more. The buildings are all made of adobe, and the officers' quarters
have low, broad porches in front, and remind me a little of the houses
at Fort Lyon, only of course these are larger and have more rooms. There
are nice front yards, and on either side of the officers' walk is a
row of beautiful cottonwood trees that form a complete arch. They are
watered by an acequia that brings water from Sun River several miles
above the post. The post is built along the banks of that river but I
do not see from what it derived its name, for the water is muddy all the
time. The country about here is rather rolling, but there are two large
buttes--one called Square Butte that is really grand, and the other is
Crown Butte. The drives up and down the river are lovely, and I think
that Bettie and I will soon have many pleasant mornings together on
these roads. After the slow dignified drives I am taking almost every
day, I wonder how her skittish, affected ways will seem to me!
I am so glad to be with the regiment again--that is, with old friends,
although seeing them in a garrison up in the Rocky Mountains is very
different from the life in a large city in the far South! Four companies
are still at Fort Missoula, where the major of the regiment is in
command. Our commanding officer and his wife were there also during the
winter, therefore those of us who were at Helena and Camp Baker, feel
that we must entertain them in some way. Consequently, now that everyone
is settled, the dining and wining has begun. Almost every day there is
a dinner or card party given in their honor, and several very delightful
luncheons have been given. And then the members of the old garrison,
according to army etiquette, have to entertain those that have just
come, so altogether we are very gay. The dinners are usually quite
elegant, formal affairs, beautifully served with dainty china and
handsome silver. The officers appear at these in full-dress uniform, and
that adds much to the brilliancy of things, but not much to the comfort
of the officers, I imagine.
Everyone is happy in the fall, after the return of the companies from
their hard and often dangerous summer campaign, and settles down for the
winter. It is then that we feel we can feast and dance, and it is then,
too, that garrison life at a frontier post becomes so delightful. We
are all very fond of dancing, so I think that Faye and I will give a
cotillon later on. In fact, it is about all we can do while living in
those four rooms.
We have Episcopal service each alternate Sunday, when the Rev. Mr. Clark
comes from Helena, a distance of eighty-five miles, to hold one service
for the garrison here and one at the very small village of Sun River.
And once more Major Pierce and I are in the same choir. Doctor Gordon
plays the organ, and beautifully, too. For some time he was organist in
a church at Washington, and of course knows the service perfectly. Our
star, however, is a sergeant! He came to this country with an opera
troupe, but an attack of diphtheria ruined his voice for the stage, so
he enlisted! His voice (barytone) is still of exquisite quality, and
just the right volume for our hall.
FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, January, 1879.
THERE has been so much going on in the garrison, and so much for me to
attend to in getting the house settled, I have not had time to
write more than the note I sent about dear little Billie. I miss him
dreadfully, for, small as he was, he was always doing something cunning,
always getting into mischief. He died the day we moved to this house,
and it hurts even now when I think of how I was kept from caring for him
the last day of his short life. And he wanted to be with me, too, for
when I put him in his box he would cling to my fingers and try to get
back to me. It is such a pity that we ever cracked his nuts. His lower
teeth had grown to perfect little tusks that had bored a hole in the
roof of his mouth. As soon as that was discovered, we had them cut off,
but it was too late--the little grayback would not eat.
We are almost settled now, and Sam, our Chinese cook, is doing
splendidly. At first there was trouble, and I had some difficulty in
convincing him that I was mistress of my own house and not at all afraid
of him. Cagey has gone back to Holly Springs. He had become utterly
worthless during the summer camp, where he had almost nothing to do.
Our little entertainment for the benefit of the mission here was a
wonderful success. Every seat was occupied, every corner packed, and we
were afraid that the old theater might collapse. We made eighty dollars,
clear of all expenses. The tableaux were first, so the small people
could be sent home early. Then came our pantomime. Sergeant Thompson
sang the words and the orchestra played a soft accompaniment that made
the whole thing most effective. Major Pierce was a splendid Villikins,
and as Dinah I received enough applause to satisfy anyone, but the
curtain remained down, motionless and unresponsive, just because I
happened to be the wife of the stage manager!
