Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888 / Roe, Frances Marie Antoinette Mack

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Title: Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888

Author: Frances M.A. Roe

Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6823]
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[This file was first posted on January 28, 2003]
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ARMY LETTERS FROM AN OFFICER'S WIFE

FRANCES M. A. ROE.

PREFACE

PERHAPS it is not necessary to say that the events mentioned in the
letters are not imaginary--perhaps the letters themselves tell that!
They are truthful accounts of experiences that came into my own life
with the Army in the far West, whether they be about Indians,
desperadoes, or hunting--not one little thing has been stolen. They
are of a life that has passed--as has passed the buffalo and the
antelope--yes, and the log and adobe quarters for the Army. All
flowery descriptions have been omitted, as it seemed that a simple,
concise narration of events as they actually occurred, was more in
keeping with the life, and that which came into it.
FRANCES M. A. ROE.

ARMY LETTERS FROM AN OFFICER'S WIFE

KIT CARSON, COLORADO TERRITORY,
October, 1871.

IT is late, so this can be only a note--to tell you that we arrived
here safely, and will take the stage for Fort Lyon to-morrow morning
at six o'clock. I am thankful enough that our stay is short at this
terrible place, where one feels there is danger of being murdered any
minute. Not one woman have I seen here, but there are men--any number
of dreadful-looking men--each one armed with big pistols, and leather
belts full of cartridges. But the houses we saw as we came from the
station were worse even than the men. They looked, in the moonlight,
like huge cakes of clay, where spooks and creepy things might be
found. The hotel is much like the houses, and appears to have been
made of dirt, and a few drygoods boxes. Even the low roof is of dirt.
The whole place is horrible, and dismal beyond description, and just
why anyone lives here I cannot understand.

I am all upset! Faye has just been in to say that only one of my
trunks can be taken on the stage with us, and of course I had to
select one that has all sorts of things in it, and consequently leave
my pretty dresses here, to be sent for--all but the Japanese silk
which happens to be in that trunk. But imagine my mortification in
having to go with Faye to his regiment, with only two dresses. And
then, to make my shortcomings the more vexatious, Faye will be simply
fine all the time, in his brand new uniform!

Perhaps I can send a long letter soon--if I live to reach that army
post that still seems so far away.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY,
October, 1871.

AFTER months of anticipation and days of weary travel we have at last
got to our army home! As you know, Fort Lyon is fifty miles from Kit
Carson, and we came all that distance in a funny looking stage coach
called a "jerkey," and a good name for it, too, for at times it
seesawed back and forth and then sideways, in an awful breakneck way.
The day was glorious, and the atmosphere so clear, we could see miles
and miles in every direction. But there was not one object to be seen
on the vast rolling plains--not a tree nor a house, except the
wretched ranch and stockade where we got fresh horses and a perfectly
uneatable dinner.

It was dark when we reached the post, so of course we could see
nothing that night. General and Mrs. Phillips gave us a most cordial
welcome--just as though they had known us always. Dinner was served
soon after we arrived, and the cheerful dining room, and the table
with its dainty china and bright silver, was such a surprise--so much
nicer than anything we had expected to find here, and all so different
from the terrible places we had seen since reaching the plains. It was
apparent at once that this was not a place for spooks! General
Phillips is not a real general--only so by brevet, for gallant service
during the war. I was so disappointed when I was told this, but Faye
says that he is very much afraid that I will have cause, sooner or
later, to think that the grade of captain is quite high enough. He
thinks this way because, having graduated at West Point this year, he
is only a second lieutenant just now, and General Phillips is his
captain and company commander.

It seems that in the Army, lieutenants are called "Mister" always, but
all other officers must be addressed by their rank. At least that is
what they tell me. But in Faye's company, the captain is called
general, and the first lieutenant is called major, and as this is most
confusing, I get things mixed sometimes. Most girls would. A soldier
in uniform waited upon us at dinner, and that seemed so funny. I
wanted to watch him all the time, which distracted me, I suppose, for
once I called General Phillips "Mister!" It so happened, too, that
just that instant there was not a sound in the room, so everyone heard
the blunder. General Phillips straightened back in his chair, and his
little son gave a smothered giggle--for which he should have been sent
to bed at once. But that was not all! That soldier, who had been so
dignified and stiff, put his hand over his mouth and fairly rushed
from the room so he could laugh outright. And how I longed to run some
place, too--but not to laugh, oh, no!

These soldiers are not nearly as nice as one would suppose them to be,
when one sees them dressed up in their blue uniforms with bright brass
buttons. And they can make mistakes, too, for yesterday, when I asked
that same man a question, he answered, "Yes, sorr!" Then I smiled, of
course, but he did not seem to have enough sense to see why. When I
told Faye about it, he looked vexed and said I must never laugh at an
enlisted man--that it was not dignified in the wife of an officer to
do so. And then I told him that an officer should teach an enlisted
man not to snicker at his wife, and not to call her "Sorr," which was
disrespectful. I wanted to say more, but Faye suddenly left the room.

The post is not at all as you and I had imagined it to be. There is no
high wall around it as there is at Fort Trumbull. It reminds one of a
prim little village built around a square, in the center of which is a
high flagstaff and a big cannon. The buildings are very low and broad
and are made of adobe--a kind of clay and mud mixed together--and the
walls are very thick. At every window are heavy wooden shutters, that
can be closed during severe sand and wind storms. A little ditch--they
call it acequia--runs all around the post, and brings water to the
trees and lawns, but water for use in the houses is brought up in
wagons from the Arkansas River, and is kept in barrels.

Yesterday morning--our first here--we were awakened by the sounds of
fife and drum that became louder and louder, until finally I thought
the whole Army must be marching to the house. I stumbled over
everything in the room in my haste to get to one of the little dormer
windows, but there was nothing to be seen, as it was still quite dark.
The drumming became less loud, and then ceased altogether, when a big
gun was fired that must have wasted any amount of powder, for it shook
the house and made all the windows rattle. Then three or four bugles
played a little air, which it was impossible to hear because of the
horrible howling and crying of dogs--such howls of misery you never
heard--they made me shiver. This all suddenly ceased, and immediately
there were lights flashing some distance away, and dozens of men
seemed to be talking all at the same time, some of them shouting,
"Here!" "Here!" I began to think that perhaps Indians had come upon
us, and called to Faye, who informed me in a sleepy voice that it was
only reveille roll-call, and that each man was answering to his name.
There was the same performance this morning, and at breakfast I asked
General Phillips why soldiers required such a beating of drums, and
deafening racket generally, to awaken them in the morning. But he did
not tell me--said it was an old army custom to have the drums beaten
along the officers' walk at reveille.

Yesterday morning, directly after guard-mounting, Faye put on his
full-dress uniform--epaulets, beautiful scarlet sash, and sword--and
went over to the office of the commanding officer to report
officially. The officer in command of the post is lieutenant colonel
of the regiment, but he, also, is a general by brevet, and one can see
by his very walk that he expects this to be remembered always. So it
is apparent to me that the safest thing to do is to call everyone
general--there seem to be so many here. If I make a mistake, it will
be on the right side, at least.

Much of the furniture in this house was made by soldier carpenters
here at the post, and is not only very nice, but cost General Phillips
almost nothing, and, as we have to buy everything, I said at dinner
last evening that we must have some precisely like it, supposing, of
course, that General Phillips would feel highly gratified because his
taste was admired. But instead of the smile and gracious acquiescence
I had expected, there was another straightening back in the chair, and
a silence that was ominous and chilling. Finally, he recovered
sufficient breath to tell me that at present, there were no good
carpenters in the company. Later on, however, I learned that only
captains and officers of higher rank can have such things. The
captains seem to have the best of everything, and the lieutenants are
expected to get along with smaller houses, much less pay, and much
less everything else, and at the same time perform all of the
disagreeable duties.

Faye is wonderfully amiable about it, and assures me that when he gets
to be a captain I will see that it is just and fair. But I happen to
remember that he told me not long ago that he might not get his
captaincy for twenty years. Just think of it--a whole long
lifetime--and always a Mister, too--and perhaps by that time it will
be "just and fair" for the lieutenants to have everything!

We saw our house yesterday--quarters I must learn to say--and it is
ever so much nicer than we had expected it to be. All of the officers'
quarters are new, and this set has never been occupied. It has a hall
with a pretty stairway, three rooms and a large shed downstairs, and
two rooms and a very large hall closet on the second floor. A soldier
is cleaning the windows and floors, and making things tidy generally.
Many of the men like to cook, and do things for officers of their
company, thereby adding to their pay, and these men are called
strikers.

There are four companies here--three of infantry and one troop of
cavalry. You must always remember that Faye is in the infantry. With
the cavalry he has a classmate, and a friend, also, which will make it
pleasant for both of us. In my letters to you I will disregard army
etiquette, and call the lieutenants by their rank, otherwise you would
not know of whom I was writing--an officer or civilian. Lieutenant
Baldwin has been on the frontier many years, and is an experienced
hunter of buffalo and antelope. He says that I must commence riding
horseback at once, and has generously offered me the use of one of his
horses. Mrs. Phillips insists upon my using her saddle until I can get
one from the East, so I can ride as soon as our trunks come. And I am
to learn to shoot pistols and guns, and do all sorts of things.

We are to remain with General and Mrs. Phillips several days, while
our own house is being made habitable, and in the meantime our trunks
and boxes will come, also the colored cook. I have not missed my
dresses very much--there has been so much else to think about. There
is a little store just outside the post that is named "Post Trader's,"
where many useful things are kept, and we have just been there to
purchase some really nice furniture that an officer left to be sold
when he was retired last spring. We got only enough to make ourselves
comfortable during the winter, for it seems to be the general belief
here that these companies of infantry will be ordered to Camp Supply,
Indian Territory, in the spring. It must be a most dreadful
place--with old log houses built in the hot sand hills, and surrounded
by almost every tribe of hostile Indians.

It may not be possible for me to write again for several days, as I
will be very busy getting settled in the house. I must get things
arranged just as soon as I can, so I will be able to go out on
horseback with Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY,
October, 1871.

WHEN a very small girl, I was told many wonderful tales about a grand
Indian chief called Red Jacket, by my great-grandmother, who, you will
remember, saw him a number of times when she, also, was a small girl.
And since then--almost all my life--I have wanted to see with my very
own eyes an Indian--a real noble red man--dressed in beautiful skins
embroidered with beads, and on his head long, waving feathers.

Well, I have seen an Indian--a number of Indians--but they were not
Red Jackets, neither were they noble red men. They were simply, and
only, painted, dirty, and nauseous-smelling savages! Mrs. Phillips
says that Indians are all alike--that when you have seen one you have
seen all. And she must know, for she has lived on the frontier a long
time, and has seen many Indians of many tribes.

We went to Las Animas yesterday, Mrs. Phillips, Mrs. Cole, and I, to
do a little shopping. There are several small stores in the
half-Mexican village, where curious little things from Mexico can
often be found, if one does not mind poking about underneath the trash
and dirt that is everywhere. While we were in the largest of these
shops, ten or twelve Indians dashed up to the door on their ponies,
and four of them, slipping down, came in the store and passed on
quickly to the counter farthest back, where the ammunition is kept. As
they came toward us in their imperious way, never once looking to the
right or to the left, they seemed like giants, and to increase in size
and numbers with every step.

Their coming was so sudden we did not have a chance to get out of
their way, and it so happened that Mrs. Phillips and I were in their
line of march, and when the one in the lead got to us, we were pushed
aside with such impatient force that we both fell over on the counter.
The others passed on just the same, however, and if we had fallen to
the floor, I presume they would have stepped over us, and otherwise
been oblivious to our existence. This was my introduction to an
Indian--the noble red man!

As soon as they got to the counter they demanded powder, balls, and
percussion caps, and as these things were given them, they were
stuffed down their muzzle-loading rifles, and what could not be rammed
down the barrels was put in greasy skin bags and hidden under their
blankets. I saw one test the sharp edge of a long, wicked-looking
knife, and then it, also, disappeared under his blanket. All this time
the other Indians were on their ponies in front, watching every move
that was being made around them.

There was only the one small door to the little adobe shop, and into
this an Indian had ridden his piebald pony; its forefeet were up a
step on the sill and its head and shoulders were in the room, which
made it quite impossible for us three frightened women to run out in
the street. So we got back of a counter, and, as Mrs. Phillips
expressed it, "midway between the devil and the deep sea." There
certainly could be no mistake about the "devil" side of it!

