Meantime there had been the mischief to pay at Sandy. Captain Canker,
as we have seen, was irate at the defeat of his little scheme for the
“discipline” of his subordinates. It was some consolation to discover
that Glenham had escaped the toils only at the expense of Truscott,
who, thought Canker, would be far more missed at the ball than the
officer whose going he had originally interdicted. Then when the
telegraphic summons reached him which virtually made it his duty to
send Truscott up to Fort Whipple, he was chagrined and disgusted beyond
expression. There was an implied censure in the words “unless services
are urgently needed” which indicated to him that the general thought
his detention of either Glenham or Truscott a piece of arbitrariness
(“not so much that as contrariness,” explained Colonel Pelham
afterwards) and unwarranted by the circumstances as known to him the
night before the start. But Canker, like many a better man, was judged
subsequently by the light of events that he could not then have known,
and, unlike many a better man, received support and sympathy in place
of censure. Now that two of the colonel’s favorites had escaped him,
Canker bethought him of a third victim, the regimental quartermaster.
This officer, a gentleman who had grown old in service, was already
gray and rheumatic, who habitually walked with a cane when he walked
at all, had originally been appointed to his staff position because,
said the then commanding officer, “He isn’t good for anything else.” He
had, nevertheless, proved a very efficient and valuable quartermaster,
and had for some years performed the varied and intricate functions
of that office without having added much to his own comfort, but a
great deal towards the comfort of others. There is never a time on
the frontier when the dames of the garrison, from the lady of the
commanding officer down to the widow of the late Private Moriarty (who
still hangs on to her husband’s old company for sustenance), are not
besieging the post quartermaster with some plea or other,—a partition
to be put up here, a chimney repaired, glass put in, a new coat of
paint in the parlor, a storm-door like the colonel’s, a new stove like
the one you gave Mrs. Major, or a wash-biler an’ findher like Mrs.
Mulligan’s. They are always pestering him for something. The great
depot of Jeffersonville does not contain the volume of stores that
could be asked for by the women of a four-company post in one winter;
there is never enough of any one item to go round, and always more
applicants than there are coal-scuttles; somebody has to be refused,
and frequently fifteen or twenty somebodies, and then nothing under
heaven can save that quartermaster’s reputation. The patience of Job
(without his boils), the meekness of Moses, and the resources of
Rothschild might help that functionary in his desperately hopeless task
of satisfying a whole garrison, but they couldn’t do it long. The more
you give some women the more they demand, and the annual appropriation
for the purchase of army stores and supplies could readily be
distributed among the laundresses of any one regiment (in the days when
we had those blessings) without satisfying their cravings for more. It
isn’t always that they really need the article demanded, they simply
want something that some other woman hasn’t, so that she may want and
cannot get it, and the rule is general, being by no means confined to
the sturdy wives of the rank and file, but applicable to the ladies
whose garments they weekly washed and mutilated at New York prices. God
help the nervous, sensitive, or irritable man who has to take these
duties on his shoulders; not one in a hundred could long maintain a
mental balance, let alone the financial ditto.
But Bucketts was no such martyr. He had been a colonel of volunteers,
was shot through the leg in the Wilderness, and hobbled into the
veteran reserves, thence into the infantry of the line as a second
lieutenant, and had succeeded only in getting a modest bar on his
shoulders when the consolidation of ’71 took place and wellnigh
stranded him. Thrown upon the unassigned list, he would have had
small chance of retention but for the fact that the “Benzine Board”
speedily made more vacancies in the cavalry than in the rest of the
arms of service combined, and very properly, said the slow going
infantry and artillerymen, we should profit by the fastness of you
horsemen which has rendered promotion a possibility. And so several
score of semi-invalided and semi-mustered-out footmen, dozens of
whom had never straddled a horse in their lives (and to this day are
objects of wonderment to their men when they “get into saddle”), became
full-fledged cavalry officers. Bucketts accepted the situation like a
man, came out and joined the —th in Nebraska when the Union Pacific was
being built, his baggage consisting of one trunk and three baskets of
champagne. “Gentlemen,” said he, “I understand that a cavalry officer
who is thrown has to set up the wine for the crowd. The law of the land
has made me a cavalryman, but all the Congressmen from the Capitol to
John Chamberlin’s couldn’t make me a horseman. There’s my credentials:
pitch in, and let up on me hereafter!” Bucketts was a popular man from
that day. Whereas Canker, who entered the —th at the same time and
under precisely similar circumstances, barring the wound, seemed to
imagine that his new commission as captain of cavalry carried with it
all that the name implied, and that he became an authority on horses
and horsemanship without further qualification. Profound discretion
in the selection of his “mounts” had enabled him thus far to escape
the ignominy of a “throw,” but he never rode or could ride a horse
twenty-five miles without laying that horse up chafed and sore for
days afterward, yet he was incessantly punishing his men for faulty
horsemanship.