The prison scene and Miserere from Il Trovatore were beautiful. Sergeant
Mann instructed each one of the singers, and the result was far beyond
our expectations. Of course the fine orchestra of twenty pieces was a
great addition and support. Our duet was not sung, because I was seized
with an attack of stage fright at the last rehearsal, so Sergeant Mann
sang an exquisite solo in place of the duet, which was ever so much
nicer. I was with Mrs. Joyce in one scene of her pantomime, "John
Smith," which was far and away the best part of the entertainment. Mrs.
Joyce was charming, and showed us what a really fine actress she is. The
enlisted men went to laugh, and they kept up a good-natured clapping and
laughing from first to last.
It was surprising that so many of the Sun River and ranch people came,
for the night was terrible, even for Montana, and the roads must have
been impassable in places. Even here in the post there were great drifts
of snow, and the path to the theater was cut through banks higher than
our heads. It had been mild and pleasant for weeks, and only two nights
before the entertainment we had gone to the hall for rehearsal with
fewer wraps than usual. We had been there about an hour, I think, when
the corporal of the guard came in to report to the officer of the day,
that a fierce blizzard was making it impossible for sentries to walk
post. His own appearance told better than words what the storm was. He
had on a long buffalo coat, muskrat cap and gauntlets, and the fur from
his head down, also heavy overshoes, were filled with snow, and at each
end of his mustache were icicles hanging. He made a fine, soldierly
picture as he brought his rifle to his side and saluted. The officer
of the day hurried out, and after a time returned, he also smothered
in furs and snow. He said the storm was terrific and he did not see how
many of us could possibly get to our homes.
But of course we could not remain in the hall until the blizzard had
ceased, so after rehearsing a little more, we wrapped ourselves up as
well as we could and started for our homes. The wind was blowing at
hurricane speed, I am sure, and the heavy fall of snow was being carried
almost horizontally, and how each frozen flake did sting! Those of us
who lived in the garrison could not go very far astray, as the fences
were on one side and banks of snow on the other, but the light snow had
already drifted in between and made walking very slow and difficult. We
all got to our different homes finally, with no greater mishap than
a few slightly frozen ears and noses. Snow had banked up on the floor
inside of our front door so high that for a few minutes Faye and I
thought that we could not get in the house.
Major Pierce undertook to see Mrs. Elmer safely to her home at the
sutler's store, and in order to get there they were obliged to cross a
wide space in between the officers' line and the store. Nothing could be
seen ten feet from them when they left the last fence, but they tried
to get their bearings by the line of the fence, and closing their eyes,
dashed ahead into the cloud of blinding, stinging snow. Major Pierce
had expected to go straight to a side door of the store, but the awful
strength of the wind and snow pushed them over, and they struck a corner
of the fence farthest away--in fact, they would have missed the fence
also if Mrs. Elmer's fur cape had not caught on one of the pickets, and
gone out on the plains to certain death. Bright lights had been placed
in the store windows, but not one had they seen. These storms kill so
many range cattle, but the most destructive of all is a freeze after a
chinook, that covers the ground with ice so it is impossible for them
to get to the grass. At such times the poor animals suffer cruelly. We
often hear them lowing, sometimes for days, and can easily imagine that
we see the starving beasts wandering on and on, ever in search of an
uncovered bit of grass. The lowing of hundreds of cattle on a cold
winter night is the most horrible sound one can imagine.
Cold as it is, I ride Bettie almost every day, but only on the high
ground where the snow has been blown off. We are a funny sight sometimes
when we come in--Bettie's head, neck, and chest white with her frozen
breath, icicles two or three inches long hanging from each side of her
chin, and my fur collar and cap white also. I wear a sealskin cap with
broad ear tabs, long sealskin gauntlets that keep my hands and arms
warm, and high leggings and moccasins of beaver, but with the fur
inside, which makes them much warmer. A tight chamois skin waist
underneath my cadet-cloth habit and a broad fur collar completes a
riding costume that keeps me warm without being bungling. I found a
sealskin coat too warm and heavy.