It was an awful situation to be in, and one to terrify anybody. We
were actually prisoners--penned in with all those savages, who were
evidently in an ugly mood, with quantities of ammunition within their
reach, and only two white men to protect us. Even the few small
windows had iron bars across. They could have killed every one of us,
and ridden far away before anyone in the sleepy town found it out.

Well, when those inside had been given, or had helped themselves to,
whatever they wanted, out they all marched again, quickly and
silently, just as they had come in. They instantly mounted their
ponies, and all rode down the street and out of sight at race speed,
some leaning so far over on their little beasts that one could hardly
see the Indian at all. The pony that was ridden into the store door
was without a bridle, and was guided by a long strip of buffalo skin
which was fastened around his lower jaw by a slipknot. It is amazing
to see how tractable the Indians can make their ponies with only that
one rein.

The storekeeper told us that those Indians were Utes, and were greatly
excited because they had just heard there was a small party of
Cheyennes down the river two or three miles. The Utes and Cheyennes
are bitter enemies. He said that the Utes were very cross--ready for
the blood of Indian or white man--therefore he had permitted them to
do about as they pleased while in the store, particularly as we were
there, and he saw that we were frightened. That young man did not know
that his own swarthy face was a greenish white all the time those
Indians were in the store! Not one penny did they pay for the things
they carried off. Only two years ago the entire Ute nation was on the
warpath, killing every white person they came across, and one must
have much faith in Indians to believe that their "change of heart"
has been so complete that these Utes have learned to love the white
man in so short a time.

No! There was hatred in their eyes as they approached us in that
store, and there was restrained murder in the hand that pushed Mrs.
Phillips and me over. They were all hideous--with streaks of red or
green paint on their faces that made them look like fiends. Their hair
was roped with strips of bright-colored stuff, and hung down on each
side of their shoulders in front, and on the crown of each black head
was a small, tightly plaited lock, ornamented at the top with a
feather, a piece of tin, or something fantastic. These were their
scalp locks. They wore blankets over dirty old shirts, and of course
had on long, trouserlike leggings of skin and moccasins. They were not
tall, but rather short and stocky. The odor of those skins, and of the
Indians themselves, in that stuffy little shop, I expect to smell the
rest of my life!

We heard this morning that those very savages rode out on the plains
in a roundabout way, so as to get in advance of the Cheyennes, and
then had hidden themselves on the top of a bluff overlooking the trail
they knew the Cheyennes to be following, and had fired upon them as
they passed below, killing two and wounding a number of others. You
can see how treacherous these Indians are, and how very far from noble
is their method of warfare! They are so disappointing, too--so wholly
unlike Cooper's red men.

We were glad enough to get in the ambulance and start on our way to
the post, but alas! our troubles were not over. The mules must have
felt the excitement in the air, for as soon as their heads were turned
toward home they proceeded to run away with us. We had the four little
mules that are the special pets of the quartermaster, and are known
throughout the garrison as the "shaved-tails," because the hair on
their tails is kept closely cut down to the very tips, where it is
left in a square brush of three or four inches. They are perfectly
matched--coal-black all over, except their little noses, and are quite
small. They are full of mischief, and full of wisdom, too, even for
government mules, and when one says, "Let's take a sprint," the others
always agree--about that there is never the slightest hesitation.

Therefore, when we first heard the scraping of the brake, and saw that
the driver was pulling and sawing at the tough mouths with all his
strength, no one was surprised, but we said that we wished they had
waited until after we had crossed the Arkansas River. But we got over
the narrow bridge without meeting more than one man, who climbed over
the railing and seemed less anxious to meet us than we were to meet
him. As soon as we got on the road again, those mules, with
preliminary kicks and shakes of their big heads, began to demonstrate
how fast they could go. We had the best driver at the post, and the
road was good and without sharp turns, but the ambulance was high and
swayed, and the pace was too fast for comfort.

The little mules ran and ran, and we held ourselves on our seats the
best we could, expecting to be tipped over any minute. When we reached
the post they made a wonderful turn and took us safely to the
government corral, where they stopped, just when they got ready. One
leader looked around at us and commenced to bray, but the driver was
in no mood for such insolence, and jerked the poor thing almost down.

Three tired, disheveled women walked from the corral to their homes;
and very glad one of them was to get home, too! Hereafter I shall
confine myself to horseback riding--for, even if John is frisky at
times, I prefer to take my chances with the one horse, to four little
long-eared government mules! But I have learned to ride very well, and
have a secure seat now. My teachers, Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin, have
been most exacting, but that I wanted. Of course I ride the army way,
tight in the saddle, which is more difficult to learn. Any attempt to
"rise" when on a trot is ridiculed at once here, and it does look
absurd after seeing the splendid and graceful riding of the officers.
I am learning to jump the cavalry hurdles and ditches, too. I must
confess, however, that taking a ditch the first time was more exciting
than enjoyable. John seemed to like it better than I did.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY,
November, 1871.

IN many of my letters I have written about learning to ride and to
shoot, and have told you, also, of having followed the greyhounds
after coyotes and rabbits with Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin. These
hunts exact the very best of riding and a fast horse, for coyotes are
very swift, and so are jack-rabbits, too, and one look at a greyhound
will tell anyone that he can run--and about twice as fast as the
big-eared foxhounds in the East. But I started to write you about
something quite different from all this--to tell you of a really grand
hunt I have been on--a splendid chase after buffalo!

A week or so ago it was decided that a party of enlisted men should be
sent out to get buffalo meat for Thanksgiving dinner for
everybody--officers and enlisted men--and that Lieutenant Baldwin, who
is an experienced hunter, should command the detail. You can imagine
how proud and delighted I was when asked to go with them. Lieutenant
Baldwin saying that the hunt would be worth seeing, and well repay one
for the fatigue of the hard ride.

So, one morning after an early breakfast, the horses were led up from
the stables, each one having on a strong halter, and a coiled picket
rope with an iron pin fastened to the saddle. These were carried so
that if it should be found necessary to secure the horses on the
plains, they could be picketed out. The bachelors' set of quarters is
next to ours, so we all got ready together, and I must say that the
deliberate way in which each girth was examined, bridles fixed, rifles
fastened to saddles, and other things done, was most exasperating. But
we finally started, about seven o'clock, Lieutenant Baldwin and I
taking the lead, and Faye and Lieutenant Alden following.

The day was very cold, with a strong wind blowing, so I wore one of
Faye's citizen caps, with tabs tied down over my ears, and a large
silk handkerchief around my neck, all of which did not improve my
looks in the least, but it was quite in keeping with the dressing of
the officers, who had on buckskin shirts, with handkerchiefs,
leggings, and moccasins. Two large army wagons followed us, each drawn
by four mules, and carrying several enlisted men. Mounted orderlies
led extra horses that officers and men were to ride when they struck
the herd.

Well, we rode twelve miles without seeing one living thing, and then
we came to a little adobe ranch where we dismounted to rest a while.
By this time our feet and hands were almost frozen, and Faye suggested
that I should remain at the ranch until they returned; but that I
refused to do--to give up the hunt was not to be thought of,
particularly as a ranchman had just told us that a small herd of
buffalo had been seen that very morning only two miles farther on. So,
when the horses were a little rested, we started, and, after riding a
mile or more, we came to a small ravine, where we found one poor
buffalo, too old and emaciated to keep up with his companions, and
who, therefore, had been abandoned by them, to die alone. He had eaten
the grass as far as he could reach, and had turned around and around
until the ground looked as though it had been spaded.

He got up on his old legs as we approached him, and tried to show
fight by dropping his head and throwing his horns to the front, but a
child could have pushed him over. One of the officers tried to
persuade me to shoot him, saying it would be a humane act, and at the
same time give me the prestige of having killed a buffalo! But the
very thought of pointing a pistol at anything so weak and utterly
helpless was revolting in the extreme. He was such an object of pity,
too, left there all alone to die of starvation, when perhaps at one
time he may have been leader of his herd. He was very tall, had a fine
head, with an uncommonly long beard, and showed every indication of
having been a grand specimen of his kind.

We left him undisturbed, but only a few minutes later we heard the
sharp report of a rifle, and at once suspected, what we learned to be
a fact the next day, that one of the men with the wagons had killed
him. Possibly this was the most merciful thing to do, but to me that
shot meant murder. The pitiful bleary eyes of the helpless old beast
have haunted me ever since we saw him.

We must have gone at least two miles farther before we saw the herd we
were looking for, making fifteen or sixteen miles altogether that we
had ridden. The buffalo were grazing quietly along a meadow in between
low, rolling hills. We immediately fell back a short distance and
waited for the wagons, and when they came up there was great activity,
I assure you. The officers' saddles were transferred to their hunters,
and the men who were to join in the chase got their horses and rifles
ready. Lieutenant Baldwin gave his instructions to everybody, and all
started off, each one going in a different direction so as to form a
cordon, Faye said, around the whole herd. Faye would not join in the
hunt, but remained with me the entire day. He and I rode over the
hill, stopping when we got where we could command a good view of the
valley and watch the run.

It seemed only a few minutes when we saw the buffalo start, going from
some of the men, of course, who at once began to chase them. This kept
them running straight ahead, and, fortunately, in Lieutenant Baldwin's
direction, who apparently was holding his horse in, waiting for them
to come. We saw through our field glasses that as soon as they got
near enough he made a quick dash for the herd, and cutting one out,
had turned it so it was headed straight for us.

Now, being on a buffalo hunt a safe distance off, was one thing, but
to have one of those huge animals come thundering along like a steam
engine directly upon you, was quite another. I was on one of
Lieutenant Baldwin's horses, too, and I felt that there might be
danger of his bolting to his companion, Tom, when he saw him dashing
by, and as I was not anxious to join in a buffalo chase just at that
time, I begged Faye to go with me farther up the hill. But he would
not go back one step, assuring me that my horse was a trained hunter
and accustomed to such sights.

Lieutenant Baldwin gained steadily on the buffalo, and in a
wonderfully short time both passed directly in front of us--within a
hundred feet, Faye said. Lieutenant Baldwin was close upon him then,
his horse looking very small and slender by the side of the grand
animal that was taking easy, swinging strides, apparently without
effort and without speed, his tongue lolling at one side. But we could
see that the pace was really terrific--that Lieutenant Baldwin was
freely using the spur, and that his swift thoroughbred was stretched
out like a greyhound, straining every muscle in his effort to keep up.
He was riding close to the buffalo on his left, with revolver in his
right hand, and I wondered why he did not shoot, but Faye said it
would be useless to fire then--that Lieutenant Baldwin must get up
nearer the shoulder, as a buffalo is vulnerable only in certain parts
of his body, and that a hunter of experience like Lieutenant Baldwin
would never think of shooting unless he could aim at heart or lungs.

My horse behaved very well--just whirling around a few times--but Faye
was kept busy a minute or two by his, for the poor horse was awfully
frightened, and lunged and reared and snorted; but I knew that he
could not unseat Faye, so I rather enjoyed it, for you know I had
wanted to go back a little!

Lieutenant Baldwin and the buffalo were soon far away, and when our
horses had quieted down we recalled that shots had been fired in
another direction, and looking about, we saw a pathetic sight.
Lieutenant Alden was on his horse, and facing him was an immense
buffalo, standing perfectly still with chin drawn in and horns to the
front, ready for battle. It was plain to be seen that the poor horse
was not enjoying the meeting, for every now and then he would try to
back away, or give a jump sideways. The buffalo was wounded and unable
to run, but he could still turn around fast enough to keep his head
toward the horse, and this he did every time Lieutenant Alden tried to
get an aim at his side.

There was no possibility of his killing him without assistance, and of
course the poor beast could not be abandoned in such a helpless
condition, so Faye decided to go over and worry him, while Lieutenant
Alden got in the fatal shot. As soon as Faye got there I put my
fingers over my ears so that I would not hear the report of the
pistol. After a while I looked across, and there was the buffalo still
standing, and both Faye and Lieutenant Alden were beckoning for me to
come to them. At first I could not understand what they wanted, and I
started to go over, but it finally dawned upon me that they were
actually waiting for me to come and kill that buffalo! I saw no glory
in shooting a wounded animal, so I turned my horse back again, but had
not gone far before I heard the pistol shot.

Then I rode over to see the huge animal, and found Faye and Lieutenant
Alden in a state of great excitement. They said he was a magnificent
specimen--unusually large, and very black--what they call a blue
skin--with a splendid head and beard. I had been exposed to a bitterly
cold wind, without the warming exercise of riding, for over an hour,
and my hands were so cold and stiff that I could scarcely hold the
reins, so they jumped me up on the shoulders of the warm body, and I
buried my hands in the long fur on his neck. He fell on his wounded
side, and looked precisely as though he was asleep---so much so that I
half expected him to spring up and resent the indignity he was being
subjected to.

