through, and the very first thing stumbled over a big cat! This made me
more anxious than ever, but instead of catching the beast and shutting
it up, I drove it away. In the kitchen, which was dining room also, sat
the two officers and a disagreeable old man, and at the farther end was
a woman washing dishes. I told them about Billie and begged them to keep
very quiet while I searched for him. Then that old man laughed. That was
quite too much for my overtaxed nerves, and I snapped out that I failed
to see anything funny. But still he laughed, and said, "Perhaps you
don't, but we do." I was too worried and unhappy to notice what he
meant, and continued to look for Billie.
But the little fellow I could not find any place in the house or
outside, where we looked with a lantern. When I returned to my room I
discovered why the old man laughed, for truly I was a funny sight. I had
thought my coat much longer than it really was--that is all I am willing
to say about it. I was utterly worn out, and every bone in my body
seemed to be rebelling about something, still I could not sleep, but
listened constantly for Billie. I blamed myself so much for not having
shut up the cat and fancied I heard the cat chasing him.
After a long, long time, it seemed hours, I heard a faint noise like a
scratch on tin, and lighting a lamp quickly, I went to the kitchen and
then listened. But not a sound was to be heard. At the farther end a
bank had been cut out to make room for the kitchen, which gave it a dirt
wall almost to the low ceiling, and all across this wall were many rows
of shelves where tins of all sorts and cooking utensils were kept, and
just above the top shelf was a hole where the cat could go out on the
bank. I put the lamp back of me on the table and kept very still and
looked all along the shelves, but saw nothing of Billie. Finally, I
heard the little scratch again, and looking closely at some large tins
where I thought the sound had come from, I saw the little squirrel.
He was sitting up in between two of the pans that were almost his own
color, with his head turned one side, and "hands on his heart," watching
me inquisitively with one black eye.
He was there and apparently unharmed, but to catch him was another
matter. I approached him in the most cautious manner, talking and cooing
to him all the time, and at last I caught him, and the little fellow was
so glad to be with friends once more, he curled himself in my hands,
and put two little wet paws around a thumb and held on tight. It was
raining, and he was soaking wet, so he must have been out of doors. It
would have been heartbreaking to have been obliged to come away without
finding that little grayback, and perhaps never know what became of
him. I know where my dear dog is, and that is bad enough. We heard just
before leaving the post that men of the company had put up a board at
Hal's grave with his name cut in it. We knew that they loved him and
were proud of him, but never dreamed that any one of them would show so
much sentiment. Faye has taken the horses with him and Cagey also.
The young men of Helena gave the officers an informal dance last night.
At first it promised to be a jolly affair, but finally, as the evening
wore on, the army people became more and more quiet, and at the last
it was distressing to see the sad faces that made dancing seem a farce.
They are going to an Indian country, and the separation may be long. I
expect to remain here for the present, but shall make every effort to
get to Benton after a while, where I will be nearly one hundred and
fifty miles nearer Faye. The wife of the adjutant and her two little
children are in this house, and other families of officers are scattered
all over the little town.
COSMOPOLITAN HOTEL, HELENA, MONTANA TERRITORY, August, 1878.
YOU will see that at last I decided to move over to this hotel. I made
a great mistake in not coming before and getting away from the cross
old housekeeper at the International, who could not be induced by
entreaties, fees, or threats, to get the creepy, crawly things out of
my room. How I wish that every one of them would march over to her
some fine night and keep her awake as they have kept me. It made me so
unhappy to leave Mrs. Hull there with a sick child, but she would not
come with me, although she must know it would be better for her and the
boy to be here, where everything is kept so clean and attractive. There
are six wives of officers in the house, among them the wife of General
Bourke, who is in command of the regiment. She invited me to sit at her
table, and I find it very pleasant there. She is a bride and almost a
stranger to us.
