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ARMY LIFE

ON THE PLAINS

FRANCES C. CARRINGTON

MY ARMY LIFE

AND THE

FORT PHIL. KEARNEY MASSACRE

WITH

AN ACCOUNT OF THE CELEBRATION

of "WYOMING OPENED"

FRANCES C. CARRINGTON

With Maps and Illustrations

PHILADELPHIA & LONDON

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

1910

BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

Published June, 1910

Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company

The Washington Square Press, Philadelphia, U.S.A.

In Memory

OF THE

EIGHTEENTH REGIMENT UNITED STATES INFANTRY

ITS CIVIL WAR SERVICE

FROM 1861 TO 1865

AND

ITS FRONTIER INDIAN SERVICE

FROM 1865 TO 1867

PREFACE

AFTER the passing of many years, at the sugges- tion of interested friends, the setting down for per- manent record of the narrative of my life on the Plains in 1866 was assumed and completed, though not published, but laid away for a "more convenient season."

There it has remained for two years.

Eighteen months ago, on revisiting the scenes of forty- two years past, the later experiences so supple- mented the former that both are joined to complete the whole.

My visit recalled, intensified, the life in 1866. Bridging the years I seem to see again the plodding of weary but hopeful travellers journeying over a broad, desert waste, the isolation of a small defense- less caravan, and the green spots here and there like angel dwelling places.

The arrival at our destination after the dangers and risks of our journey, the completion of the strong stockade, our temporary home, the raising of the flag at its completion, the rehabilitation of the kaleidoscopic scenes of that long ago with the forms that were companions in that tragic experience, are even now more like the fantasies of a fearful dream than matters of personal experience.

That transient dwelling place, so strong and apparently impregnable if sufficiently defended, was deliberately abandoned by our Government through

PREFACE

lack of soldiers sufficient for its defense, and burned by the victorious tribes.

Strangest of all is the fact that at present scarcely twenty-three miles distant from that very spot is the County Seat of Sheridan County, most intensely the reverse of every condition of life that marked the experience of the earlier narratives, and teeming with life, peace, and prosperity.

And yet all is epitomized in a simple monument, which stands on Massacre Hill, to mark the battle- field of December 21, 1866, with an explanatory tablet in memory of those who gave their lives to uphold the authority of the Government.

F. C. C.

CONTENTS

PART I.

OUTWARD BOUND.

PART II.

OUR FRONTIER HOME.

PART III.

HOMEWARD BOUND.

PART IV.

AFTER MANY DAYS.

PART I

OUTWARD BOUND

FROM GOVERNOR'S ISLAND TO FORT PHIL. KEARNEY, DAKOTA

CHAPTER I.

GOVERNOR'S ISLAND TO VICKSBURG AND LEAVEN-

WORTH—THE FATHER OF WATERS

IN MIDSUMMER.

AT the close of the Civil War all volunteer regi- ments that had been employed on the Plains against Indian aggression, including the Minnesota Terri- tory, which had been a theatre of active war, were ordered to be mustered out, and pending the reor- ganization of the regular army the frontier was but feebly guarded.

The Eighteenth Infantry, having three battalions but depleted by active service, was ordered from the Army of the Cumberland to be recruited to its maxi- mum and sent beyond the Missouri River.

Upon reaching Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, the First Battalion was detached for service on the lower line westward. Headquarters were estab- lished at Fort Kearney, Nebraska, its commander having jurisdiction along the Platte and Republican Rivers. In the month of December, 1865, the com- mand reached Fort Kearney in a great snow-storm.

The winter was spent in frequent minor opera- tions against the Indians of that section while having the cordial support of Pe-ta-la-sha-ra (Chowee Band), a noted chief of the Pawnee Tribe, which at that time occupied the reservation near the growing town of Columbus, in Nebraska, then a territory. Four companies from his tribe were organized and

MY ARMY LIFE

mustered into service as scouts, then known as "Pawnee Scouts," and placed under command of Major North.

Major North, after the muster out of his bat- talion, became universally known as the drill-master of many of his old command who afterward formed a part of the great travelling show under the general charge of William Cody, who at that time was in army service as a guide and scout at the moderate pay of $5.00 per day.