Very soon after that Faye and I came on home, reaching the post about
seven o'clock. We had been in our saddles most of the time for twelve
hours, on a cold day, and were tired and stiff, and when Faye tried to
assist me from my horse I fell to the ground in a heap. But I got
through the day very well, considering the very short time I have been
riding--that is, really riding. The hunt was a grand sight, and
something that probably I will never have a chance of seeing
again--and, to be honest, I do not want to see another, for the sight
of one of those splendid animals running for his life is not a
pleasant one.

The rest of the party did not come in until several hours later; but
they brought the meat and skins of four buffalo, and the head of
Lieutenant Alden's, which he will send East to be mounted. The skin he
intends to take to an Indian camp, to be tanned by the squaws.
Lieutenant Baldwin followed his buffalo until he got in the position
he wanted, and then killed him with one shot. Faye says that only a
cool head and experience could have done that. Much depends upon the
horse, too, for so many horses are afraid of a buffalo, and lunge
sideways just at the critical moment.

Several experienced hunters tell marvelous tales of how they have
stood within a few yards of a buffalo and fired shot after shot from a
Springfield rifle, straight at his head, the balls producing no effect
whatever, except, perhaps, a toss of the head and the flying out of a
tuft of hair. Every time the ball would glance off from the thick
skull. The wonderful mat of curly hair must break the force some, too.
This mat, or cushion, in between the horns of the buffalo Lieutenant
Alden killed, was so thick and tangled that I could not begin to get
my fingers in it.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY,
December, 1871.

OUR first Christmas on the frontier was ever so pleasant, but it
certainly was most vexatious not to have that box from home. And I
expect that it has been at Kit Carson for days, waiting to be brought
down. We had quite a little Christmas without it, however, for a
number of things came from the girls, and several women of the
garrison sent pretty little gifts to me. It was so kind and thoughtful
of them to remember that I might be a bit homesick just now. All the
little presents were spread out on a table, and in a way to make them
present as fine an appearance as possible. Then I printed in large
letters, on a piece of cardboard, "One box--contents unknown!" and
stood it up on the back of the table. I did this to let everyone know
that we had not been forgotten by home people. My beautiful new saddle
was brought in, also, for although I had had it several weeks, it was
really one of Faye's Christmas gifts to me.

They have such a charming custom in the Army of going along the line
Christmas morning and giving each other pleasant greetings and looking
at the pretty things everyone has received. This is a rare treat out
here, where we are so far from shops and beautiful Christmas displays.
We all went to the bachelors' quarters, almost everyone taking over
some little remembrance--homemade candy, cakes, or something of that
sort.

I had a splendid cake to send over that morning, and I will tell you
just what happened to it. At home we always had a large fruit cake
made for the holidays, long in advance, and I thought I would have one
this year as near like it as possible. But it seemed that the only way
to get it was to make it. So, about four weeks ago, I commenced. It
was quite an undertaking for me, as I had never done anything of the
kind, and perhaps I did not go about it the easiest way, but I knew
how it should look when done, and of course I knew precisely how it
should taste. Eliza makes delicious every-day cake, but was no
assistance whatever with the fruit cake, beyond encouraging me with
the assurance that it would not matter in the least if it should be
heavy.

Well, for two long, tiresome days I worked over that cake, preparing
with my own fingers every bit of the fruit, which I consider was a
fine test of perseverance and staying qualities. After the ingredients
were all mixed together there seemed to be enough for a whole
regiment, so we decided to make two cakes of it. They looked lovely
when baked, and just right, and smelled so good, too! I wrapped them
in nice white paper that had been wet with brandy, and put them
carefully away--one in a stone jar, the other in a tin box--and felt
that I had done a remarkably fine bit of housekeeping. The bachelors
have been exceedingly kind to me, and I rejoiced at having a nice cake
to send them Christmas morning. But alas! I forgot that the little
house was fragrant with the odor of spice and fruit, and that there
was a man about who was ever on the lookout for good things to eat. It
is a shame that those cadets at West Point are so starved. They seem
to be simply famished for months after they graduate.

It so happened that there was choir practice that very evening, and
that I was at the chapel an hour or so. When I returned, I found the
three bachelors sitting around the open fire, smoking, and looking
very comfortable indeed. Before I was quite in the room they all stood
up and began to praise the cake. I think Faye was the first to mention
it, saying it was a "great success"; then the others said "perfectly
delicious," and so on, but at the same time assuring me that a large
piece had been left for me.

For one minute I stood still, not in the least grasping their meaning;
but finally I suspected mischief, they all looked so serenely
contented. So I passed on to the dining room, and there, on the table,
was one of the precious cakes---at least what was left of it, the very
small piece that had been so generously saved for me. And there were
plates with crumbs, and napkins, that told the rest of the sad
tale--and there was wine and empty glasses, also. Oh, yes! Their early
Christmas had been a fine one. There was nothing for me to say or
do--at least not just then--so I went back to the little living-room
and forced myself to be halfway pleasant to the four men who were
there, each one looking precisely like the cat after it had eaten the
canary! The cake was scarcely cold, and must have been horribly
sticky--and I remember wondering, as I sat there, which one would need
the doctor first, and what the doctor would do if they were all seized
with cramps at the same time. But they were not ill--not in the
least--which proved that the cake was well baked. If they had
discovered the other one, however, there is no telling what might have
happened.

At half after ten yesterday the chaplain held service, and the little
chapel was crowded--so many of the enlisted men were present. We sang
our Christmas music, and received many compliments. Our little choir
is really very good. Both General Phillips and Major Pierce have fine
voices. One of the infantry sergeants plays the organ now, for it was
quite too hard for me to sing and work those old pedals. Once I forgot
them entirely, and everybody smiled--even the chaplain!

From the chapel we--that is, the company officers and their
wives--went to the company barracks to see the men's dinner tables.
When we entered the dining hall we found the entire company standing
in two lines, one down each side, every man in his best inspection
uniform, and every button shining. With eyes to the front and hands
down their sides they looked absurdly like wax figures waiting to be
"wound up," and I did want so much to tell the little son of General
Phillips to pinch one and make him jump. He would have done it, too,
and then put all the blame upon me, without loss of time.

The first sergeant came to meet us, and went around with us. There
were three long tables, fairly groaning with things upon them:
buffalo, antelope, boiled ham, several kinds of vegetables, pies,
cakes, quantities of pickles, dried "apple-duff," and coffee, and in
the center of each table, high up, was a huge cake thickly covered
with icing. These were the cakes that Mrs. Phillips, Mrs. Barker, and
I had sent over that morning. It is the custom in the regiment for the
wives of the officers every Christmas to send the enlisted men of
their husbands' companies large plum cakes, rich with fruit and sugar.
Eliza made the cake I sent over, a fact I made known from its very
beginning, to keep it from being devoured by those it was not intended
for.

The hall was very prettily decorated with flags and accoutrements, but
one missed the greens. There are no evergreen trees here, only
cottonwood. Before coming out, General Phillips said a few pleasant
words to the men, wishing them a "Merry Christmas" for all of us.
Judging from the laughing and shuffling of feet as soon as we got
outside, the men were glad to be allowed to relax once more.

At six o'clock Faye and I, Lieutenant Baldwin, and Lieutenant Alden
dined with Doctor and Mrs. Wilder. It was a beautiful little dinner,
very delicious, and served in the daintiest manner possible. But out
here one is never quite sure of what one is eating, for sometimes the
most tempting dishes are made of almost nothing. At holiday time,
however, it seems that the post trader sends to St. Louis for turkeys,
celery, canned oysters, and other things. We have no fresh vegetables
here, except potatoes, and have to depend upon canned stores in the
commissary for a variety, and our meat consists entirely of beef,
except now and then, when we may have a treat to buffalo or antelope.

The commanding officer gave a dancing party Friday evening that was
most enjoyable. He is a widower, you know. His house is large, and the
rooms of good size, so that dancing was comfortable. The music
consisted of one violin with accordion accompaniment. This would seem
absurd in the East, but I can assure you that one accordion, when
played well by a German, is an orchestra in itself. And Doos plays
very well. The girls East may have better music to dance by, and
polished waxed floors to slip down upon, but they cannot have the
excellent partners one has at an army post, and I choose the partners!

The officers are excellent dancers--every one of them--and when you
are gliding around, your chin, or perhaps your nose, getting a scratch
now and then from a gorgeous gold epaulet, you feel as light as a
feather, and imagine yourself with a fairy prince. Of course the
officers were in full-dress uniform Friday night, so I know just what
I am talking about, scratches and all. Every woman appeared in her
finest gown. I wore my nile-green silk, which I am afraid showed off
my splendid coat of tan only too well.

The party was given for Doctor and Mrs. Anderson, who are guests of
General Bourke for a few days. They are en route to Fort Union, New
Mexico. Mrs. Anderson was very handsome in an elegant gown of
London-smoke silk. I am to assist Mrs. Phillips in receiving New
Year's day, and shall wear my pearl-colored Irish poplin. We are going
out now for a little ride.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY,
January, 1872.

WHEN we came over on the stage from Kit Carson last fall, I sat on top
with the driver, who told me of many terrible experiences he had
passed through during the years he had been driving a stage on the
plains, and some of the most thrilling were of sand storms, when he
had, with great difficulty, saved the stage and perhaps his own life.
There have been ever so many storms, since we have been here, that
covered everything in the houses with dust and sand, but nothing at
all like those the driver described. But yesterday one came--a
terrific storm--and it so happened that I was caught out in the
fiercest part of it.

As Faye was officer of the day, he could not leave the garrison, so I
rode with Lieutenant Baldwin and Lieutenant Alden. The day was
glorious--sunny, and quite warm--one of Colorado's very best, without
a cloud to be seen in any direction. We went up the river to the mouth
of a pretty little stream commonly called "The Picket Wire," but the
real name of which is La Purgatoire. It is about five miles from the
post and makes a nice objective point for a short ride, for the clear
water gurgling over the stones, and the trees and bushes along its
banks, are always attractive in this treeless country.

The canter up was brisk, and after giving our horses the drink from
the running stream they always beg for, we started back on the road to
the post in unusually fine spirits. Almost immediately, however,
Lieutenant Baldwin said, "I do not like the looks of that cloud over
there!" We glanced back in the direction he pointed, and seeing only a
streak of dark gray low on the horizon, Lieutenant Alden and I paid no
more attention to it. But Lieutenant Baldwin was very silent, and ever
looking back at the queer gray cloud. Once I looked at it, too, and
was amazed at the wonderfully fast way it had spread out, but just
then John shied at something, and in managing the horse I forgot the
cloud.

When about two miles from the post, Lieutenant Baldwin, who had fallen
back a little, called to us, "Put your horses to their best pace--a
sand storm is coming!" Then we knew there was a possibility of much
danger, for Lieutenant Baldwin is known to be a keen observer, and our
confidence in his judgment was great, so, without once looking back to
see what was coming after us, Lieutenant Alden and I started our
horses on a full run.

Well, that cloud increased in size with a rapidity you could never
imagine, and soon the sun was obscured as if by an eclipse. It became
darker and darker, and by the time we got opposite the post trader's
there could be heard a loud, continuous roar, resembling that of a
heavy waterfall.

Just then Lieutenant Baldwin grasped my bridle rein on the right and
told Lieutenant Alden to ride close on my left, which was done not a
second too soon, for as we reached the officers' line the storm struck
us, and with such force that I was almost swept from my saddle. The
wind was terrific and going at hurricane speed, and the air so thick
with sand and dirt we could not see the ears of our own horses. The
world seemed to have narrowed to a space that was appalling! You will
think that this could never have been--that I was made blind by
terror--but I can assure you that the absolute truth is being written.

Lieutenant Baldwin's voice sounded strange and far, far away when he
called to me, "Sit tight in your saddle and do not jump!" And then
again he fairly yelled, "We must stay together--and keep the horses
from stampeding to the stables!" He was afraid they would break away
and dash us against the iron supports to the flagstaff in the center
of the parade ground. How he could say one word, or even open his
mouth, I do not understand, for the air was thick with gritty dirt.
The horses were frantic, of course, whirling around each other,
rearing and pulling, in their efforts to get free.