The weather has been playing all sorts of pranks upon us lately, and we
hardly know whether we are in the far North or far South. For two
weeks it was very warm, positively hot in this gulch, but yesterday
we received a cooling off in the form of a brisk snowstorm that lasted
nearly two hours. Mount Helena was white during the rest of the day, and
even now long streaks of snow can be seen up and down the peak. But a
snowstorm in August looked very tame after the awful cloud-burst that
came upon us without warning a few days before, and seemed determined to
wash the whole town down to the Missouri River.
It was about eleven o'clock, and four of us had gone to the shops to
look at some pretty things that had just been brought over from a boat
at Fort Benton by ox train. Mrs. Pierce and Mrs. Hull had stopped at a
grocery next door, expecting to join Mrs. Joyce and me in a few minutes.
But before they could make a few purchases, a few large drops of rain
began to splash down, and there was a fierce flash of lightning and
deafening thunder, then came the deluge! Oceans of water seemed to be
coming down, and before we realized what was happening, things in the
street and things back of the store were being rushed to the valley
below.
All along the gulch runs a little stream that comes from the canon above
the town. The stream is tiny and the bed is narrow. On either side of
it are stores with basements opening out on these banks. Well, in an
alarmingly short time that innocent-looking little creek had become
a roaring, foaming black river, carrying tables, chairs, washstands,
little bridges--in fact everything it could tear up--along with it
to the valley. Many of these pieces of furniture lodged against the
carriage bridge that was just below the store where we were, making a
dangerous dam, so a man with a stout rope around his waist went in the
water to throw them out on the bank, but he was tossed about like a
cork, and could do nothing. Just as they were about to pull him in the
bridge gave way, and it was with the greatest difficulty he was kept
from being swept down with the floating furniture. He was dragged back
to our basement in an almost unconscious condition, and with many cuts
and bruises.
The water was soon in the basements of the stores, where it did much
damage. The store we were in is owned by a young man--one of the beaux
of the town--and I think the poor man came near losing his mind. He
rushed around pulling his hair one second, and wringing his hands the
next, and seemed perfectly incapable of giving one order, or assisting
his clerks in bringing the dripping goods from the basement. Very unlike
the complacent, diamond-pin young man we had danced with at the balls!
The cloud-burst on Mount Helena had caused many breaks in the enormous
ditches that run around the mountain and carry water to the mines on the
other side. No one can have the faintest conception of how terrible a
cloud-burst is until they have been in one. It is like standing under
an immense waterfall. At the very beginning we noticed the wagon of a
countryman across the street with one horse hitched to it. The horse was
tied so the water from an eaves trough poured directly upon his back,
and not liking that, he stepped forward, which brought the powerful
stream straight to the wagon.
Unfortunately for the owner, the wagon had been piled high with all
sorts of packages, both large and small, and all in paper or paper bags.
One by one these were swept out, and as the volume of water increased in
force and the paper became wet and easily torn, their contents went in
every direction. Down in the bottom was a large bag of beans, and
when the pipe water reached this, there was a white spray resembling a
geyser. Not one thing was left in that wagon--even sacks of potatoes and
grain were washed out! It is a wonder that the poor horse took it all as
patiently as he did.
During all this time we had not even heard from our friends next door;
after a while, however, we got together, but it was impossible to return
to the hotel for a long time, because of the great depth of water in the
street. Mrs. Pierce, whose house is on the opposite side of the ravine,
could not get to her home until just before dark, after a temporary
bridge had been built across the still high stream. Not one bridge
was left across the creek, and they say that nothing has been left at
Chinatown--that it was washed clean. Perhaps there is nothing to be
regretted in this, however, except that any amount of dirt has been
piled up right in the heart of Helena. The millionaire residents seem
to think that the great altitude and dry atmosphere will prevent any ill
effects of decaying debris.
We went to the assay building the other day to see a brick of gold taken
from the furnace. The mold was run out on its little track soon after we
got there, and I never dreamed of what "white heat" really means, until
I saw the oven of that awful furnace. We had to stand far across the
room while the door was open, and even then the hot air that shot out
seemed blasting. The men at the furnace were protected, of course. The
brick mold was in another mold that after a while was put in cold water,
so we had to wait for first the large and then the small to be opened
before we saw the beautiful yellow brick that was still very hot, but we
were assured that it was then too hard to be in danger of injury. It
was of the largest size, and shaped precisely like an ordinary building
brick, and its value was great. It was to be shipped on the stage the
next morning on its way to the treasury in Washington.
