Tài liệu Army Letters from an Officer''''''''s Wife, 1871-1888 pdf

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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
Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888 5
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.
Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888 6
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.
Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888 7
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 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
Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888 8
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.
Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888 9
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.
Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888 10
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
Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888 11
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.
Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888 12
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
Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888 13
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,
Army Letters from an Officer's Wife, 1871-1888 14