We must have stayed in about the same place twenty minutes or longer,
when, just for one instant, there was a lull in the storm, and I
caught a glimpse of the white pickets of a fence! Without stopping to
think of horse's hoofs and, alas! without calling one word to the two
officers who were doing everything possible to protect me, I shut my
eyes tight, freed my foot from the stirrup, and, sliding down from my
horse, started for those pickets! How I missed Lieutenant Alden's
horse, and how I got to that fence, I do not know. The force of the
wind was terrific, and besides, I was obliged to cross the little
acequia. But I did get over the fifteen or sixteen feet of ground
without falling, and oh, the joy of getting my arms around those
pickets!

The storm continued for some time; but finally the atmosphere began to
clear, and I could see objects around me. And then out of the dust
loomed up Lieutenant Baldwin. He was about halfway down the line and
riding close to the fence, evidently looking for me. When he came up,
leading my horse, his face was black with more than dirt. He reminded
me of having told me positively not to jump from my horse, and asked
if I realized that I might have been knocked down and killed by the
crazy animals. Of course I had perceived all that as soon as I reached
safety, but I could not admit my mistake at that time without breaking
down and making a scene. I was nervous and exhausted, and in no
condition to be scolded by anyone, so I said: "If you were not an old
bachelor you would have known better than to have told a woman not to
do a thing--you would have known that, in all probability, that would
be the very thing she would do first!" That mollified him a little,
but we did not laugh--life had just been too serious for that.

The chaplain had joined us, and so had Lieutenant Alden. The fence I
had run to was the chaplain's, and when the good man saw us he came
out and assisted me to his house, where I received the kindest care
from Mrs. Lawton. I knew that Faye would be greatly worried about me,
so as soon as I had rested a little--enough to walk--and had got some
of the dust out of my eyes, the chaplain and I hurried down to our
house to let him know that I was safe.

At every house along the line the heavy shutters were closed, and not
one living thing was to be seen, and the post looked as though it
might have been long abandoned. There was a peculiar light, too, that
made the most familiar objects seem strange. Yes, we saw a squad of
enlisted men across the parade ground, trying with immense ropes to
get back in place the heavy roof of the long commissary building which
had been partly blown off.

We met Faye at our gate, just starting out to look for us. He said
that when the storm first came up he was frightened about me, but when
the broad adobe house began to rock he came to the conclusion that I
was about as safe out on the plains as I would be in a house,
particularly as I was on a good horse, and with two splendid horsemen
who would take the very best care of me. My plait of hair was one mass
of dirt and was cut and torn, and is still in a deplorable condition,
and my face looks as though I had just recovered from smallpox. As it
was Monday, the washing of almost every family was out on lines, about
every article of which has gone to regions unknown. The few pieces
that were Caught by the high fences were torn to shreds.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY,
January, 1872.

OUR little party was a grand success, but I am still wondering how it
came about that Mrs. Barker and I gave it together, for, although we
are all in the same company and next-door neighbors, we have seen very
little of each other. She is very quiet, and seldom goes out, even for
a walk. It was an easy matter to arrange things so the two houses
could, in a way, be connected, as they are under the same long roof,
and the porches divided by a railing only, that was removed for the
one evening. The dancing was in our house, and the supper was served
at the Barkers'. And that supper was a marvel of culinary art, I
assure you, even if it was a fraud in one or two things, We were
complimented quite graciously by some of the older housekeepers, who
pride themselves upon knowing how to make more delicious little dishes
out of nothing than anyone else. But this time it was North and South
combined, for you will remember that Mrs. Barker is from Virginia.

The chicken salad--and it was delicious--was made of tender veal, but
the celery in it was the genuine article, for we sent to Kansas City
for that and a few other things. The turkey galantine was perfect, and
the product of a resourceful brain from the North, and was composed
almost entirely of wild goose! There was no April fool about the
delicate Maryland biscuits, however, and other nice things that were
set forth. We fixed up cozily the back part of our hall with
comfortable chairs and cushions, and there punch was served during the
evening. Major Barker and Faye made the punch. The orchestra might
have been better, but the two violins and the accordion gave us music
that was inspiring, and gave us noise, too, and then Doos, who played
the accordion, kept us merry by the ever-pounding down of one
government-shod foot.

Everyone in the garrison came--even the chaplain was here during the
supper. The officers Were in full-dress uniform, and the only man in
plain evening dress was Mr. Dunn, the post trader, and in comparison
to the gay uniforms of the officers he did look so sleek, from his
shiny black hair down to the toes of his shiny black pumps! Mrs.
Barker and I received, of course, and she was very pretty in a pink
silk gown entirely covered with white net, that was caught up at many
places by artificial pink roses. The color was most becoming, and made
very pronounced the rich tint of her dark skin and her big black eyes.

Well, we danced before supper and we danced after supper, and when we
were beginning to feel just a wee bit tired, there suddenly appeared
in our midst a colored woman--a real old-time black mammy--in a dress
of faded, old-fashioned plaids, with kerchief, white apron, and a
red-and-yellow turban tied around her head. We were dancing at the
time she came in, but everyone stopped at once, completely lost in
amazement, and she had the floor to herself. This was what she wanted,
and she immediately commenced to dance wildly and furiously, as though
she was possessed, rolling her big eyes and laughing to show the white
teeth. Gradually she quieted down to a smooth, rhythmic motion, slowly
swaying from side to side, sometimes whirling around, but with feet
always flat on the floor, often turning on her heels. All the time her
arms were extended and her fingers snapping, and snapping also were
the black eyes. She was the personification of grace, but the dance
was weird--made the more so by the setting of bright evening dresses
and glittering uniforms. One never sees a dance of this sort these
days, even in the South, any more than one sees the bright-colored
turban. Both have passed with the old-time darky.

Of course we recognized Mrs. Barker, more because there was no one
else in our small community who could personify a darky so perfectly,
than because there was any resemblance to her in looks or gesture. The
make-up was artistic, and how she managed the quick transformation
from ball dress to that of the plantation, with all its black paint
and rouge, Mrs. Barker alone knows, and where on this earth she got
that dress and turban, she alone knows. But I imagine she sent to
Virginia for the whole costume. At all events, it was very bright in
her to think of this unusual divertissement for our guests when
dancing was beginning to lag a little. The dance she must have learned
from a mammy when a child. I forgot to say that during the time she
was dancing our fine orchestra played old Southern melodies. And all
this was arranged and done by the quietest woman in the garrison!

Our house was upset from one end to the other to make room for the
dancing, but the putting of things in order again did not take long,
as the house has so very little in it. Still, I always feel rebellious
when anything comes up to interfere with my rides, no matter how
pleasant it may be. There have been a great many antelope near the
post of late, and we have been on ever so many hunts for them. The
greyhounds have not been with us, however, for following the hounds
when chasing those fleet animals not only requires the fastest kind of
a horse and very good riding, but is exceedingly dangerous to both
horse and rider because of the many prairie-dog holes, which are
terrible death traps. And besides, the dogs invariably get their feet
full of cactus needles, which cause much suffering for days.

So we have been flagging the antelope, that is, taking a shameful
advantage of their wonderful curiosity, and enticing them within rifle
range. On these hunts I usually hold the horses of the three officers
and my own, and so far they have not given me much trouble, for each
one is a troop-trained animal.

The antelope are shy and wary little creatures, and possess an
abnormal sense of smell that makes it absolutely necessary for hunters
to move cautiously to leeward the instant they discover them. It is
always an easy matter to find a little hill that will partly screen
them--the country is so rolling--as they creep and crawl to position,
ever mindful of the dreadful cactus. When they reach the highest point
the flag is put up, and this is usually made on the spot, of a red
silk handkerchief, one corner run through the rammer of a Springfield
rifle. Then everyone lies down flat on the ground, resting on his
elbows, with rifle in position for firing.

Antelope always graze against the wind, and even a novice can tell
when they discover the flag, for they instantly stop feeding, and the
entire band will whirl around to face it, with big round ears standing
straight up, and in this way they will remain a second or two,
constantly sniffing the air. Failing to discover anything dangerous,
they will take a few steps forward, perhaps run around a little,
giving quick tossings of the head, and sniffing with almost every
breath, but whatever they do the stop is always in the same
position--facing the flag, the strange object they cannot understand.
Often they will approach very slowly, making frequent halts after
little runs, and give many tossings of the head as if they were
actually coquetting with death itself! Waiting for them to come within
range of the rifle requires great patience, for the approach is always
more or less slow, and frequently just as they are at the right
distance and the finger is on the trigger, off the whole band will
streak, looking like horizontal bars of brown and white! I am always
so glad when they do this, for it seems so wicked to kill such
graceful creatures. It is very seldom that I watch the approach, but
when I do happen to see them come up, the temptation to do something
to frighten them away from those murderous guns is almost
irresistible.

But never once are they killed for mere pleasure! Their meat is tender
and most delicious after one has learned to like the "gamey" flavor.
And a change in meat we certainly do need here, for unless we can have
buffalo or antelope now and then, it is beef every day in the
month--not only one month, but every month.

The prairie-dog holes are great obstacles to following hounds on the
plains, for while running so fast it is impossible for a horse to see
the holes in time to avoid them, and if a foot slips down in one it
means a broken leg for the horse and a hard throw for the rider, and
perhaps broken bones also. Following these English greyhounds--which
have such wonderful speed and keenness of sight--after big game on
vast plains, is very different from running after the slow hounds and
foxes in the East, and requires a very much faster horse and quite
superior riding. One has to learn to ride a horse--to get a perfect
balance that makes it a matter of indifference which-way the horse may
jump, at any speed--in fact, one must become a part of one's mount
before these hunts can be attempted.

Chasing wolves and rabbits is not as dangerous, for they cannot begin
to run as fast as antelope. And it is great fun to chase the big
jack-rabbits. They know their own speed perfectly and have great
confidence in it. When the hounds start one he will give one or two
jumps high up in the air to take a look at things, and then he
commences to run with great bounds, with his enormously long ears
straight up like sails on a boat, and almost challenges the dogs to
follow. But the poor hunted thing soon finds out that he must do
better than that if he wishes to keep ahead, so down go the ears, flat
along his back, and stretching himself out very straight, goes his
very fastest, and then the real chase is on.

But Mr. Jack-Rabbit is cunning, and when he sees that the long-legged
dogs are steadily gaining upon him and getting closer with every jump,
he will invariably make a quick turn and run back on his own tracks,
often going right underneath the fast-running dogs that cannot stop
themselves, and can only give vicious snaps as they jump over him.
Their stride--often fifteen and twenty feet--covers so much more
ground than the rabbit's, it is impossible for them to make as quick
turns, therefore it is generally the slow dog of the pack that catches
the rabbit. And frequently a wise old rabbit will make many turns and
finally reach a hole in safety.

The tail of a greyhound is his rudder and his brake, and the sight is
most laughable when a whole pack of them are trying to stop, each tail
whirling around like a Dutch windmill. Sometimes, in their frantic
efforts to stop quickly, they will turn complete somersaults and roll
over in a cloud of dust and dirt. But give up they never do, and once
on their feet they start back after that rabbit with whines of
disappointment and rage. Many, many times, also, I have heard the dogs
howl and whine from the pain caused by the cactus spines in their
feet, but not once have I ever seen any one of them lag in the chase.

But the pack here is a notoriously fine one. The leader. Magic, is a
splendid dog, dark brindle in color, very swift and very plucky, also
most intelligent. He is a sly rascal, too. He loves to sleep on
Lieutenant Baldwin's bed above all things, and he sneaks up on it
whenever he can, but the instant he hears Lieutenant Baldwin's step on
the walk outside, down he jumps, and stretching himself out full
length in front of the fire, he shuts his eyes tight, pretends to be
fast asleep, and the personification of an innocent, well-behaved dog!
But Lieutenant Baldwin knows his tricks now, and sometimes, going to
the bed, he can feel the warmth from his body that is still there, and
if he says, "Magic, you old villain," Magic will wag his tail a
little, which in dog language means, "You are pretty smart, but I'm
smart, too!"

With all this outdoor exercise, one can readily perceive that the days
are not long and tiresome. Of course there are a few who yawn and
complain of the monotony of frontier life, but these are the
stay-at-homes who sit by their own fires day after day and let cobwebs
gather in brain and lungs. And these, too, are the ones who have time
to discover so many faults in others, and become our garrison gossips!
If they would take brisk rides on spirited horses in this wonderful
air, and learn to shoot all sorts of guns in all sorts of positions,
they would soon discover that a frontier post can furnish plenty of
excitement. At least, I have found that it can.