With the approaching spring of 1866 plans had matured for building the Union Pacific Railroad from Omaha westward, and General Carrington was charged with the special duty of making careful sur- veys of the Platte River as far eastward as Grand Island, with a view to the possibility of a safe cross- ing of the river at that point, so that the railroad might go westward along the south side.

In May, 1866, the expedition left Fort Kearney, fully equipped for opening a wagon route for future peaceful settlement of the new country beyond; the entire force, including recruits, to be largely dis- tributed at western posts to replace mustered out volunteers. Nineteen hundred recruits were added to less than three hundred veterans; all but eight companies of the Second Battalion being ordered to occupy forts from Fort Sedgwick westward to Salt Lake and Fort Bridger, leaving the Second Battalion of eight companies as the sole force with which to open the proposed wagon route around the Big Horn Mountains to Montana, through a country most fruitful in game but occupied chiefly by Indians

OUTWARD BOUND

who were as hostile as Red Cloud himself to the military movement, and who defied the proposed peace arrangements at Fort Laramie in the follow- ing June and actually went on the war-path.

Careful abstract of public document No. 33, of the First Session of the Fiftieth American Congress gives abundant proof that the expedition itself, while not in harmony with treaties made with the Indians by Generals Harney and Sanborn in 1865, was systematically conducted in accordance with written instructions from Lieutenant General Sher- man to " avoid a general Indian war if possible," and methods of conciliation were carried to the utmost possible extent, while the courage and zeal of officers and men never wavered in duty to the flag, however powerful the assailants, when life itself became the price of its successful defense.

The expedition took up its tedious march to that country, a country originally owned by the Crow Indians, always friendly to the whites, who had long resisted its despoilment by the hostile Sioux, marching onward over alkaline waste, through numberless buffalo herds, with dried sage bush and buffalo chips for fuel, and passing the carcasses of cattle, called Mormon milestones from the cattle lost in their western migration, and halting at Lara- mie in June while the great Conference between the assembled tribes was in session, as will be noticed later in the progress of the narrative.

When hostilities between the North and South had ceased many officers of high rank, brevet or

2 17

MY ARMY LIFE

otherwise, secured commissions in the Regular Army, although of much lower grade than those held by them in the Volunteer Service. Attracted by the life of the soldier, these men, after years of service for their country, were reluctant to return to purely civil life and thereby practically begin life anew. Captains, majors, and even generals, were commis- sioned as lieutenants in the Regular Service, it being a life appointment, somewhat reversing the process at the beginning of the war when officers were gradually advanced from the lowest grades to regimental and even brigade commands.

My husband was one of these. Responding to the first call upon his native State, he became a captain of infantry and was later promoted and transferred to another regiment as lieutenant-colonel. Eventu- ally he not only served through the Atlanta Cam- paign but marched with Sherman to the sea. After the Battle of Bentonville, North Carolina, he was recommended by his superior officers to a brevet as brigadier-general "for gallant and meritorious ser- vices in that action."

When the war actually closed, renewed acquaint- ance led to my marriage with Colonel Grummond, who a few months later was commissioned as lieu- tenant in the Eighteenth U. S. Infantry, under the command of Colonel Henry B. Carrington, who was already on the march for the Plains.

While awaiting orders to report for duty, at my home in Tennessee, preliminary preparations were made by the packing of trunks to be ready for de- parture westward at a moment's notice.

OUTWARD BOUND

When orders actually reached us, it was found that our first destination was Governor's Island, New York Harbor, and my first introduction to army life, in time of peace, began there in 1866.

I knew instinctively that if I were to emulate the devotion and self denials of other army women I had much to learn, and I began its alphabet without dissent, if not with enthusiastic assent.

My first experience, common to soldiers' wives, was to understand distinctly that upon reaching a given place there was no certainty of protracted rest, but that successive orders might almost imme- diately require change, so that army women must learn to make the necessary adjustments in an in- credibly short time.

It is the purpose of this narrative to give facts that may be more or less suggestive to those who read between the lines, rather than to pause and enlighten the reader by philosophising upon the incidents of such life experiences.

In this instance I had no sooner become ini- tiated in my boarding-house arrangements, with trunks unpacked and necessaries, as well as nick- nacks, disposed in the most favorable places sug- gestive of home enjoyment, than orders came to proceed to Vicksburg, Mississippi, as my husband and several other officers were placed in charge of detachments of recruits for distribution from that station.

