do not mean that we were in the canon by the river, for that would have
been impossible, but that we went along the path that runs close to the
edge of the high cliff. We carried our luncheon with us, so there was no
necessity for haste, and every now and then we sat upon the thick carpet
of pine needles to rest, and also study the marvelous coloring of the
cliffs across the river. The walls of the canon are very high and very
steep--in many places perpendicular--and their strata of brilliant
colors are a marvel to everyone. It was a day to be remembered, and no
one seemed to mind being a little tired when we returned late in the
afternoon. The proprietor of the little log hotel that is only a short
distance up the river, told Captain Spencer that we had gone down six
good miles--giving us a tramp altogether, of twelve miles. It seems
incredible, for not one of us could walk one half that distance in less
rarefied air.
Just below the big falls, and of course very near our camp, is a nature
study that we find most interesting. An unusually tall pine tree has
grown up from between the boulders at the edge of the river. The tree is
now dead and its long branches have fallen off, but a few outspreading
short ones are still left, and right in the center of these a pair of
eagles have built a huge nest, and in that nest, right now, are two dear
eaglets! The tree is some distance from the top of the cliff, but it is
also lower, otherwise we would not have such a fine view of the nest and
the big babies. They look a little larger than mallard ducks, and are
well feathered. They fill the nest to overflowing, and seem to realize
that if they move about much, one would soon go overboard. The two old
birds--immense in size--can be seen soaring above the nest at almost any
time, but not once have we seen them come to the nest, although we have
watched with much patience for them to do so. The great wisdom shown by
those birds in the selection of a home is wonderful. It would be utterly
impossible for man or beast to reach it.
Another nature study that we have seen in the park, and which, to me,
was most wonderful, was a large beaver village. Of course most people of
the Northwest have seen beaver villages of various sizes, but that one
was different, and should be called a city. There were elevated roads
laid off in squares that run with great precision from one little
house to the other. There are dozens and dozens of houses--perhaps a
hundred--in the marshy lake, and the amount of intelligence and cunning
the little animals have shown in the construction of their houses and
elevated roads is worth studying. They are certainly fine engineers.
We take the road home from here, but go a much more direct route, which
will be by ambulance all the way to Fort Ellis, instead of going by the
cars from Mammoth Hot Springs. I am awfully glad of this, as it will
make the trip one day longer, and take us over a road that is new to
us, although it is the direct route from Ellis to the Park through Rocky
Canon.
FORT ELLIS, MONTANA TERRITORY, November, 1884.
ONLY a few days more, and then we will be off for the East! It is over
seven years since we started from Corinne on that long march north,
and I never dreamed at that time that I would remain right in this
territory, until a splendid railroad would be built to us from another
direction to take us out of it. Nearly everything is packed. We expect
to return here in the spring, but in the Army one never knows what
destiny may have waiting for them at the War Department. Besides, I
would not be satisfied to go so far away and leave things scattered
about.
The two horses, wagons, and everything of the kind have been disposed
of--not because we wanted to sell them, but because Faye was unwilling
to leave the horses with irresponsible persons during a long winter in
this climate, when the most thoughtful care is absolutely necessary to
keep animals from suffering. Lieutenant Gallagher of the cavalry bought
them, and we are passing through our second experience of seeing others
drive around horses we have petted, and taught to know us apart from all
others. George almost broke my heart the other day. He was standing in
front of Lieutenant Gallagher's quarters, that are near ours, when I
happened to go out on the walk, not knowing the horses were there. He
gave a loud, joyous whinnie, and started to come to me, pulling Pete and
the wagon with him. I ran back to the house, for I could not go to him!
He had been my own horse, petted and fed lumps of sugar every day with
my own hands, and I always drove him in single harness, because his
speed was so much greater than Pete's.
My almost gownless condition has been a cause of great worry to me,
but Pogue has promised to fix up my wardrobe with a rush, and after
the necessary time for that in Cincinnati, I will hurry on to Columbus
Barracks for my promised visit to Doctor and Mrs. Gordon. Then on home!
Faye will go to Cincinnati with me, and from there to the United States
Naval Home, of which his father is governor at present. I will have to
go there, too, before so very long.
We attended a pretty cotillon in Bozeman last evening and remained
overnight at the hotel. Faye led, and was assisted by Mr. Ladd, of
Bozeman. It was quite a large and elaborate affair, and there were
present "the butcher, the baker, and candlestick maker." Nevertheless,
everything was conducted with the greatest propriety. There are five
or six very fine families in the small place--people of culture and
refinement from the East--and their influence in the building up of the
town has been wonderful. The first year we were at Fort Ellis one would
see every now and then a number, usually four numerals, painted in
bright red on the sidewalk. Everyone knew that to have been the work
of vigilantes, and was a message to some gambler or horse thief to get
himself out of town or stand the shotgun or rope jury. The first time I
saw those red figures--I knew what they were for--it seemed as if they
had been made in blood, and step over them I could not. I went out in
the road around them. We have seen none of those things during the past
two years, and for the sake of those who have worked so hard for law and
order, we hope the desperado element has passed on.
FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, May, 1885.
IT is nice to be once more at this dear old post, particularly under
such very pleasant circumstances. The winter East was enjoyable and
refreshing from first to last, but citizens and army people have so
little in common, and this one feels after being with them a while, no
matter how near and dear the relationship may be. Why, one half of them
do not know the uniform, and could not distinguish an officer of the
Army from a policeman! I love army life here in the West, and I love all
the things that it brings to me--the grand mountains, the plains, and
the fine hunting. The buffalo are no longer seen; every one has been
killed off, and back of Square Butte in a rolling valley, hundreds of
skeletons are bleaching even now. The valley is about two miles from the
post.
We are with the commanding officer and his wife, and Hulda is here also.
She was in Helena during the winter and came from there with us. I am
so glad to have her. She is so competent, and will be such a comfort a
little later on, when there will be much entertaining for us to do. We
stopped at Fort Ellis two days to see to the crating of the furniture
and to get all things in readiness to be shipped here, this time by
the cars instead of by wagon, through mud and water. We were guests of
Captain and Mrs. Spencer, and enjoyed the visit so much. Doctor and Mrs.
Lawton gave an informal dinner for us, and that was charming too.
But the grand event of the stop-over was the champagne supper that
Captain Martin gave in our honor--that is, in honor of the new adjutant
of the regiment. He is the very oldest bachelor and one of the oldest
officers in the regiment--a very jolly Irishman. The supper was
old-fashioned, with many good things to eat, and the champagne frappe
was perfect. I do believe that the generous-hearted man had prepared at
least two bottles for each one of us. Every member of the small garrison
was there, and each officer proposed something pleasant in life for
Faye, and often I was included. There was not the least harm done to
anyone, however, and not a touch of headache the next day.
As usual, we are waiting for quarters to avoid turning some one out. But
for a few days this does not matter much, as our household goods are
not here, except the rugs and things we sent out from Philadelphia.
Faye entered upon his new duties at guard mounting this morning, and I
scarcely breathed until the whole thing was over and the guard was on
its way to the guardhouse! It was so silly, I knew, to be afraid that
Faye might make a mistake, for he has mounted the guard hundreds of
times while post adjutant. But here it was different. I knew that from
almost every window that looked out on the parade ground, eyes friendly
and eyes envious were peering to see how the new regimental adjutant
conducted himself, and I knew that there was one pair of eyes green from
envy and pique, and that the least faux-pas by Faye would be sneered at
and made much of by their owner. But Faye made no mistake, of course. I
knew all the time that it was quite impossible for him to do so, as he
is one of the very best tacticians in the regiment--still, it is the
unexpected that so often happens.
The band and the magnificent drum major, watching their new commander
with critical eyes, were quite enough in themselves to disconcert any
man. I never told you what happened to that band once upon a time! It
was before we came to the regiment, and when headquarters were at Fort
Dodge, Kansas. Colonel Mills, at that time a captain, was in command.
It had been customary to send down to the river every winter a detail of
men from each company to cut ice for their use during the coming year.
Colonel Mills ordered the detail down as usual, and also ordered the
band down. It seems that Colonel Fitz-James, who had been colonel of the
regiment for some time, had babied the bandsmen, one and all, until they
had quite forgotten the fact of their being enlisted men.
So over to Colonel Mills went the first sergeant with a protest against
cutting ice, saying that they were musicians and could not be expected
to do such work, that it would chap their lips and ruin their delicate
touch on the instruments. Colonel Mills listened patiently and then
said, "But you like ice during the summer, don't you?" The sergeant
said, "Yes, sir, but they could not do such hard work as the cutting of
ice." Colonel Mills said, "You are musicians, you say?" The unsuspicious
sergeant, thinking he had gained his point, smilingly said, "Yes, sir!"
But there must have been an awful weakness in his knees when Colonel
Mills said, "Very well, since you are musicians and cannot cut ice, you
will go to the river and play for the other men while they cut it
for you!" The weather was freezing cold, and the playing of brass
instruments in the open air over two feet of solid ice, would have been
painful and difficult, so it was soon decided that it would be better to
cut ice, after all, and in a body the band went down with the other men
to the river without further complaint or protest.
It is a splendid band, and has always been regarded as one of the very
best in the Army, but there are a few things that need changing, which
Faye will attend to as quickly as possible, and at the same time bring
criticism down upon his own head. The old adjutant is still in the post,
and--"eyes green" are here!
FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, August, 1885.
MY ride this morning was grand! My new horse is beginning to see that
I am really a friend, and is much less nervous. It is still necessary,
however, for Miller, our striker, to make blinders with his hands back
of Rollo's eyes so he will not see me jump to the saddle, otherwise I
might not get there. I mount in the yard back of the house, where no one
can see me. The gate is opened first, and that the horse always stands
facing, for the instant he feels my weight upon his back there is a
little flinch, then a dash down the yard, a jump over the acequia, then
out through the gate to the plain beyond, where he quiets down and I fix
my stirrup.
There is not a bit of viciousness about this, as the horse is gentle and
most affectionate at all times, but he has been terribly frightened by
a saddle, and it is distressing to see him tremble and his very flesh
quiver when one is put upon his back, no matter how gently. He had been
ridden only three or four times when we bought him, and probably by a
"bronco breaker," who slung on his back a heavy Mexican saddle,
cinched it tight without mercy, then mounted with a slam over of a
leather-trousered leg, let the almost crazy horse go like the wind, and
if he slackened his speed, spurs or "quirt," perhaps both, drove him on
again. I know only too well how the so-called breaking is done, for
I have seen it many times, and the whole performance is cruel and
disgraceful. There are wicked horses, of course, but there are more
wicked men, and many a fine, spirited animal is ruined, made an "outlaw"
that no man can ride, just by the fiendish way in which they are first
ridden. But the more crazy the poor beast is made, the more fun and
glory for the breaker.
Rollo is a light sorrel and a natural pacer; he cannot trot one step,
and for that reason I did not want him, but Faye said that I had better
try him, so he was sent up. The fact of his being an unbroken colt, Faye
seemed to consider a matter of no consequence, but I soon found that it
was of much consequence to me, inasmuch as I was obliged to acquire a
more precise balance in the saddle because of his coltish ways, and at
the same time make myself--also the horse--perfectly acquainted with the
delicate give and take of bit and bridle, for with a pacer the slightest
tightening or slackening at the wrong time will make him break. When
Rollo goes his very fastest, which is about 2:50, I never use a stirrup
and never think of a thing but his mouth! There is so little motion to
his body I could almost fancy that he had no legs at all--that we are
being rushed through the air by some unseen force. It is fine!
Faye has reorganized the band, and the instrumentation is entirely new.
It was sent to him by Sousa, director of the Marine Band, who has been
most kind and interested. The new instruments are here, so are the two
new sets of uniform--one for full dress, the other for concerts and
general wear. Both have white trimmings to correspond with the regiment,
which are so much nicer than the old red facings that made the band look
as if it had been borrowed from the artillery. All this has been the
source of much comment along the officers' quarters and in the barracks
across the parade ground, and has caused several skirmishes between Faye
and the band. It was about talked out, however, when I came in for my
share of criticism!
The post commander and Faye came over from the office one morning and
said it was their wish that I should take entire charge of the music
for services in church, that I could have an orchestra of soft-toned
instruments, and enlisted men to sing, but that all was to be under my
guidance. I must select the music, be present at all practicings, and
give my advice in any way needed. At first I thought it simply a very
unpleasant joke, but when it finally dawned upon me that those two men
were really in earnest, I was positive they must be crazy, and that I
told them. The whole proposition seemed so preposterous, so ridiculous,
so everything! I shall always believe that Bishop Brewer suggested
church music by the soldiers. Faye is adjutant and in command of the
band, so I was really the proper person to take charge of the church
musicians if anybody did, but the undertaking was simply appalling. But
the commanding officer insisted and Faye insisted, and both gave many
reasons for doing so. The enemy was too strong, and I was forced to give
in, the principal reason being, however, that I did not want some one
else to take charge!
In a short time the little choir was organized and some of the very
best musicians in the band were selected for the orchestra. We have
two violins (first and second), one clarinet, violoncello, oboe, and
bassoon, the latter instrument giving the deep organ tones. There have
been three services, and at one Sergeant Graves played an exquisite solo
on the violin, "There is a green hill far away," from the oratorio of
St. Paul. At another, Matijicek played Gounod's "Ave Maria" on the oboe,
and last Sunday he gave us, on the clarinet, "Every valley shall be
exalted." The choir proper consists of three sergeants and one corporal,
and our tenor is his magnificence, the drum major!