Bucketts had not done a particle of guard duty for three or four years.
His office duties were constant, and when not at his desk he would
bestride a fat, easygoing little saddle-mule and amble about the post
with a green-lined sun-umbrella hoisted over his head and blue-glass
shades for his eyes, and thus keep track of the improvements and
the working-parties; he gave his whole attention to his legitimate
work, and was rarely called upon for any other; but this time Canker
concluded, in his own language, to “give Bucketts a whirl.”
“My compliments to the quartermaster,” said he to the orderly some
hours after Truscott left the poet, “and say I want to see him.”
There had been a time when Bucketts and he were on intimate terms,
had wellnigh concluded an alliance defensive and offensive on their
entrance into the —th, because they thought that their new comrades
would be apt to slight or snob them in some way; but Bucketts had
speedily won his way into the affections and respect of the officers
of the regiment, a thing which Canker never succeeded in doing, and
he hated Bucketts and called him a “bootlick” behind his back because
of his better fortune. They had drifted apart, and were only on terms
of ordinary garrison courtesy, but Canker never lost an opportunity
of endeavoring to worry Bucketts in some way, and generally got the
worst of it, since Bucketts, without trying at all, could stir up
a company commander a dozen times a day. However, Canker had the
whip-hand now and meant to use it. It was just the time of day when
the quartermaster, having completed the rounds of the post, was wont
to send his mule to the corral, get out of his collar and cuffs into
an easy old alpaca duster, and with a palm-leaf fan in one hand, and,
not unfrequently, a comforting beverage of his own composition in the
other, to spread himself upon a wicker settee in the cool retreat of
his own parlor and doze away an hour in a noonday siesta. “I’ll spoil
his nap anyhow, d—n him!” gritted Canker between his teeth, “and I’ll
partly pay off old Catnip into the bargain.”
Poor old Bucketts rose with a sigh as the orderly delivered his
message, and having arrayed himself in his cool white blouse, he took
his cane and umbrella and stumped slowly and painfully along officers’
row in the blazing heat until he came to Canker’s quarters, knocked and
entered. “Mr. Bucketts,” said the temporary commander (Bucketts was a
brevet major, and generally so addressed; but Canker had not a brevet,
even in the volunteer service, and ignored everybody else’s when he
could), “you will have to do officer-of-the-day duty. The colonel has
seen fit to deprive me of the services of the adjutant this morning,
and now I have nobody. You will have to act as adjutant, therefore,
attend stables with Company A, run your own work, and go on as officer
of the day.”
Bucketts merely bowed acquiescence, and looked serenely undisturbed.
Knowing his man, the communication was by no means unexpected.
Indeed, before leaving, Truscott had asked him to attend to these
very matters, and had sent a note to Canker informing him that the
quartermaster would do so. Canker had an undoubted right to send for
the latter and satisfy himself of the understanding, but if it had put
the staff-officer to no inconvenience there would have been no solace
to his wounded self-importance. Bucketts’ unruffled urbanity only
served to irritate him the more. “Anything further, sir?” asked the
quartermaster after a pause, in which Canker had been pettishly tossing
about some papers on his desk. “Yes, sir. Mr. Bucketts, when you come
into the presence of your commanding officer you should wear your
uniform: it is not respectful to appear as you are dressed.”
“This is exactly what I wear every day in Colonel Pelham’s presence,
captain; he knows that I have to be out much of the day in the hot
sun, and it has grown to be a custom here,” replied Bucketts, coloring
slightly, but speaking calmly notwithstanding his sense of annoyance.
“That don’t excuse it, sir,” said Canker; “Colonel Pelham has ideas of
discipline which differ materially from mine. When I am in command it
will not be permitted. That will do, sir.” And Bucketts, mad enough
to hammer his superior’s features into pulp, which he could readily
enough have done, stomped sadly off to his lonely quarters. So kindly
and courteous himself, so ready to oblige, so considerate in all his
relations with others, he nevertheless was keenly alive to any slight
or injustice; and that a man who was in every way his mental inferior
should take this method of despitefully entreating him was a hard thing
to bear. But then that is one of the blissful features of army life.