No one will ride now and they do not know what fine exercise they are
missing. And I am sure that Bettie is glad to get her blood warm once
during the twenty-four hours. Friends kindly tell me that some day I
will be found frozen out on the plains, and that the frisky Bettie
will kill me, and so on. I ride too fast to feel the cold, and Bettie I
enjoy--all but the airs she assumes inside the post. Our house is near
the center of the officers' line, and no matter which way I go or what
I do, that little beast can never be made to walk one step until we get
out on the road, but insists upon going sideways, tossing her head,
and giving little rears. It looks so affected and makes me feel very
foolish, particularly since Mrs. Conger said to me the other day: "Why
do you make your horse dance that way--he might throw you." I then asked
her if she would not kindly ride Bettie a few times and teach her to
keep her feet down. But she said it was too cold to go out!
We have much more room in this house than we had in the hospital, and
are more comfortable every way. Almost every day or evening there is
some sort of an entertainment--german, dinner, luncheon, or card party.
I am so glad that we gave the first cotillon that had ever been given
in the regiment, for it was something new on the frontier; therefore
everyone enjoyed it. Just now the garrison seems to have gone cotillon
crazy, and not being satisfied with a number of private ones, a german
club has been organized that gives dances in the hall every two weeks.
So far Faye has been the leader of each one. With all this pleasure, the
soldiers are not being neglected. Every morning there are drills and a
funny kind of target practice inside the quarters, and of course there
are inspections and other things.
FORT ELLIS, MONTANA TERRITORY, January, 1879.
IT is still cold, stinging cold, and we are beginning to think
that there was much truth in what we were told on our way over last
fall--that Fort Ellis is the very coldest place in the whole territory.
For two days the temperature was fifty below, and I can assure you
that things hummed! The logs of our house made loud reports like pistol
shots, and there was frost on the walls of every room that were not near
roaring fires. No one ventures forth such weather unless compelled to
do so, and then, of course, every precaution is taken to guard against
freezing. In this altitude one will freeze before feeling the cold, as
I know from experience, having at the present time two fiery red ears of
enormous size. They are fiery in feeling, too, as well as in color.
The atmosphere looks like frozen mist, and is wonderful, and almost at
any time between sunrise and sunset a "sun dog" can be seen with its
scintillating rainbow tints, that are brilliant yet exquisitely delicate
in coloring. Our houses are really very warm--the thick logs are
plastered inside and papered, every window has a storm sash and every
room a double floor, and our big stoves can burn immense logs. But
notwithstanding all this, our greatest trial is to keep things to eat.
Everything freezes solid, and so far we have not found one edible that
is improved by freezing. It must be awfully discouraging to a cook to
find on a biting cold morning, that there is not one thing in the house
that can be prepared for breakfast until it has passed through the
thawing process; that even the water in the barrels has become solid,
round pieces of ice! All along the roof of one side of our house are
immense icicles that almost touch the snow on the ground. These are a
reminder of the last chinook!
But only last week it was quite pleasant--not real summery, but warm
enough for one to go about in safety. Faye came down from the saw-mill
one of those days to see the commanding officer about something and to
get the mail. When he was about to start back, in fact, was telling me
good-by, I happened to say that I wished I could go, too. Faye said:
"You could not stand the exposure, but you might wear my little fur
coat" Suggesting the coat was a give-in that I at once took advantage
of, and in precisely twenty minutes Charlie, our Chinese cook, had been
told what to do, a few articles of clothing wrapped and strapped, and
I on Bettie's back ready for the wilds. An old soldier on a big corral
horse was our only escort, and to his saddle were fastened our various
bags and bundles.
Far up a narrow valley that lies in between two mountain ranges, the
government has a saw-mill that is worked by twenty or more soldiers
under the supervision of an officer, where lumber can be cut when needed
for the post. One of these ranges is very high, and Mount Bridger, first
of the range and nearest Fort Ellis, along whose base we had to go, has
snow on its top most of the year. Often when wind is not noticeable at
the post, we can see the light snow being blown with terrific force
from the peak of this mountain for hundreds of yards in a perfectly
horizontal line, when it will spread out and fall in a magnificent spray
another two or three hundred feet.