Faye was very anxious for me to become a good shot, considering it
most essential in this Indian country, and to please him I commenced
practicing soon after we got here. It was hard work at first, and I
had many a bad headache from the noise of the guns. It was all done in
a systematic way, too, as though I was a soldier at target practice.
They taught me to use a pistol in various positions while standing;
then I learned to use it from the saddle. After that a little
four-inch bull's-eye was often tacked to a tree seventy-five paces
away, and I was given a Spencer carbine to shoot (a short magazine
rifle used by the cavalry), and many a time I have fired three rounds,
twenty-one shots in all, at the bull's-eye, which I was expected to
hit every time, too.

Well, I obligingly furnished amusement for Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin
until they asked me to fire a heavy Springfield rifle--an infantry
gun. After one shot I politely refused to touch the thing again. The
noise came near making me deaf for life; the big thing rudely "kicked"
me over on my back, and the bullet--I expect that ball is still on
its way to Mars or perhaps the moon. This earth it certainly did not
hit! Faye is with the company almost every morning, but after luncheon
we usually go out for two or three hours, and always come back
refreshed by the exercise. And the little house looks more cozy, and
the snapping of the blazing logs sounds more cheerful because of our
having been away from them.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY,
April, 1872.

SOME of the most dreadful things have occurred since I wrote you last,
and this letter will make you unhappy, I know. To begin with, orders
have actually come from Department Headquarters at Leavenworth for two
companies of infantry here--General Phillips' and Captain
Giddings'--to go to Camp Supply! So that is settled, and we will
probably leave this post in about ten days, and during that time we
are expected to sell, give away, smash up, or burn about everything we
possess, for we have already been told that very few things can be
taken with us. I do not see how we can possibly do with less than we
have had since we came here.

Eliza announced at once that she could not be induced to go where
there are so many Indians--said she had seen enough of them while in
New Mexico. I am more than sorry to lose her, but at the same time I
cannot help admiring her common sense. I would not go either if I
could avoid it.

You will remember that not long ago I said that Lieutenant Baldwin was
urging me to ride Tom, his splendid thoroughbred, as soon as he could
be quieted down a little so I could control him. Well, I was to have
ridden him to-day for the first time! Yesterday morning Lieutenant
Baldwin had him out for a long, hard run, but even after that the
horse was nervous when he came in, and danced sideways along the
officers' drive in his usual graceful way. Just as they got opposite
the chaplain's house, two big St. Bernard dogs bounded over the fence
and landed directly under the horse, entangling themselves with his
legs so completely that when he tried to jump away from them he was
thrown down on his knees with great force, and Lieutenant Baldwin was
pitched over the horse's head and along the ground several feet.

He is a tall, muscular man and went down heavily, breaking three ribs
and his collar bone on both sides! He is doing very well, and is as
comfortable to-day as can be expected, except that he is grieving
piteously over his horse, for the poor horse--beautiful Tom--is
utterly ruined! Both knees have been sprung, and he is bandaged almost
as much as his master.

The whole occurrence is most deplorable and distressing. It seems so
dreadful that a strong man should be almost killed and a grand horse
completely ruined by two clumsy, ill-mannered dogs. One belongs to the
chaplain, too, who is expected to set a model example for the rest of
us. Many, many times during the winter I have ridden by the side of
Tom, and had learned to love every one of his pretty ways, from the
working of his expressive ears to the graceful movement of his slender
legs. He was a horse for anyone to be proud of, not only for his
beauty but as a hunter, too, and he was Lieutenant Baldwin's delight
and joy.

It does seem as if everything horrible had come all at once. The order
we have been expecting, of course, as so many rumors have reached us
that we were to go, but all the time there has been hidden away a
little hope that we might be left here another year.

I shall take the greyhound puppy, of course. He is with Blue, his
mother, at Captain Richardson's quarters, but he is brought over every
day for me to see. His coat is brindled, dark brown and black--just
like Magic's--and fine as the softest satin. One foot is white, and
there is a little white tip to his tail, which, it seems, is
considered a mark of great beauty in a greyhound. We have named him
Harold.

Nothing has been done about packing yet, as the orders have just been
received. The carpenters in the company will not be permitted to do
one thing for us until the captain and first lieutenant have had made
every box and crate they want for the move. I am beginning to think
that it must be nice to be even a first lieutenant. But never mind,
perhaps Faye will get his captaincy in twenty years or so, and then it
will be all "fair and square."

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY,
May, 1872.

EVERYTHING is packed or disposed of, and we are ready to start
to-morrow on the long march to Camp Supply. Two large army wagons have
been allowed to each company for the officers' baggage, but as all
three officers are present with the company Faye is in, and the
captain has taken one of the wagons for his own use, we can have just
one half of one of those wagons to take our household goods to a
country where it is absolutely impossible to purchase one thing! We
have given away almost all of our furniture, and were glad that we had
bought so little when we came here. Our trunks and several boxes are
to be sent by freight to Hays City at our own expense, and from there
down to the post by wagon, and if we ever see them again I will be
surprised, as Camp Supply is about one hundred and fifty miles from
the railroad. We are taking only one barrel of china--just a few
pieces we considered the most necessary--and this morning Faye
discovered that the first lieutenant had ordered that one barrel to be
taken from the wagon to make more room for his own things. Faye
ordered it to be put back at once, and says it will stay there, too,
and I fancy it will! Surely we are entitled to all of our one half of
the wagon--second choice at that.

I am to ride in an ambulance with Mrs. Phillips, her little son and
her cook, Mrs. Barker and her small son. There will be seats for only
four, as the middle seat has been taken out to make room for a
comfortable rocking-chair that will be for Mrs. Phillips's exclusive
use! The dear little greyhound puppy I have to leave here. Faye says I
must not take him with so many in the ambulance, as he would
undoubtedly be in the way. But I am sure the puppy would not be as
troublesome as one small boy, and there will be two small boys with
us. It would be quite bad enough to be sent to such a terrible place
as Camp Supply has been represented to us, without having all this
misery and mortification added, and all because Faye happens to be a
second lieutenant!

I have cried and cried over all these things until I am simply
hideous, but I have to go just the same, and I have made up my mind
never again to make myself so wholly disagreeable about a move, no
matter where we may have to go. I happened to recall yesterday what
grandmother said to me when saying good-by: "It is a dreadful thing
not to become a woman when one ceases to be a girl!" I am no longer a
girl, I suppose, so I must try to be a woman, as there seems to be
nothing in between. One can find a little comfort, too, in the thought
that there is no worse place possible for us to be sent to, and when
once there we can look forward to better things sometime in the
future. I do not mind the move as much as the unpleasant experiences
connected with it.

But I shall miss the kind friends, the grand hunts and delightful
rides, and shall long for dear old John, who has carried me safely so
many, many miles.

Lieutenant Baldwin is still ill and very depressed, and Doctor Wilder
is becoming anxious about him. It is so dreadful for such a powerful
man as he has been to be so really broken in pieces. He insists upon
being up and around, which is bad, very bad, for the many broken
bones.

I will write whenever I find an opportunity.

OLD FORT ZARAH, KANSAS,
April, 1872.

OUR camp to-night is near the ruins of a very old fort, and ever since
we got here, the men have been hunting rattlesnakes that have
undoubtedly been holding possession of the tumble-down buildings, many
snake generations. Dozens and dozens have been killed, of all sizes,
some of them being very large. The old quarters were evidently made of
sods and dirt, and must have been dreadful places to live in even when
new.

I must tell you at once that I have the little greyhound. I simply
took matters in my own hands and got him! We came only five miles our
first day out, and after the tents had been pitched that night and the
various dinners commenced, it was discovered that many little things
had been left behind, so General Phillips decided to send an ambulance
and two or three men back to the post for them, and to get the mail at
the same time. It so happened that Burt, our own striker, was one of
the men detailed to go, and when I heard this I at once thought of the
puppy I wanted so much. I managed to see Burt before he started, and
when asked if he could bring the little dog to me he answered so
heartily, "That I can, mum," I felt that the battle was half won, for
I knew that if I could once get the dog in camp he would take care of
him, even if I could not.

Burt brought him and kept him in his tent that night, and the little
fellow seemed to know that he should be good, for Burt told me that he
did not whimper once, notwithstanding it was his first night from his
mother and little companions. The next morning, when he was brought to
me, Faye's face was funny, and after one look of astonishment at the
puppy he hurried out of the tent--so I could not see him laugh, I
think. He is quite as pleased as I am, now, to have the dog, for he
gives no trouble whatever. He is fed condensed milk, and I take care
of him during the day and Burt has him at night. He is certainly much
better behaved in the ambulance than either of the small boys who step
upon our feet, get into fierce fights, and keep up a racket generally.
The mothers have been called upon to settle so many quarrels between
their sons, that the atmosphere in the ambulance has become quite
frigid.

The day we came from the post, while I was grieving for the little
greyhound and many other things I had not been permitted to bring with
me, and the rocking-chair was bruising my ankles, I felt that it was
not dignified in me to submit to the treatment I was being subjected
to, and I decided to rebel. Mrs. Barker and her small son had been
riding on the back seat, and I felt that I was as much entitled to a
seat here as the boy, nevertheless I had been sitting on the seat with
Mrs. Phillips's servant and riding backward. This was the only place
that had been left for me at the post that morning. After thinking it
all over I made up my mind to take the small boy's seat, but just
where he would sit I did not know.

When I returned to the ambulance after the next rest--I was careful to
get there first--I sat down on the back seat and made myself
comfortable, but I must admit that my heart was giving awful thumps,
for Mrs. Barker's sharp tongue and spitfire temper are well known. My
head was aching because of my having ridden backward, and I was really
cross, and this Mrs. Barker may have noticed, for not one word did she
say directly to me, but she said much to her son--much that I might
have resented had I felt inclined. The small boy sat on his mother's
lap and expressed his disapproval by giving me vicious kicks every few
minutes.

Not one word was said the next morning when I boldly carried the puppy
to that seat. Mrs. Barker looked at the dog, then at me, with great
scorn, but she knew that if she said anything disagreeable Mrs.
Phillips would side with me, so she wisely kept still. I think that
even Faye has come to the conclusion that I might as well have the
dog--who lies so quietly in my lap--now that he sees how I am
sandwiched in with rocking-chairs, small boys, and servants. The men
march fifty minutes and halt ten, each hour, and during every ten
minutes' rest Harold and I take a little run, and this makes him ready
for a nap when we return to the ambulance. From this place on I am to
ride with Mrs. Cole, who has her own ambulance. This will be most
agreeable, and I am so delighted that she should have thought of
inviting me.

Camping out is really very nice when the weather is pleasant, but the
long marches are tiresome for everybody. The ambulances and wagons are
driven directly back of the troops, consequently the mules can never
go faster than a slow walk, and sometimes the dust is enough to choke
us. We have to keep together, for we are in an Indian country, of
course. I feel sorry for the men, but they always march "rout" step
and seem to have a good time, for we often hear them laughing and
joking with each other.

We are following the Arkansas River, and so far the scenery has been
monotonous--just the same rolling plains day after day. Leaving our
first army home was distressing, and I doubt if other homes and other
friends will ever be quite the same to me. Lieutenant Baldwin was
assisted to the porch by his faithful Mexican boy, so he could see us
start, and he looked white and pitifully helpless, with both arms
bandaged tight to his sides. One of those dreadful dogs is in camp and
going to Camp Supply with us, and is as frisky as though he had done
something to be proud of.

This cannot be posted until we reach Fort Dodge, but I intend to write
to you again while there, of course, if I have an opportunity.

FORT DODGE, KANSAS,
May, 1872.

IT was nearly two o'clock yesterday when we arrived at this post, and
we go on again to-day about eleven. The length of all marches has to
be regulated by water and wood, and as the first stream on the road to
Camp Supply is at Bluff Creek, only ten miles from here, there was no
necessity for an early start. This gives us an opportunity to get
fresh supplies for our mess chests, and to dry things also.

There was a terrific rain and electric storm last evening, and this
morning we present anything but a military appearance, for around each
tent is a fine array of bedding and clothing hung out to dry. Our camp
is at the foot of a hill a short distance back of the post, and during
the storm the water rushed down with such force that it seemed as
though we were in danger of being carried on to the Arkansas River.

We had just returned from a delightful dinner with Major and Mrs.
Tilden, of the cavalry, and Faye had gone out to mount the guard for
the night, when, without a moment's warning, the storm burst upon us.
The lightning was fierce, and the white canvas made it appear even
worse than it really was, for at each flash the walls of the tent
seemed to be on fire. There was no dark closet for me to run into this
time, but there was a bed, and on that I got, taking the little dog
with me for company and to get him out of the wet. He seemed very
restless and constantly gave little whines, and at the time I thought
it was because he, too, was afraid of the storm. The water was soon
two and three inches deep on the ground under the tent, rushing along
like a mill race, giving little gurgles as it went through the grass
and against the tent pins. The roar of the rain on the tent was
deafening.