Bucketts’ misery was not one to lack for company. Too indignant to seek
consolation in his customary nap, he was about to return to his office,
when the doorway was darkened by the entrance of the officer of the
day, one of the subalterns who had not been included in the Prescott
party. He looked hot and ill tempered.
“Bucketts, lend me your mule; my horse is out at herd with the rest of
them, and that d—d man, Canker, has sent me orders to go out at once
and visit the herd guard. What’s got into him, anyhow?”
“Take the mule if you like, but don’t ask conundrums. He sent for me
just now and rode over me rough-shod for not being in uniform. I’m mad
enough to take a drink. Have one?”
The junior assented, and, pending the arrival of the quartermaster’s
mule, the two officers discussed their toddy and the vagaries of their
temporary post commander. Ten minutes spent in this occupation had
partially blunted the edges of their grievances, and they were prepared
to look with more equanimity upon matters in general, when the orderly
trumpeter suddenly darted into the room.
“Commanding officer’s compliments, sirs. Wants to see you both,” and
was off like a shot.
“Now what new devilment is he devising?” said Bucketts, ruefully,
pulling off his “working-dress” and preparing to get into the hot
uniform he had to wear. Before he could complete the change, however,
there was a quick, sharp step along the piazza, and Canker himself
appeared.
“Never mind your blouse now, Bucketts; it’s business this time. Here,
Mr. Carroll, get your herds in quick as a flash; take a dozen men with
you, armed; I’ll look out for your guard and prisoners; the Tontos have
jumped the reservation!”
What change in tone and manner! Ten minutes ago, peevish, querulous,
almost complaining, and entirely unjust, Captain Canker had disgusted
his subordinates. Now, quick, animated, a soldierly ring in every word,
his whole bearing commanded their respect. Many a time before had his
comrades noted this odd trait in his character. The presence of danger,
the chance of a fight, the excitement of active service wrought an
instant change in the very nature of the man—and in the thoughts of
his officers. A moment before they were ready to hammer him, now eager
to support and obey.
Carroll picked up his sabre, and started across the parade on the run.
Canker and Bucketts followed as rapidly as the latter could stump his
way while listening to his senior’s recital of the news. Two ranchmen
living up the valley had just come in to say that the Indians had
swooped down and driven off their horses and cattle soon after noon.
Then, before they had half told their story, a teamster came tearing
in to the post from the Prescott road, his horse wounded, saying that
the foot-hills were swarming with Apaches, and begging for ammunition.
At the guard-house Canker ordered the sergeant to call in at once all
the working-parties of the Indian prisoners, and himself inspected the
locks and fastenings of the room in which some particularly hard cases
were confined. Meantime, Carroll, with a dozen or more of the men, had
hastened off to the westward, among the hills and ravines, to search
for and bring in the herds, while throughout the barracks the men were
quickly and without confusion buckling on their “thimble-belts” and
revolvers, and gathering, carbine in hand, along the company parades.
The civilians who had come in with the news were surrounded by an
eager group, and were enlarging upon their experiences of the morning,
when suddenly a shot was heard down under the bluff towards the post
garden, where many of the Indian prisoners were kept at work during the
day. It was quickly followed by another, then half a dozen sputtering
shots, and some men over by the hospital, which commanded a view of
the low ground, were seen excitedly running towards the quarters,
and could be heard shouting that the prisoners were breaking away.
Canker seized a carbine. “Take command of ‘A’ company, Bucketts, and
stay here. Come on, you other men;” and away he went at a rush, with
half the command at his heels. Sure enough, the prisoners were loose.
Running like deer, half a dozen of the lithe, swarthy fellows could
be seen a thousand yards away, “streaking it” over the sandy bottom
towards the foot-hills, others dashing towards the river, while here
and there through the sage-brush and cactus, puffs of blue smoke shot
out from carbine-muzzles indicated the slower pursuit of the astonished
guard. Canker swore with rage. There would have been no earthly chance
of recovering his charges, when suddenly, in a great cloud of dust and
with the thunder of half a thousand hoofs, the herds of two of the
companies came sweeping at full speed around a low hill towards the
west, and, skilfully guided by the troopers in charge, bore down direct
upon the corrals. “Mount! quick as you can, all of you!” he shouted,
and signalling to the corporal in the lead of the herds, he threw
himself upon his horse, quick as the other could vacate the saddle
in his favor, and, carbine in hand, and calling again to his men to
follow, he tore off towards the chase.