The mill is sixteen miles from Fort Ellis, and the snow was very
deep--so deep in places that the horses had difficulty in getting their
feet forward, and as we got farther up, the valley narrowed into a
ravine where the snow was even deeper. There was no road or even trail
to be seen; the bark on trees had been cut to mark the way, but far
astray we could not have gone unless we had deliberately ridden up the
side of a mountain. The only thing that resembled a house along the
sixteen miles was a deserted cabin about half way up, and which only
accentuated the awful loneliness.
Bettie had been standing in the stable for several days, and that, with
the biting cold air in the valley, made her entirely too frisky, and she
was very nervous, too, over the deep snow that held her feet down. We
went Indian file--I always in the middle--as there were little grades
and falling-off places all along that were hidden by the snow, and I was
cautioned constantly by Faye and Bryant to keep my horse in line. The
snow is very fine and dry in this altitude, and never packs as it does
in a more moist atmosphere.
When we had ridden about one half the distance up we came to a little
hill, at the bottom of which was known to be a bridge that crossed the
deep-cut banks of one of those mountain streams that are dry eleven
months of the year and raging torrents the twelfth, when the snow melts.
It so happened that Faye did not get on this bridge just right, so down
in the light snow he and Pete went, and all that we could see of them
were Faye's head and shoulders and the head of the horse with the awful
bulging eyes! Poor Pete was terribly frightened, and floundered about
until he nearly buried himself in snow as he tried to find something
solid upon which to put his feet.
I was just back of Faye when he went down, but the next instant I had
retreated to the top of the hill, and had to use all the strength in my
arms to avoid being brought back to the post. When Bettie saw Pete go
down, she whirled like a flash and with two or three bounds was on
top of the hill again. She was awfully frightened and stood close to
Bryant's horse, trembling all over. Poor Bryant did not know what to do
or which one to assist, so I told him to go down and get the lieutenant
up on the bank and I would follow. Just how Faye got out of his
difficulty I did not see, for I was too busy attending to my own
affairs. Bettie acted as though she was bewitched, and go down to the
bridge she would not. Finally, when I was about tired out, Faye said we
must not waste more time there and that I had better ride Pete.
So I dismounted and the saddles were changed, and then there was more
trouble. Pete had never been ridden by a woman before, and thinking,
perhaps, that his sudden one-sidedness was a part of the bridge
performance, at once protested by jumps and lunges, but he soon quieted
down and we started on again. Bettie danced a little with Faye, but
that was all. She evidently remembered her lost battle with him at Camp
Baker.
It was almost dark when we reached the saw-mill, and as soon as it
became known that I was with the "lieutenant" every man sprang up from
some place underneath the snow to look at me, and two or three ran over
to assist Bryant with our things. It was awfully nice to know that I was
a person of importance, even if it was out in a camp in the mountains
where probably a woman had never been before. The little log cabin built
for officers had only the one long room, with large, comfortable bunk,
two tables, chairs, a "settle" of pine boards, and near one end of the
room was a box stove large enough to heat two rooms of that size. By the
time my stiffened body could get inside, the stove had been filled to
the top with pine wood that roared and crackled in a most cheerful and
inviting manner.
But the snow out there! I do not consider it advisable to tell the exact
truth, so I will simply say that it was higher than the cabin, but that
for some reason it had left an open space of about three feet all around
the logs, and that gave us air and light through windows which had been
thoughtfully placed unusually high. The long stable, built against
a bank, where the horses and mules were kept, was entirely buried
underneath the snow, and you would never have dreamed that there was
anything whatever there unless you had seen the path that had been
shoveled down to the door. The cabin the men lived in, I did not see at
all. We were in a ravine where the pine forest was magnificent, but one
could see that the trees were shortened many feet by the great depth of
snow.
Our meals were brought to us by Bryant from the soldiers' mess, and as
the cook was only a pick-up, they were often a mess indeed, but every
effort was made to have them nice. The day after we got there the cook
evidently made up his mind that some recognition should be shown of
the honor of my presence in the woods, so he made a big fat pie for my
dinner. It was really fat, for the crust must have been mostly of lard,
and the poor man had taken much pains with the decorations of twisted
rings and little balls that were on the top. It really looked very nice
as Bryant set it down on the table in front of me, with an air that the
most dignified of butlers might have envied, and said, "Compliments
of the cook, ma'am!" Of course I was, and am still, delighted with the
attention from the cook, but for some reason I was suspicious of that
pie, it was so very high up, so I continued to talk about it admiringly
until after Bryant had gone from the cabin, and then I tried to cut it!