Service is held in a long, large hall, at the rear end of which is a
smaller room that can be made a part of the hall by folding back large
doors. We were just inside this small room and the doors were opened
wide. On a long bench sat the four singers, two each side of a very
unhappy woman, and back of the bench in a half circle were the six
musicians. Those musicians depended entirely upon me to indicate to them
when to play and the vocalists when to sing, therefore certain signals
had been arranged so that there would be no mistake or confusion. There
I sat, on a hot summer morning, almost surrounded by expert musicians
who were conscious of my every movement, and then, those men were
soldiers accustomed to military precision, and the fear of making a
mistake and leading them wrong was agonizing. At the farther end of
the hall the Rev. Mr. Clark was standing, reading along in an easy,
self-assured way that was positively irritating. And again, there was
the congregation, each one on the alert, ready to criticise, probably
condemn, the unheard-of innovation! Every man, woman, and child was at
church that morning, too--many from curiosity, I expect--and every time
we sang one half of them turned around and stared at us.
During the reading of the service I could not change my position, turn
my head, or brush the flies that got upon my face, without those six
hands back of me pouncing down for their instruments. It was impossible
to sing the chants, as the string instruments could not hold the tones,
so anthems were used instead--mostly Millard's--and they were very
beautiful. Not one mistake has ever been made by anyone, but Sergeant
Moore has vexed me much. He is our soprano, and has a clear, high-tenor
voice and often sings solos in public, but for some unexplainable reason
he would not sing a note in church unless I sang with him, so I had to
hum along for the man's ear alone. Why he has been so frightened' I do
not know, unless it was the unusual condition of things, which have been
quite enough to scare anyone.
Well, I lived through the three services, and suppose I can live through
more. The men are not compelled to do this church work, although not
one would think of refusing. There is much rehearsing to be done, and
Sergeant Graves has to transpose the hymns and write out the notes for
each instrument, and this requires much work. To show my appreciation of
their obedience to my slightest request, a large cake and dozens of eggs
have been sent to them after each service. It is funny how nice things
to eat often make it easy for a man to do things that otherwise would be
impossible!
FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, July, 1886.
MY trip to Helena was made alone, after all! The evening before I
started Mrs. Todd told me that she could not go, frankly admitting that
she was afraid to go over the lonesome places on the road with only the
driver for a protector. It was important that I should see a dentist,
and Mrs. Averill was depending upon me to bring her friend down from
Helena who was expected from the East, so I decided to go alone. The
quartermaster gave me the privilege of choosing my driver, and I asked
for a civilian, a rather old man who is disliked by everyone because
of his surly, disagreeable manner. Just why I chose him I cannot tell,
except that he is a good driver and I felt that he could be trusted. The
morning we started Faye said to him, "Driver, you must take good care of
Mrs. Rae, for she asked for you to drive on this trip," which must have
had its effect--that, and the nice lunch I had prepared for him--for he
was kind and thoughtful at all times.
It takes two days to go to Helena from here, a ride of forty-five miles
one day and forty the second; and on each long drive there are stretches
of miles and miles over mountains and through canons where one is far
from a ranch or human being, and one naturally thinks of robbers and
other unpleasant things. At such places I rode on top with the driver,
where I could at least see what was going on around us.
Just before we crossed the Bird-Tail divide we came to a wonderful
sight, "a sight worth seeing," the driver said; and more to gratify him
than because I wanted to, we stopped. An enormous corral had been put up
temporarily, and in it were thousands of sheep, so closely packed that
those in the center were constantly jumping over the others, trying to
find a cooler place. In the winter, when the weather is very cold, sheep
will always jump from the outer circle of the band to the center, where
it is warm; they always huddle together in cold weather, and herders
are frequently compelled to remain right with them, nights at a time,
working hard every minute separating them so they will not smother. One
of the men, owner of the sheep, I presume, met us and said he would
show me where to go so I could see everything that was being done, which
proved to be directly back of a man who was shearing sheep. They told
me that he was the very fastest and most expert shearer in the whole
territory. Anyone could see that he was an expert, for three men were
kept busy waiting upon him. At one corner of the corral was a small,
funnel-shaped "drive," the outer opening of which was just large enough
to squeeze a sheep through, and in the drive stood a man, sheep in hand,
ever ready to rush it straight to the hands of the shearer the instant
he was ready for it.
The shearer, who was quite a young man, sat upon a box close to the
drive, and when he received a sheep it was always the same way--between
his knees--and he commenced and finished the shearing of each animal
exactly the same way, every clip of the large shears counting to the
best advantage. They told me that he gained much time by the unvarying
precision that left no ragged strips to be trimmed off. The docility of
those wild sheep was astonishing. Almost while the last clip was
being made the sheep was seized by a second assistant standing at the
shearer's left, who at once threw the poor thing down on its side, where
he quickly painted the brand of that particular ranch, after which it
was given its freedom. It was most laughable to see the change in the
sheep--most of them looking lean and lanky, whereas in less than one
short minute before, their sides had been broad and woolly. A third man
to wait upon the shearer was kept busy at his right carefully gathering
the wool and stuffing it in huge sacks. Every effort was made to keep it
clean, and every tiny bit was saved.