Bold horsemen there were in the old days at Sandy. There were men
that day who threw themselves without either saddle or bridle upon
their horses’ backs, and trusted to voice, leg, and instinct to guide
them. Others, less confident, bridled their chargers, but none stopped
to saddle. In five minutes a hundred horsemen were scattered over
the valley in pursuit of the escaping Indiana. Man after man they
were run down, seized, and dragged back, most of them taking it as
good-naturedly as though the escapade had been a mere school-boy lark
devised for the entertainment of the garrison. Three or four were
savage and sullen; only two made any resistance. Poor devils! they had
nothing to fight with, and only one had been shot by the guard. Canker
at first had furiously ordered his men to fire everywhere, but Mr.
Carroll and some of the sergeants had quietly cautioned those nearest
them to hold their shots or aim high. It was an easy matter to overhaul
and recapture so helpless a foe, and shooting them down in cold blood
was something the —th did not believe in. Canker himself thought
better of his order as soon as he saw that his men were masters of
the situation, and revoked it, so that the firing ceased entirely. In
an hour all but five men were returned to the charge of the guard now
strongly reinforced, and sending his prisoners back to the garrison,
the commanding officer resumed the search for those still missing.
Up the stream-bed, through the willows, east, west, and north over
the arid valley, the troopers scoured in knots of two or three,
Canker riding to and fro, encouraging or swearing as occurred to
him most expedient; and so another hour passed away. The men were
widely scattered by this time, and it must have been towards five in
the evening when there came from a gorge in the foot-hills, fully
eight miles above the post, a sudden rattle of fire-arms. Instead
of slackening after the first few seconds it increased, and Canker,
pausing but an instant to listen, turned an attentive ear to the
veteran first sergeant, who rode on his left at the moment.
“That’s no overhauling prisoners, captain; that’s a fight,” said he.
“Come on, then!” shouted Canker, and putting spurs to their horses, and
signalling to all the men in sight, they dashed off in the direction of
the firing.
It was a fight, sure enough. Far over among the foothills to the west,
Lieutenant Carroll, with three or four men, had found traces of some
of the fugitives. Following slowly as they could find further signs,
they had at last come in sight of the chase, and way in a winding gorge
or cañon had pushed in pursuit, when, without the faintest warning, a
volley of rifles and arrows brought them to a sudden halt, and one of
the men dropped from his saddle. To rein about and shout to his men
to dismount and get under cover among the rocks was the work of an
instant, and turning loose their horses, which would only have hampered
them there, they scrambled half-way up the hill-side among a lot of
loose boulders, and rapidly opened fire on the ambuscading Apaches. In
three minutes they were joined by others of the command, and in five,
Carroll felt justified in ordering an immediate rush upon the position
of the enemy, some of the mounted troopers endeavoring to get around on
their flank and rear. No especial order was observed. Every man took
a hitch in his belt and a firmer grip on his carbine, and somebody
said, “Now then, fellers!” the generic title by which the regular
cavalryman invariably addresses or speaks of his comrades, and with
that the fifteen or twenty blue-jackets had “bulged ahead,” as Carroll
reported, and Canker, galloping in on his staggering charger, found his
command skipping up the rocks like young rams, and the Apaches rapidly
disappearing among the thickets of pine, scrub-oak, and juniper with
which the mountain-side was covered. Horses were there of no avail,
and the agility of the sinewy Indians far more of a power than our
men could contend with. Pursuit was useless, and before dusk Canker
had his mounted men hunting for the loose horses, while his courier
galloped in to the post to summon the surgeon and the ambulance. Four
of our men were struck and two seriously wounded, and, to his rage
and mortification, Canker could not show a dead warrior to offset his
losses.
It was in a very unpleasant frame of mind that he rode back to the
garrison that evening. Five of his prisoners had escaped, four of his
men were crippled, several horses gone. A general outbreak of the
Apaches had evidently taken place. He had practically been confronted
by them most of the afternoon. Their movements and the attempted
escapade of the prisoners were doubtless concerted. So far they had
very much the best of it, and what _could_ he report to department
headquarters?
At the north gate the quartermaster, with a grave and anxious face, was
waiting for him.
“Captain Canker, Truscott has not reached Prescott, and Finnegan isn’t
in.”
Canker turned white as a sheet, and with a stifled groan covered his
face with his hand. “Come to the telegraph-office,” was all he said,
but that was an anxious night at Sandy.