm and happy. But Mrs. Pierce is a wonderful
mother! Major Pierce was opposed to bringing his family on this long
march, to be exposed to all kinds of weather, but Mrs. Pierce had no
idea of being left behind with two days of car and eight days of the
worst kind of stage travel between her husband and herself; so, like a
sensible woman, she took matters in her own hands, and when we reached
Chicago, where she had been visiting, there at the station was the
smiling Mrs. Pierce with babies, governess, nurses, and trunks, all
splendidly prepared to come with us--and come they all did. After the
major had scolded a little and eased his conscience, he smiled as much
as the other members of the family.