The transit from New York was uneventful, except for the intense heat, while the cars, crowded as they were by the compactness of the men and

MY ARMY LIFE

their equipments, brought only discomfort and remediless fatigue. Still, the prospect of changing from these cars to a Mississippi steamer was cheer- ing, and we could almost imagine the white craft at anchor, or at the landing, awaiting our approach with the promise of a sail down the Mississippi where grateful breezes would temper the heated atmosphere. The very thought of it was refresh- ing!

The trip to the steam-boat, however, may be illustrated by the story of a threatened ferry dis- aster, where pandemonium reigned supreme for a short season, and unmanageable horses, intensified by the cries of nervous women passengers, were parts of the scene incident to the occasion. There was one quiet woman who sat apparently unmoved by imminent danger from the heels of a horse. The bit was held with a firm grip by the driver who was swearing as if he had served apprenticeship with the army mule. When he was remonstrated with for swearing in the presence of ladies we were sur- prised to hear this particular lady remark, " Don't stop him, he is the only one doing justice to the occasion." One may not approve of swearing, but when we finally reached the wharf, our starting point, and took in the situation, the real one, with scarcely a breath of air stirring on land or river, on a hot, dazzling July morning, if there were emphatic expressions from any of our company at the pros- pect I do not recall making any protest against them. Certainly the river did not suggest "Minne- haha," "laughing water," in its midsummer con-

OUTWARD BOUND

dition as I stood upon the landing watching the embarkation of our detachment, ordered to Vicks- burg in time of peace. The steamer, which had been utilized for the transportation of troops, had been recently disinfected and painted, so that though ours was not a fancied pleasure trip, might it not prove after all more comfortable than the immediate out- look indicated!

"All aboard !"

The gang-plank once withdrawn, we were soon mid-stream, and I retired to my stateroom to make myself more comfortable for the journey. The first discovery was that the transom, as well as the outer door, stuck fast. Vain was the endeavor to coun- teract the effect of that paint. No human power could alleviate its stickiness, and the problem of enduring, without curing, was left for future solu- tion. No other stateroom was available, as I had choice of the best at the start, being the only woman passenger on board. My discomfort was only begin- ning, as other discoveries quickly disclosed. The nettings around the berths were like a cloudy drapery, charged with intense heat, and the mos- quitoes swarmed in countless numbers, ready to begin their nightly attack. Though the river had been poetically styled "The Father of Waters" from time immemorial, it was more literally inter- preted, by experience, as the prolific "Mother of Mosquitoes." If they had possessed the qualifica- tions for business that others of a later date were credited with, I doubt if I should now be recording their ravages on my defenseless body. The sole

MY ARMY LIFE

relief was to sit for a few brief moments at a time at the bow of the steamer where occasionally a slight breeze was felt, but even this was so conducive to sleep that the very effort to keep awake made one positively miserable. It was simply existence, with no joy to anticipate the dawn, for that heralded another day of intense heat, with no welcome for the setting sun and no suggestion of repose or relief from this persistent mosquito pest.

I confess to utter lack of patriotic impulse or fervor, when the morning of the Fourth of July dawned, as we slowly sailed down the sluggish river. The pen cannot adequately describe this journey in all its details. The brush would be equally ineffec- tive. There was not life or energy sufficient for posing, if such a medium for delineation had been offered. Perhaps Mark Twain might give a humor- ous turn to the situation from familiarity with river travel in his earlier years, and yet, more consonant with my own feelings, Dante might prove equal to the task and add another circle to his "Inferno," with the description of a real rather than an "imag- inary journey."

The historical siege of Vicksburg itself counted for naught at that time in comparison with our siege on the journey thither. General Grant could not have been more anxious to terminate hostilities, nor indeed that devoted city itself, than were we when the city "set on a hill" loomed up before us. "Every lane has its turning," "every journey has its ending," every steam-boat has its landing, and so did ours, and at last we disembarked to enter

OUTWARD BOUND

the garrison in various mental moods and stages of physical suffering, hors de combat, every soul of us. Being tired, hungry, and thirsty is the probable reason why the first object of interest that greeted my eye on entering the post was a fig-tree, a novelty surely, as my knowledge hitherto had included only the packed variety. The development of this speci- men had passed beyond the leafy stage, and I par- took of some of its unpalatable fruit, an arrested development probably, and for all practical pur- poses the tree might well have been withered leaves, branch, and root with no great loss.