The guard is always mounted with the long steel bayonets on the
rifles, and I knew that Faye had on his sword, and remembering these
things made me almost scream at each wicked flash of lightning,
fearing that he and the men had been killed. But he came to the tent
on a hard run, and giving me a long waterproof coat to wrap myself in,
gathered me in his arms and started for Mrs. Tilden's, where I had
been urged to remain overnight. When we reached a narrow board walk
that was supposed to run along by her side fence, Faye stood me down
upon it, and I started to do some running on my own account. Before I
had taken two steps, however, down went the walk and down I went in
water almost to my knees, and then splash--down went the greyhound
puppy! Up to that instant I had not been conscious of having the
little dog with me, and in all that rain and water Faye had been
carrying me and a fat puppy also.

The walk had been moved by the rushing water, and was floating, which
we had no way of knowing, of course. I dragged the dog out of the
water, and we finally reached the house, where we received a true army
welcome--a dry one, too--and there I remained until after breakfast
this morning. But sleep during the night I did not, for until long
after midnight I sat in front of a blazing fire holding a very sick
puppy. Hal was desperately ill and we all expected him to die at any
moment, and I was doubly sorrowful, because I had been the innocent
cause of it. Ever since I have had him he has been fed condensed milk
only--perhaps a little bread now and then; so when we got here I sent
for some fresh milk, to give him a treat. He drank of it greedily and
seemed to enjoy it so much, that I let him have all he wanted during
the afternoon. And it was the effect of the milk that made him whine
during the storm, and not because he was afraid of the lightning. He
would have died, I do believe, had it not been for the kindness of
Major Tilden who knows all about greyhounds. They are very delicate
and most difficult to raise. The little dog is a limp bunch of
brindled satin this morning, wrapped in flannel, but we hope he will
soon be well.

A third company joined us here and will go on to Camp Supply. Major
Hunt, the captain, has his wife and three children with him, and they
seem to be cultured and very charming people. Mrs. Hunt this moment
brought a plate of delicious spice cake for our luncheon. There is a
first lieutenant with the company, but he is not married.

There is only one mail from here each week, so of course there will be
only one from Camp Supply, as that mail is brought here and then
carried up to the railroad with the Dodge mail. It is almost time for
the tents to be struck, and I must be getting ready for the march.

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY,
May, 1872.

THIS place is quite as dreadful as it has been represented to us.
There are more troops here than at Fort Lyon, and of course the post
is very much larger. There are two troops of colored cavalry, one of
white cavalry, and three companies of infantry. The infantry companies
that have been stationed here, and which our three companies have come
to relieve, will start in the morning for their new station, and will
use the transportation that brought us down. Consequently, it was
necessary to unload all the things from our wagons early this morning,
so they could be turned over to the outgoing troops. I am a little
curious to know if there is a second lieutenant who will be so
unfortunate as to be allowed only one half of a wagon in which to
carry his household goods.

Their going will leave vacant a number of officers' quarters,
therefore there will be no selection of quarters by our officers until
to-morrow. Faye is next to the junior, so there will be very little
left to select from by the time his turn comes. The quarters are
really nothing more than huts built of vertical logs plastered in
between with mud, and the roofs are of poles and mud! Many of the
rooms have only sand floors. We dined last evening with Captain and
Mrs. Vincent, of the cavalry, and were amazed to find that such
wretched buildings could be made so attractive inside. But of course
they have one of the very best houses on the line, and as company
commander, Captain Vincent can have done about what he wants. And
then, again, they are but recently married, and all their furnishings
are new and handsome. There is one advantage in being with colored
troops--one can always have good servants. Mrs. Vincent has an
excellent colored soldier cook, and her butler was thoroughly trained
as such before he enlisted. It did look so funny, however, to see such
a black man in a blue Uniform.

The march down from Fort Dodge was most uncomfortable the first two
days. It poured and poured rain, and then poured more rain, until
finally everybody and everything was soaked through. I felt so sorry
for the men who had to march in the sticky mud. Their shoes filled
fast with water, and they were compelled constantly to stop, take them
off, and pour out the water. It cleared at last and the sun shone warm
and bright, and then there was another exhibition in camp one
afternoon, of clothing and bedding drying on guy ropes.

All the way down I was on the lookout for Indians, and was laughed at
many a time for doing so, too. Every time something unusual was seen
in the distance some bright person would immediately exclaim, "Oh,
that is only one of Mrs. Rae's Indians!" I said very little about what
I saw during the last day or two, for I felt that the constant teasing
must have become as wearisome to the others as it had to me. But I am
still positive that I saw the black heads of Indians on the top of
ever so many hills we passed. When they wish to see and not be seen
they crawl up a hill on the side farthest from you, but only far
enough up to enable them to look over, and in this position they will
remain for hours, perfectly motionless, watching your every movement.
Unless you notice the hill very carefully you will never see the black
dot on top, for only the eyes and upper part of the head are exposed.
I had been told all this many times; also, that when in an Indian
country to be most watchful when Indians are not to be seen.

Camp Supply is certainly in an Indian country, for it is surrounded by
Comanches, Apaches, Kiowas, Cheyennes, and Arapahoes--each a hostile
tribe, except the last. No one can go a rod from the garrison without
an escort, and our weekly mail is brought down in a wagon and guarded
by a corporal and several privates. Only last week two
couriers--soldiers--who had been sent down with dispatches from Fort
Dodge, were found dead on the road, both shot in the back, probably
without having been given one chance to defend themselves.

We are in camp on low land just outside the post, and last night we
were almost washed away again by the down-pouring rain, and this
morning there is mud everywhere. And this is the country that is
supposed never to have rain! Mrs. Vincent invited me most cordially to
come to her house until we at least knew what quarters we were to
have, and Captain Vincent came early to-day to insist upon my going up
at once, but I really could not go. We have been in rain and mud so
long I feel that I am in no way fit to go to anyone's house. Besides,
it would seem selfish in me to desert Faye, and he, of course, would
not leave the company as long as it is in tents. We are delighted at
finding such charming people as the Vincents at this horrid place.

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY,
June, 1872.

WE are in our own house now and almost settled. When one has only a
few pieces of furniture it does not take long to get them in place. It
is impossible to make the rooms look homelike, and I often find myself
wondering where in this world I have wandered to! The house is of
logs, of course, and has a pole and dirt roof, and was built
originally for an officers' mess. The dining room is large and very
long, a part of which we have partitioned off with a piece of canvas
and converted into a storeroom. We had almost to get down on our knees
to the quartermaster before he would give us the canvas. He is in the
quartermaster's department and is most arrogant; seems to think that
every nail and tack is his own personal property and for his exclusive
use.

Our dining room has a sand floor, and almost every night little white
toadstools grow up all along the base of the log walls. All of the
logs are of cottonwood and have the bark on, and the army of bugs that
hide underneath the bark during the day and march upon us at night is
to be dreaded about as much as a whole tribe of Indians!

I wrote you how everyone laughed at me on the march down because I was
positive I saw heads of Indians on the sand hills so many times. Well,
all that has ceased, and the mention of "Mrs. Rae's Indians" is
carefully avoided! There has been sad proof that the Indians were
there, also that they were watching us closely and kept near us all
the way down from Fort Dodge, hoping for a favorable opportunity to
steal the animals. The battalion of the --th Infantry had made only
two days' march from here, and the herders had just turned the horses
and mules out to graze, when a band of Cheyenne Indians swooped down
upon them and stampeded every animal, leaving the companies without
even one mule! The poor things are still in camp on the prairie,
waiting for something, anything, to move them on. General Phillips is
mightily pleased that the Indians did not succeed in getting the
animals from his command, and I am pleased that they cannot tease me
any more.

My ride with Lieutenant Golden, Faye's classmate, this morning was
very exciting for a time. We started directly after stable call, which
is at six o'clock. Lieutenant Golden rode Dandy, his beautiful
thoroughbred, that reminds me so much of Lieutenant Baldwin's Tom, and
I rode a troop horse that had never been ridden by a woman before. As
soon as he was led up I noticed that there was much white to be seen
in his eyes, and that he was restless and ever pawing the ground. But
the orderly said he was not vicious, and he was sure I could ride him.
He did not object in the least to my skirt, and we started off in fine
style, but before we reached the end of the line he gave two or three
pulls at the bit, and then bolted! My arms are remarkably strong, but
they were like a child's against that hard mouth. He turned the corner
sharply and carried me along back of the laundress' quarters, where
there was a perfect network of clothes lines, and where I fully
expected to be swept from the saddle. But I managed to avoid them by
putting my head down close to the horse's neck, Indian fashion. He was
not a very large horse, and lowered himself, of course, by his
terrific pace. He went like the wind, on and up the hill in front of
the guard house. There a sentry was walking post, and on his big
infantry rifle was a long bayonet, and the poor man, in his desire to
do something for me, ran forward and held the gun horizontally right
in front of my horse, which caused him to give a fearful lunge to the
right and down the hill. How I managed to keep my seat I do not know,
and neither do I know how that mad horse kept right side up on that
down jump. But it did not seem to disturb him in the least, for he
never slackened his speed, and on we went toward the stables, where
the cavalry horses were tied to long picket ropes, and close together,
getting their morning grooming.

All this time Lieutenant Golden had not attempted to overtake me,
fearing that by doing so he might make matters worse, but when he saw
that the horse was running straight for his place on the line, he
pushed forward, and grasping my bridle rein, almost pulled the horse
on his haunches. He said later that I might have been kicked to death
by the troop horses if I had been rushed in among them. We went on to
the stables, Lieutenant Golden leading my horse, and you can fancy how
mortified I was over that performance, and it was really unnecessary,
too. Lieutenant Golden, also the sergeant, advised me to dismount and
try another horse, but I said no! I would ride that one if I could
have a severer bit and my saddle girths tightened. Dismount before
Lieutenant Golden, a cavalry officer and Faye's classmate, and all
those staring troopers--I, the wife of an infantry officer? Never! It
was my first experience with a runaway horse, but I had kept a firm
seat all the time--there was some consolation in that thought.

Well, to my great relief and comfort, it was discovered that the chin
chain that is on all cavalry bits had been left off, and this had made
the curb simply a straight bit and wholly ineffective. The sergeant
fastened the chain on and it was made tight, too, and he tightened the
girths and saw that everything was right, and then Lieutenant Golden
and I started on our ride the second time. I expected trouble, as the
horse was then leaving his stable and companions, but when he
commenced to back and shake his head I let him know that I held a nice
stinging whip, and that soon stopped the balking. We had to pass three
long picket lines of horses and almost two hundred troopers, every one
of whom stared at me with both eyes. It was embarrassing, of course,
but I was glad to let the whole line of them see that I was capable of
managing my own horse, which was still very frisky. I knew very well,
too, that the sergeant's angry roar when he asked, "Who bridled this
horse?" had been heard by many of them. Our ride was very delightful
after all its exciting beginning, and we are going again to morrow
morning. I want to let those troopers see that I am not afraid to ride
the horse they selected for me.

I shall be so glad when Hal is large enough to go with me. He is
growing fast, but at present seems to be mostly legs. He is devoted to
me, but I regret to say that he and our old soldier cook are not the
dearest friends. Findlay is so stupid he cannot appreciate the cunning
things the little dog does. Hal is fed mush and milk only until he
gets his second teeth, and consequently he is wild about meat. The
odor of a broiling beefsteak the other day was more than he could
resist, so he managed to get his freedom by slipping his collar over
his head, and rushing into the kitchen, snatched the sizzling steak
and was out again before Findlay could collect his few wits, and get
across the room to stop him. The meat was so hot it burned his mouth,
and he howled from the pain, but drop it he did not until he was far
from the cook. This I consider very plucky in so young a dog! Findlay
ran after the little hound, yelling and swearing, and I ran after
Findlay to keep him from beating my dog. Of course we did not have
beefsteak that day, but, as I told Faye, it was entirely Findlay's
fault. He should have kept watch of things, and not made it possible
for Hal to kill himself by eating a whole big steak!