It is wonderful that so few of those gold bricks are stolen from the
stage. The driver is their only protector, and the stage route is
through miles and miles of wild forests, and in between huge boulders
where a "hold-up" could be so easily accomplished.
CAMP ON MARIAS RIVER, MONTANA TERRITORY, September, 1878.
AN old proverb tells us that "All things come to him who waits," but
I never had faith in this, for I have patiently waited many times for
things that never found me. But this time, after I had waited and waited
the tiresome summer through, ever hoping to come to Fort Benton, and
when I was about discouraged, "things come," and here I am in camp with
Faye, and ever so much more comfortable than I would have been at the
little old hotel at Benton.
There are only two companies here now--all the others having gone with
regimental headquarters to Fort Shaw--otherwise I could not be here, for
I could not have come to a large camp. Our tents are at the extreme end
of the line in a grove of small trees, and next to ours is the doctor's,
so we are quite cut off from the rest of the camp. Cagey is here, and
Faye has a very good soldier cook, so the little mess, including the
doctor, is simply fine. I am famished all the time, for everything
tastes so delicious after the dreadful hotel fare. The two horses are
here, and I brought my saddle over, and this morning Faye and I had a
delightful ride out on the plain. But how I did miss my dear dog! He was
always so happy when with us and the horses, and his joyous bounds and
little runs after one thing and another added much to the pleasure of
our rides.
Fort Benton is ten miles from camp, and Faye met me there with an
ambulance. I was glad enough to get away from that old stage. It was
one of the jerky, bob-back-and-forth kind that pitches you off the seat
every five minutes. The first two or three times you bump heads with the
passenger sitting opposite, you can smile and apologize with some grace,
but after a while your hat will not stay in place and your head becomes
sensitive, and finally, you discover that the passenger is the most
disagreeable person you ever saw, and that the man sitting beside you is
inconsiderate and selfish, and really occupying two thirds of the seat.
We came a distance of one hundred and forty miles, getting fresh horses
every twenty miles or so. The morning we left Helena was glorious, and I
was half ashamed because I felt so happy at coming from the town, where
so many of my friends were in sorrow, but tried to console myself with
the fact that I had been ordered away by Doctor Gordon. There were
many cases of typhoid fever, and the rheumatic fever that has made Mrs.
Sargent so ill has developed into typhoid, and there is very little hope
for her recovery.
The driver would not consent to my sitting on top with him, so I had
to ride inside with three men. They were not rough-looking at all, and
their clothes looked clean and rather new, but gave one the impression
that they had been made for other people. Their pale faces told that
they were "tenderfeet," and one could see there was a sad lacking of
brains all around.
The road comes across a valley the first ten or twelve miles, and
then runs into a magnificent canon that is sixteen miles long, called
Prickly-Pear Canon. As I wrote some time ago, everything is brought up
to this country by enormous ox trains, some coming from the railroad at
Corinne, and some that come from Fort Benton during the Summer, having
been brought up by boat on the Missouri River. In the canons these
trains are things to be dreaded. The roads are very narrow and the
grades often long and steep, with immense boulders above and below.
We met one of those trains soon after we entered the canon, and at the
top of a grade where the road was scarcely wider than the stage itself
and seemed to be cut into a wall of solid rock. Just how we were to pass
those huge wagons I did not see. But the driver stopped his horses and
two of the men got out, the third stopping on the step and holding on to
the stage so it was impossible for me to get out, unless I went out
the other door and stood on the edge of an awful precipice. The driver
looked back, and not seeing me, bawled out, "Where is the lady?" "Get
the lady out!" The man on the step jumped down then, but the driver
did not put his reins down, or move from his seat until he had seen me
safely on the ground and had directed me where to stand.