The filling--and there was an abundance--was composed entirely of big,
hard raisins that still had their seeds in. The knife could not cut
them, so they rolled over on the table and on the floor, much like
marbles. I scooped out a good-sized piece as well as I could, gathered
up the runaway raisins, and then--put it in the stove.
And this I did at every dinner while I was there, almost trembling each
time for fear Bryant would come in and discover how the pie was being
disposed of. It lasted long, for I could not cut off a piece for Faye,
as Bryant had given us to understand in the beginning that the chef
d'oeuvre was for me only.
Nothing pleases me more than to have the enlisted men pay me some
little attention, and when the day after the pie a beautiful little gray
squirrel was brought to me in a nice airy box, I was quite overcome.
He is very much like Billie in size and color, which seems remarkable,
since Billie was from the far South and this little fellow from the far
North. I wanted to take him out of the box at once, but the soldier said
he would bite, and having great respect for the teeth of a squirrel, I
let him stay in his prison while we were out there.
The first time I let him out after we got home he was frantic, and
jumped on the mantel, tables, and chairs, scattering things right and
left. Finally he started to run up a lace window curtain back of the
sewing machine. On top of the machine was a plate of warm cookies
that Charlie had just brought to me, and getting a sniff of those the
squirrel stopped instantly, hesitated just a second, and then over he
jumped, took a cookie with his paws and afterwards held it with his
teeth until he had settled himself comfortably, when he again took it
in his paws and proceeded to eat with the greatest relish. After he had
eaten all he very well could, he hid the rest back of the curtain in
quite an at-home way. There was nothing at all wonderful in all this,
except that the squirrel was just from the piney woods where warm sugar
cakes are unknown, so how did he know they were good to eat?
I was at the saw-mill four days, and then we all came in together and on
bob sleds. There were four mules for each sleigh, so not much attention
was paid to the great depth of snow. Both horses knew when we got to
the bridge and gave Bryant trouble. Every bit of the trail out had
been obliterated by drifting snow, and I still wonder how these animals
recognized the precise spot when the snow was level in every place.
We found the house in excellent order, and consider our new Chinaman
a treasure. A few days before Faye went to the mill I made some Boston
brown bread. I always make that myself, as I fancy I can make it very
good, but for some reason I was late in getting it on to steam that
day, so when I went to the kitchen to put it in the oven I found a
much-abused Chinaman. When he saw what I was about to do he became very
angry and his eyes looked green. He said, "You no put him in l'oven."
I said, "Yes, Charlie, I have to for one hour." He said, "You no care
workman, you sploil my dee-nee, you get some other boy."
Now Charlie was an excellent servant and I did not care to lose him, but
to take that bread out was not to be considered. I would no longer have
been mistress of my own house, so I told him quietly, "Very well," and
closed the oven door with great deliberation. The dinner was a little
better than usual, and I wondered all the time what the outcome would
be. I knew that he was simply piqued because I had not let him make the
bread. After his work was all done he came in and said, with a smile
that was almost a grin, "I go now--I send 'nother boy," and go he did.
But the "other boy" came in time to give us a delicious breakfast, and
everything went on just the same as when old Charlie was here. He is in
Bozeman and comes to see us often.
This Charlie takes good care of my chickens that are my pride and
delight. There are twenty, and every one is snow white; some have heavy
round topknots. I found them at different ranches. It is so cold here
that chicken roosts have to be covered with strips of blanket and made
flat and broad, so the feathers will cover the chickens' feet, otherwise
they will be frozen. It is a treat to have fresh eggs, and without
having to pay a dollar and a half per dozen for them. That is the price
we have paid for eggs almost ever since we came to the Territory.
FORT ELLIS, MONTANA TERRITORY, June, 1880.