Yesterday, Lieutenant Golden came in to luncheon, and when we went in
the dining room I saw at once that things were wrong, very wrong. A
polished table is an unknown luxury down here, but fresh table linen
we do endeavor to have. But the cloth on the table yesterday was a
sight to behold, with big spots of dirt all along one side and dirt on
top. Findlay came in the room just as I reached the table, and I said,
"Findlay, what has happened here?" He gave one look at the cloth where
I pointed, and then striking his knuckles together, almost sobbed out,
"Dot tamn dog, mum!" Faye and Lieutenant Golden quickly left the room
to avoid hearing any more remarks of that kind, for it was really very
dreadful in Findlay to use such language. This left me alone, of
course, to pacify the cook, which I found no easy task. Old Findlay
had pickled a choice buffalo tongue with much care and secrecy, and
had served it for luncheon yesterday as a great surprise and treat.
There was the platter on the table, but there could be no doubt of its
having been licked clean. Not one tiny piece of tongue could be seen
any place.

The window was far up, and in vain did I try to convince everyone that
a strange dog had come in and stolen the meat, that Hal was quite too
small to have reached so far; but Findlay only looked cross and Faye
looked hungry, so I gave that up. Before night, however, there was
trouble and a very sick puppy in the house, and once again I thought
he would die. And every few minutes that disagreeable old cook would
come in and ask about the dog, and say he was afraid he could not get
well--always with a grin on his face that was exasperating. Finally, I
told him that if he had served only part of the tongue, as he should
have done, the dog would not have been so ill, and we could have had
some of it. That settled the matter--he did not come in again. Findlay
has served several enlistments, and is regarded as an old soldier, and
once upon a time he was cook for the colonel of the regiment,
therefore he sometimes forgets himself and becomes aggressive. I do
not wonder that Hal dislikes him.

And Hal dislikes Indians, too, and will often hear their low mumbling
and give little growls before I dream that one is near. They have a
disagreeable way of coming to the windows and staring in. Sometimes
before you have heard a sound you will be conscious of an
uncomfortable feeling, and looking around you will discover five or
six Indians, large and small, peering at you through the windows, each
ugly nose pressed flat against the glass! It is enough to drive one
mad. You never know when they are about, their tread is so stealthy
with their moccasined feet.

Faye is officer of the guard every third day now. This sounds rather
nice; but it means that every third day and night--exactly twenty-four
hours--he has to spend at the guard house, excepting when making the
rounds, that is, visiting sentries on post, and is permitted to come
to the house just long enough to eat three hurried meals. This is
doing duty, and would be all right if there were not a daily mingling
of white and colored troops which often brings a colored sergeant over
a white corporal and privates. But the most unpleasant part for the
officer of the guard is that the partition in between the officer's
room and guard room is of logs, unchinked, and very open, and the
weather is very hot! and the bugs, which keep us all in perpetual
warfare in our houses, have full sway there, going from one room to
the other.

The officers say that the negroes make good soldiers and fight like
fiends. They certainly manage to stick on their horses like monkeys.
The Indians call them "buffalo soldiers," because their woolly heads
are so much like the matted cushion that is between the horns of the
buffalo. We had letters from dear old Fort Lyon yesterday, and the
news about Lieutenant Baldwin is not encouraging. He is not improving
and Doctor Wilder is most anxious about him. But a man as big and
strong as he was must certainly get well in time.

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY,
June, 1872.

IT seems as if I had to write constantly of unpleasant occurrences,
but what else can I do since unpleasant occurrences are ever coming
along? This time I must tell you that Faye has been turned out of
quarters--"ranked out," as it is spoken of in the Army. But it all
amounts to the same thing, and means that we have been driven out of
our house and home, bag and baggage, because a captain wanted that one
set of quarters! Call it what one chooses, the experience was not
pleasant and will be long remembered. Being turned out was bad enough
in itself, but the manner in which it was done was humiliating in the
extreme. We had been in the house only three weeks and had worked so
hard during that time to make it at all comfortable. Findlay wanted to
tear down the canvas partition in the dining room when we left the
house, and I was sorry later on that I had not consented to his doing
so.

One morning at ten o'clock I received a note from Faye, written at the
guard house, saying that his set of quarters had been selected by a
cavalry officer who had just arrived at the post, and that every
article of ours must be out of the house that day by one o'clock! Also
that, as he was officer of the guard, it would be impossible for him
to assist me in the least, except to send some enlisted men to move
the things. At first I was dazed and wholly incapable of comprehending
the situation--it seemed so preposterous to expect anyone to move
everything out of a house in three hours. But as soon as I recovered
my senses I saw at once that not one second of the precious time must
be wasted, and that the superintendence of the whole thing had fallen
upon me.

So I gathered my forces, and the four men started to work in a way
that showed they would do everything in their power to help me. All
that was possible for us to do, however, was almost to throw things
out in a side yard, for remember, please, we had only three short
hours in which to move everything--and this without, warning or
preparation of any kind. All things, big and small, were out by one
o'clock, and just in time, too, to avoid a collision with the colored
soldiers of the incoming cavalry officer, who commenced taking
furniture and boxes in the house at precisely that hour.

Of course there was no hotel or even restaurant for me to go to, and I
was too proud and too indignant to beg shelter in the house of a
friend--in fact, I felt as if I had no friend. So I sat down on a
chair in the yard with the little dog by me, thinking, I remember,
that the chair was our own property and no one had a right to object
to my being there. And I also remember that the whole miserable affair
brought to mind most vividly scenes of eviction that had been
illustrated in the papers from time to time, when poor women had been
evicted for nonpayment of rent!

Just as I had reached the very lowest depths of misery and woe, Mrs.
Vincent appeared, and Faye almost immediately after. We three went to
Mrs. Vincent's house for luncheon, and in fact I remained there until
we came to this house. She had just heard of what had happened and
hastened down to me. Captain Vincent said it was entirely the fault of
the commanding officer for permitting such a disgraceful order to
leave his office; that Captain Park's family could have remained one
night longer in tents here, as they had been in camp every night on
the road from Fort Sill.

There came a ludicrous turn to all this unpleasantness, for, by the
ranking out of one junior second lieutenant, six or more captains and
first lieutenants had to move. It was great fun the next day to see
the moving up and down the officers' line of all sorts of household
goods, for it showed that a poor second lieutenant was of some
importance after all!

But I am getting on too fast. Faye, of course, was entitled to two
rooms, some place in the post, but it seems that the only quarters he
could take were those occupied by Lieutenant Cole, so Faye decided at
once to go into tents himself, in preference to compelling Lieutenant
Cole to do so. Now it so happened that the inspector general of the
department was in the garrison, and as soon as he learned the
condition of affairs, he ordered the post quartermaster to double two
sets of quarters--that is, make four sets out of two--and designated
the quartermaster's own house for one of the two. But Major Knox
divided off two rooms that no one could possibly occupy, and in
consequence has still all of his large house. But the other large set
that was doubled was occupied by a senior captain, who, when his
quarters were reduced in size, claimed a new choice, and so,
turning another captain out, the ranking out went on down to a second
lieutenant. But no one took our old house from Captain Park, much to
my disappointment, and he still has it.

The house that we are in now is built of cedar logs, and was the
commanding officer's house at one time. It has a long hall running
through the center, and on the left side Major Hunt and his family
have the four rooms, and we have the two on the right. Our kitchen is
across the yard, and was a chicken house not so very long ago. It has
no floor, of course, so we had loads of dirt dug out and all filled in
again with clean white sand, and now, after the log walls have been
scraped and whitened, and a number of new shelves put up, it is really
quite nice. Our sleeping room has no canvas on the walls inside, and
much of the chinking has fallen out, leaving big holes, and I never
have a light in that room after dark, fearing that Indians might shoot
me through those holes. They are skulking about the post all the time.

We have another cook now--a soldier of course--and one that is rather
inexperienced. General Phillips ordered Findlay back to the company,
saying he was much needed there, but he was company cook just one day
when he was transferred to the general's own kitchen. Comment is
unnecessary! But it is all for the best, I am sure, for Farrar is very
fond of Hal, and sees how intelligent he is, just as I do. The little
dog is chained to a kennel all the time now, and, like his mistress,
is trying to become dignified.

Faye was made post adjutant this morning, which we consider rather
complimentary, since the post commander is in the cavalry, and there
are a number of cavalry lieutenants here. General Dickinson is a
polished old gentleman, and his wife a very handsome woman who looks
almost as young as her daughter. Miss Dickinson, the general's older
daughter, is very pretty and a fearless rider. In a few days we two
are to commence our morning rides.

How very funny that I should have forgotten to tell you that I have a
horse, at least I hope he will look like a horse when he has gained
some flesh and lost much long hair. He is an Indian pony of very good
size, and has a well-shaped head and slender little legs. He has a fox
trot, which is wonderfully easy, and which he apparently can keep up
indefinitely, and like all Indian horses can "run like a deer." So,
altogether, he will do very well for this place, where rides are
necessarily curtailed. I call him Cheyenne, because we bought him of
Little Raven, a Cheyenne chief. I shall be so glad when I can ride
again, as I have missed so much the rides and grand hunts at Fort
Lyon.

Later: The mail is just in, and letters have come from Fort Lyon
telling us of the death of Lieutenant Baldwin! It is dreadful--and
seems impossible. They write that he became more and more despondent,
until finally it was impossible to rouse him sufficiently to take an
interest in his own life. Faye and I have lost a friend--a real, true
friend. A brother could not have been kinder, more considerate than he
was to both of us always. How terribly he must have grieved over the
ruin of the horse he was so proud of, and loved so well!

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY,
September, 1872.

THE heat here is still intense, and it never rains, so everything is
parched to a crisp. The river is very low and the water so full of
alkali that we are obliged to boil every drop before it is used for
drinking or cooking, and even then it is so distasteful that we flavor
it with sugar of lemons so we can drink it at all. Fresh lemons are
unknown here, of course. The ice has given out, but we manage to cool
the water a little by keeping it in bottles and canteens down in the
dug-out cellar.

Miss Dickinson and I continue our daily rides, but go out very early
in the morning. We have an orderly now, as General Dickinson considers
it unsafe for us to go without an escort, since we were chased by an
Indian the other day. That morning the little son of General Phillips
was with us, and as it was not quite as warm as usual, we decided to
canter down the sunflower road a little way--a road that runs to the
crossing of Wolf Creek through an immense field of wild sunflowers.
These sunflowers grow to a tremendous height in this country, so tall
that sometimes you cannot see over them even when on horseback. Just
across the creek there is a village of Apache Indians, and as these
Indians are known to be hostile, this particular road is considered
rather unsafe.

But we rode on down a mile or more without seeing a thing, and had
just turned our ponies' heads homeward when little Grote, who was back
of us, called out that an Indian was coming. That was startling, but
upon looking back we saw that he was a long distance away and coming
leisurely, so we did not pay much attention to him.

But Grote was more watchful, and very soon screamed, "Mrs. Rae, Mrs.
Rae, the Indian is coming fast--he's going to catch us!" And then,
without wasting time by looking back, we started our ponies with a
bound that put them at their best pace, poor little Grote lashing his
most unmercifully, and crying every minute, "He'll catch us! He'll
catch us!"

That the Indian was on a fleet pony and was gaining upon us was very
evident, and what might have happened had we not soon reached the
sutler's store no one can tell, but we did get there just as he caught
up with us, and as we drew in our panting horses that hideous savage
rode up in front of us and circled twice around us, his pony going
like a whirlwind; and in order to keep his balance, the Indian leaned
far over on one side, his head close to the pony's neck. He said "How"
with a fiendish grin that showed how thoroughly he was enjoying our
frightened faces, and then turned his fast little beast back to the
sunflower road. Of course, as long as the road to the post was clear
we were in no very great danger, as our ponies were fast, but if that
savage could have passed us and gotten us in between him and the
Apache village, we would have lost our horses, if not our lives, for
turning off through the sunflowers would have been an impossibility.

The very next morning, I think it was, one of the government mules
wandered away, and two of the drivers went in search of it, but not
finding it in the post, one of the men suggested that they should go
to the river where the post animals are watered. It is a fork of the
Canadian River, and is just over a little sand hill, not one quarter
of a mile back of the quarters, but not in the direction of the
sunflower road. The other man, however, said he would not go--that it
was not safe--and came back to the corral, so the one who proposed
going went on alone.

Time passed and the man did not return, and finally a detail was sent
out to look him up. They went directly to the river, and there they
found him, just on the other side of the hill--dead. He had been shot
by some fiendish Indian soon after leaving his companion. The mule has
never been found, and is probably in a far-away Indian village, where
he brays in vain for the big rations of corn he used to get at the
government corral.