In the meantime some of the train men had come up, and, as soon as the
stage driver was ready, they proceeded to lift the stage--trunks and
all--over and on some rocks and tree tops, and then the four horses were
led around in between other rocks, where it seemed impossible for them
to stand one second. There were three teams to come up, each consisting
of about eight yoke of oxen and three or four wagons. It made me almost
ill to see the poor patient oxen straining and pulling up the grade
those huge wagons so heavily loaded. The crunching and groaning of the
wagons, rattling of the enormous cable chains, and the creaking of the
heavy yokes of the oxen were awful sounds, but above all came the yells
of the drivers, and the sharp, pistol-like reports of the long whips
that they mercilessly cracked over the backs of the poor beasts. It was
most distressing.
After the wagons had all passed, men came back and set the stage on
the road in the same indifferent way and with very few words. Each man
seemed to know just what to do, as though he had been training for years
for the moving of that particular stage. The horses had not stirred and
had paid no attention to the yelling and cracking of whips. While coming
through the canons we must have met six or seven of those trains, every
one of which necessitated the setting in mid-air of the stage coach. It
was the same performance always, each man knowing just what to do, and
doing it, too, without loss of time. Not once did the driver put down
the reins until he saw that "the lady" was safely out and it was ever
with the same sing-song, "balance to the right," voice that he asked
about me--except once, when he seemed to think more emphasis was needed,
when he made the canon ring by yelling, "Why in hell don't you get the
lady out!" But the lady always got herself out. Rough as he was, I felt
intuitively that I had a protector. We stopped at Rock Creek for dinner,
and there he saw that I had the best of everything, and it was the same
at Spitzler's, where we had supper.
We got fresh horses at The Leavings, and when I saw a strange driver on
the seat my heart sank, fearing that from there on I might not have
the same protection. We were at a large ranch--sort of an inn--and just
beyond was Frozen Hill. The hill was given that name because a number of
years ago a terrible blizzard struck some companies of infantry while
on it, and before they could get to the valley below, or to a place of
shelter, one half of the men were more or less frozen--some losing legs,
some arms. They had been marching in thin clothing that was more or
less damp from perspiration, as the day had been excessively hot. These
blizzards are so fierce and wholly blinding, it is unsafe to move a step
if caught out in one on the plains, and the troops probably lost their
bearings as soon as the storm struck them.
It was almost dark when we got in the stage to go on, and I thought it
rather queer that the driver should have asked us to go to the corral,
instead of his driving around to the ranch for us. Very soon we were
seated, but we did not start, and there seemed to be something wrong,
judging by the way the stage was being jerked, and one could feel, too,
that the brake was on. One by one those men got out, and just as the
last one stepped down on one side the heads of two cream-colored horses
appeared at the open door on the other side, their big troubled eyes
looking straight at me.
During my life on the frontier I have seen enough of native horses to
know that when a pair of excited mustang leaders try to get inside a
stage, it is time for one to get out, so I got out! One of those men
passengers instantly called to me, "You stay in there!" I asked, "Why?"
"Because it is perfectly safe," said a second man. I was very indignant
at being spoken to in this way and turned my back to them. The driver
got the leaders in position, and then looking around, said to me that
when the balky wheelers once started they would run up the hill "like
the devil," and I would surely be left unless I was inside the stage.
I knew that he was telling the truth, and if he had been the first man
to tell me to get in the coach I would have done so at once, but it so
happened that he was the fourth, and by that time I was beginning to
feel abused. It was bad enough to have to obey just one man, when
at home, and then to have four strange men--three of them idiots,
too--suddenly take upon themselves to order me around was not to be
endured. I had started on the trip with the expectation of taking care
of myself, and still felt competent to do so. Perhaps I was very tired,
and perhaps I was very cross. At all events I told the driver I would
not get in--that if I was left I would go back to the ranch. So I stayed
outside, taking great care, however, to stand close to the stage door.
The instant I heard the loosening of the brake I jumped up on the step,
and catching a firm hold each side of the door, was about to step in
when one of those men passengers grabbed my arm and tried to jerk me
back, so he could get in ahead of me! It was a dreadful thing for anyone
to do, for if my hands and arms had not been unusually strong from
riding hard-mouthed horses, I would undoubtedly have been thrown
underneath the big wheels and horribly crushed, for the four horses were
going at a terrific gait, and the jerky was swaying like a live thing.
As it was, anger and indignation gave me extra strength and I scrambled
inside with nothing more serious happening than a bruised head. But that
man! He pushed in back of me and, not knowing the nice little ways of
jerkies, was pitched forward to the floor with an awful thud. But after
a second or so he pulled himself up on his seat, which was opposite
mine, and there we two sat in silence and in darkness. I noticed the
next morning that there was a big bruise on one side of his face, at the
sight of which I rejoiced very much.
It was some distance this side of the hill when the driver stopped his
horses and waited for the two men who had been left. They seemed much
exhausted when they came up, but found sufficient breath to abuse the
driver for having left them; but he at once roared out, "Get in, I
tell you, or I'll leave you sure enough!" That settled matters, and we
started on again. Very soon those men fell asleep and rolled off their
seats to the floor, where they snored and had bad dreams. I was jammed
in a corner without mercy, and of course did not sleep one second during
the long wretched night. Twice we stopped for fresh horses, and at both
places I walked about a little to rest my cramped feet and limbs. At
breakfast the next morning I asked the driver to let me ride on top with
him, which he consented to, and from there on to Benton I had peace and
fresh air--the glorious air of Montana.
Yesterday--the day after I got here--I was positively ill from the awful
shaking up, mental as well as physical, I received on that stage ride.
We reached Benton at eleven. Faye was at the hotel with an ambulance
when the stage drove up, and it was amusing to look at the faces of
those men when they saw Faye in his uniform, and the government outfit.
We started for camp at once, and left them standing on the hotel porch
watching us as we drove down the street. It is a pity that such men
cannot be compelled to serve at least one enlistment in the Army, and be
drilled into something that resembles a real man. But perhaps recruiting
officers would not accept them.
FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, October, 1878.
MY stay at the little town of Sun River Crossing was short, for when
I arrived there the other day in the stage from Benton, I found a note
awaiting me from Mrs. Bourke, saying that I must come right on to Fort
Shaw, so I got back in the stage and came to the post, a distance of
five miles, where General Bourke was on the lookout for me. He is in
command of the regiment as well as the post, as Colonel Fitz-James is
still in Europe. Of course regimental headquarters and the band are
here, which makes the garrison seem very lively to me. The band is out
at guard mounting every pleasant morning, and each Friday evening there
is a fine concert in the hall by the orchestra, after which we have a
little dance. The sun shines every day, but the air is cool and crisp
and one feels that ice and snow are not very far off.
The order for the two companies on the Marias to return to the Milk
River country was most unexpected. That old villain Sitting Bull, chief
of the Sioux Indians, made an official complaint to the "Great Father"
that the half-breeds were on land that belonged to his people, and were
killing buffalo that were theirs also. So the companies have been sent
up to arrest the half-breeds and conduct them to Fort Belknap, and to
break up their villages and burn their cabins. The officers disliked the
prospect of doing all this very much, for there must be many women and
little children among them. Just how long it will take no one can tell,
but probably three or four weeks.
And while Faye is away I am staying with General and Mrs. Bourke. I
cannot have a house until he comes, for quarters cannot be assigned
to an officer until he has reported for duty at a post. There are two
companies of the old garrison here still, and this has caused much
doubling up among the lieutenants--that is, assigning one set of
quarters to two officers--but it has been arranged so we can be by
ourselves. Four rooms at one end of the hospital have been cut off from
the hospital proper by a heavy partition that has been put up at the
end of the long corridor, and these rooms are now being calcimined and
painted. They were originally intended for the contract surgeon. We will
have our own little porch and entrance hall and a nice yard back of the
kitchen. It will all be so much more private and comfortable in every
way than it could possibly have been in quarters with another family.