Last Monday, soon after luncheon, forty or fifty Indians came rushing
down the drive in front of the officers' quarters, frightening some of
us almost out of our senses. Where they came from no one could tell,
for not one sentry had seen them until they were near the post. They
rode past the houses like mad creatures, and on out to the company
gardens, where they made their ponies trample and destroy every
growing thing. Only a few vegetables will mature in this soil and
climate, but melons are often very good, and this season the gardeners
had taken much pains with a crop of fine watermelons that were just
beginning to ripen. But not one of these was spared--every one was
broken and crushed by the little hoofs of the ponies, which seem to
enjoy viciousness of this kind as much as the Indians themselves.

A company of infantry was sent at once to the gardens, but as it was
not quite possible for the men to outrun the ponies, the mischief had
been done before they got there, and all they could do was to force
them back at the point of the bayonet. Cavalry was ordered out, also,
to drive them away, but none of the troops were allowed to fire upon
them, and that the Indians knew very well. It might have brought on
an uprising!

It seems that the Indians were almost all young bucks out for a
frolic, but quite ready, officers say, for any kind of devilment. They
rode around the post three or four times at breakneck speed, each
circle being larger, and taking them farther away. At last they all
started for the hills and gradually disappeared--all but one, a
sentinel, who could be seen until dark sitting his pony on the highest
hill. I presume there were dozens of Indians on the sand hills around
the post peeking over to see how the fun went on.

They seem to be watching the post every second of the day, ready to
pounce upon any unprotected thing that ventures forth, be it man or
beast. At almost any time two or three black dots can be seen on the
top of the white sand hills, and one wonders how they can lie for
hours in the hot, scorching sand with the sun beating down on their
heads and backs. And all the time their tough little ponies will stand
near them, down the hill, scarcely moving or making a sound. Some
scouts declare that an Indian pony never whinnies or sneezes! But that
seems absurd, although some of those little beasts show wonderful
intelligence and appear to have been apt pupils in treachery.

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY,
October, 1872.

THIS place is becoming more dreadful each day, and every one of the
awful things I feared might happen here seems to be coming to pass.
Night before last the post was actually attacked by Indians! It was
about one o'clock when the entire garrison was awakened by rifle shots
and cries of "Indians! Indians!" There was pandemonium at once. The
"long roll" was beaten on the infantry drums, and "boots and saddles"
sounded by the cavalry bugles, and these are calls that startle all
who hear them, and strike terror to the heart of every army woman.
They mean that something is wrong--very wrong--and demand the
immediate report for duty at their respective companies of every
officer and man in the garrison.

Faye jumped into his uniform, and saying a hasty good-by, ran to his
company, as did all the other officers, and very soon we could hear
the shouting of orders from every direction.

Our house is at the extreme end of the officers' line and very
isolated, therefore Mrs. Hunt and I were left in a most deplorable
condition, with three little children--one a mere baby--to take care
of. We put them all in one bed and covered them as well as we could
without a light, which we did not dare have, of course. Then we saw
that all the doors and windows were fastened on both sides. We decided
that it would be quite impossible for us to remain shut up inside the
house, so we dressed our feet, put on long waterproof coats over our
nightgowns as quickly and silently as possible, and then we sat down
on the steps of the front door to await--we knew not what. I had firm
hold of a revolver, and felt exceedingly grateful all the time that I
had been taught so carefully how to use it, not that I had any hope of
being able to do more with it than kill myself, if I fell in the hands
of a fiendish Indian. I believe that Mrs. Hunt, however, was almost as
much afraid of the pistol as she was of the Indians.

Ten minutes after the shots were fired there was perfect silence
throughout the garrison, and we knew absolutely nothing of what was
taking place around us. Not one word did we dare even whisper to each
other, our only means of communication being through our hands. The
night was intensely dark and the air was close--almost suffocating.

In this way we sat for two terrible hours, ever on the alert, ever
listening for the stealthy tread of a moccasined foot at a corner of
the house. And then, just before dawn, when we were almost exhausted
by the great strain on our strength and nerves, our husbands came.
They told us that a company of infantry had been quite near us all the
time, and that a troop of cavalry had been constantly patrolling
around the post. I cannot understand how such perfect silence was
maintained by the troops, particularly the cavalry. Horses usually
manage to sneeze at such times.

There is always a sentry at our corner of the garrison, and it was
this sentinel who was attacked, and it is the general belief among the
officers that the Indians came to this corner hoping to get the-troops
concentrated at the beat farthest from the stables, and thus give them
a chance to steal some, if not all, of the cavalry horses. But Mr. Red
Man's strategy is not quite equal to that of the Great Father's
soldiers, or he would have known that troops would be sent at once to
protect the horses.

There were a great many pony tracks to be seen in the sand the next
morning, and there was a mounted sentinel on a hill a mile or so away.
It was amusing to watch him through a powerful field glass, and we
wished that he could know just how his every movement could be seen.
He sat there on his pony for hours, both Indian and horse apparently
perfectly motionless, but with his face always turned toward the post,
ready to signal to his people the slightest movement of the troops.

Faye says that the colored troops were real soldiers that night, alert
and plucky. I can readily believe that some of them can be alert, and
possibly good soldiers, and that they can be good thieves too, for
last Saturday night they stole from us the commissary stores we had
expected to last us one week--everything, in fact, except coffee,
sugar, and such things that we keep in the kitchen, where it is dry.

The commissary is open Saturday mornings only, at which time we are
requested to purchase all supplies we will need from there for the
following week, and as we have no fresh vegetables whatever, and no
meat except beef, we are very dependent upon the canned goods and
other things in the commissary.

Last Saturday Mrs. Hunt and I sent over as usual, and most of the
supplies were put in a little dug-out cellar in the yard that we use
together--she having one side, I the other. On Sunday morning Farrar
happened to be the first cook to go out for things for breakfast, and
he found that the door had been broken open and the shelves as bare as
Mother Hubbard's. Everything had been carried off except a few candles
on Mrs. Hunt's side, and a few cakes of laundry soap on mine! The
candles they had no use for, and the thieves were probably of a class
that had no use for soap, either.

Our breakfast that morning was rather light, but as soon as word got
abroad of our starving condition, true army hospitality and generosity
manifested itself. We were invited out to luncheon, and to dinner, and
to breakfast the next morning. You can see how like one big family a
garrison can be, and how in times of trouble we go to each other's
assistance. Of course, now and then we have disagreeable persons with
us--those who will give you only three hours to move out of your
house, or one who will order your cook from you.

CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY,
January, 1873.

ALL that remained of Captain White was carried to the little cemetery
yesterday, with all the military honors possible at such a far-away
post We have no chaplain, therefore one of the cavalry officers read
the service for the dead at the house, just before the march to the
cemetery. Almost all of the cavalry of the garrison was out, mounted,
Captain White's own troop having the lead, of course, and the greater
part of the infantry was out also, and there was a firing detail, with
guns reversed.

The casket, covered with a large flag, was carried on a caisson, and
his horse, led by an orderly, was covered with a large blanket of
black cloth. Over this was the saddle, and on top of the saddle rested
his helmet--the yellow horsehair plume and gold trimmings looking
soiled by long service. His sabre was there, too, and strapped to the
saddle on each side were his uniform boots, toes in stirrups--all
reversed! This riderless horse, with its pall of black, yellow helmet,
and footless boots, was the saddest sight imaginable.

I did not go to the cemetery, but we heard distinctly the firing of
the three volleys over the grave and the sounding of taps on the
bugles. The garrison flag had been drawn to half mast almost the
moment of Captain White's death, but at the last sound of taps it was
immediately pulled up to full mast, and soon the troops came back to
their quarters, the field music playing lively airs.

This seemed so unnecessarily cruel, for Mrs. White must have heard
every note, and she is still so wretchedly ill. The tiny baby has been
taken from the house by the motherly wife of an officer, and the other
tots--four in all--are being cared for by others. We have all been
taking turns in sitting up nights during the illness of husband and
wife, and last night three of us were there, Captain Tillman and Faye
in one room, and I with Mrs. White. It was a terrible night, probably
the one that has exacted, or will exact, the greatest self-control, as
it was the one before the burial.

In civil life a poor widow can often live right on in her old home,
but in the Army, never! Mrs. White will have to give up the quarters
just as soon as she and the little baby are strong enough to travel.
She has been in a warm climate many years, and her friends are all in
the North, so to-morrow a number of us are to commence making warm
clothing for her and the children. She has absolutely nothing of the
kind, and seems to be pitifully helpless and incapable of thinking for
herself.

Soon after I got home this morning and was trying to get a little
sleep, I heard screams and an awful commotion across the hall in one
of Mrs. Hunt's rooms, and running over to see what was the matter, I
found Mrs. Hunt standing upon a chair, and her cook running around
like a madman, with a stick of wood in his hand, upsetting furniture
and whacking things generally. I naturally thought of a mouse, and not
being afraid of them, I went on in and closed the door. I doubt if
Mrs. Hunt saw me, she was so intently watching the man, who kept on
upsetting things. He stopped finally, and then held up on the wood a
snake--a dead rattlesnake! We measured it, and it was over two feet
long.

You can see how the house is built by the photograph I sent you, that
there are no chimneys, and that the stovepipes go straight up through
the pole and sod roof. The children insist that the snake came down
the pipe in the liveliest kind of a way, so it must have crawled up
the logs to the roof, and finding the warmth of the pipe, got too
close to the opening and slipped through. However that may be, he got
into the room where the three little children were playing alone.
Fortunately, the oldest recognized the danger at once, and ran
screaming to her mother, the other two following. Mrs. Hunt was almost
ill over the affair, and Major Hunt kept a man on top and around the
old house hunting for snakes, until we began to fear it would be
pulled down on our heads.

This country itself is bad enough, and the location of the post is
most unfortunate, but to compel officers and men to live in these old
huts of decaying, moldy wood, which are reeking with malaria and alive
with bugs, and perhaps snakes, is wicked. Officers' families are not
obliged to remain here, of course.

But at dreadful places like this is where the plucky army wife is most
needed. Her very presence has often a refining and restraining
influence over the entire garrison, from the commanding officer down
to the last recruit. No one can as quickly grasp the possibilities of
comfort in quarters like these, or as bravely busy herself to fix them
up. She knows that the stay is indefinite, that it may be for six
months, or possibly six years, but that matters not. It is her army
home--Brass Button's home--and however discouraging its condition may
be, for his sake she pluckily, and with wifely pride, performs
miracles, always making the house comfortable and attractive.

FORT DODGE, KANSAS,
January, 1873.

OUR coming here was most unexpected and very unpleasant in every way.
General Phillips and Major Barker quarreled over something, and Major
Barker preferred charges against the general, who is his company
commander, and now General Phillips is being tried here by general
court martial. Faye and I were summoned as witnesses by Major Barker,
just because we heard a few words that were said in front of our
window late one night! The court has thoughtfully excused me from
going into the court room, as I could only corroborate Faye's
testimony. I am so relieved, for it would have been a terrible ordeal
to have gone in that room where all those officers are sitting, in
full-dress uniform, too, and General Phillips with them. I would have
been too frightened to have remembered one thing, or to have known
whether I was telling the truth or not.

General Dickinson and Ben dark, his interpreter, came up in the
ambulance with us, and the poor general is now quite ill, the result
of an ice bath in the Arkansas River! When we started to come across
on the ice here at the ford, the mule leaders broke through and fell
down on the river bottom, and being mules, not only refused to get up,
but insisted upon keeping their noses under the water. The wheelers
broke through, too, but had the good sense to stand on their feet, but
they gave the ambulance such a hard jerk that the front wheels broke
off more ice and went down to the river bottom, also. By the time all
this had occurred, I was the only one left inside, and found myself
very busy trying to keep myself from slipping down under the front
seat, where water had already come in. General Dickinson and Faye were
doing everything possible to assist the men.

Just how it was accomplished would make too long a story to tell, but
in a short time the leaders were dragged out and on their feet, and
the rear wheels of the ambulance let down on the river bottom, and
then we were all pulled up on the ice again, and came on to the post
in safety. All but General Dickinson, who undertook to hold out of the
water the heads of the two leaders who seemed determined to commit
suicide by keeping their noses down, the general forgetting for once
that he was commanding officer. But one of those government mules did
not forget, and with a sudden jerk of his big head he pulled the
general over and down from the ice into the water, and in such a way
that he was wedged tight in between the two animals. One would have
expected much objection on the part of the mules to the fishing out of
the general, but those two mules kept perfectly still, apparently
satisfied with the mischief that had already been done. I can fancy
that there is one mule still chuckling over the fact of having gotten
even with a commanding officer! It is, quite warm now, and the ice has
gone out of the river, so there will be no trouble at the ford
to-morrow, when we start back.

There is one company of Faye's regiment stationed here, and the
officer in command of the post is major of the Third, so we feel at
home.