Compensation was, however, in store for us in the gracious reception accorded by General Nathan A. M. Dudley and his charming wife, who made our sojourn delightful, seconded as it was by the other officers and their wives, who contributed to the pleasant social amenities of garrison life and made us forget, for the time being, our misery, as "waters that have passed away."

All bore part in restoring the mental equilibrium, however tardy the process might be from a purely bodily point of view. Recovering so much of former elasticity of spirits as possible under this pleasant environment, with the aid of headquarters friends, I felt equal to the pleasant task of singing some of the old songs I had sung in the long ago, with a conscious reciprocal pleasure on the part of those who so kindly ministered to my comfort.

Mrs. Dudley was the possessor of some beautiful white pigeons of which she was very proud, and they were an unfailing source of pleasure. Their prox-

MY ARMY LIFE

imity, as they fed from her hand, produced far different sensations than did those winged things that had so recently occupied my entire attention.

Reluctantly we parted with our genial hosts and retraced our steps to the landing, where we found a much more comfortable steamer for our return to St. Louis, there to await orders for further move- ment. These reached us without delay, and we exchanged both steamers and rivers, continuing our journey up the Missouri to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.

CHAPTER II.

FORT LEAVENWORTH TO FORT McPHERSON.

IT was my good fortune during our sojourn at Fort Leavenworth to be domesticated temporarily in the house of an officer of General Hancock's staff. His wife was a charming little German woman who could not speak a word of English, and, being unac- quainted with German myself, our conversation was carried on mainly by a sort of sign language in quite a primitive manner. It was sufficient, however, to indicate our mutual kindly feeling and interest, as she, in social hours, drank her mild beer and kept industriously at work at her knitting, while I, for want of a beer taste and inclination, was relegated to lemonade and fancy work.

This respite doubtless strengthened me in a measure, at least, for future activities immediately at hand.

When the hour arrived for my departure, this sympathetic, considerate friend, on bidding good-by, handed me two "Prayer Books, " a "Life of Benjamin Franklin, " and one of "Thaddeus of Warsaw " for my diversion along the way. Pos- sibly she did not know the Prayer Books as such, and that they might prove otherwise than a diver- sion on the journey. And then, on the turbid Mis- souri, my husband and myself were bound for Omaha, not the Omaha of to-day with its teeming population and commercial importance, but an

MY ARMY LIFE

ordinary river town ambitious to become the gate- way to a future magnificent State.

We Americans already treat as a matter of course the union of the two oceans by the construc- tion of the Panama Canal, and cease to wonder at such a mighty project, but at the close of the Civil War the idea of uniting the Atlantic slope to the Pacific slope by rail had not been conceived, but its execution was put in hand, through the construction of the Union Pacific Railroad from Omaha as its initial point, conceded by all concerned to be a great step in national expansion and a colossal event in the history of American railroad enterprise. That wizard of practical science, the civil engineer, had faith, ability, and the backing of patriotic citi- zens with ample money at their command, so that if he did not remove the Rocky Mountains he went over them and through them, until he constructed a steel railway to transport a resistless tide of humanity westward, such as never before had been deemed within the reach of many coming genera- tions. And if, as has been stated, there lingered in the public mind at the close of the Civil War the possibility of the far west being dissatisfied with a Union of States so entirely cut off from compen- satory advantages by high mountain barriers and broad barren plains that it would also secede from the old Union and form an independent government of its own, it remains a fact that to the patriotism of a few rich men who furnished the capital, and not alone to the Government, we are largely indebted for this gigantic enterprise.

OUTWARD BOUND

The Government did indeed vote a subsidy in land, and issued bonds to the company at the rate of $16,000.00 per mile across the plains and $45,000.00 per mile across the mountains; and now, instead of one road, as then anticipated, we have three transcontinental lines, all built within the memory of the writer, who had the unique experi- ence of being the only woman passenger on the first passenger train that went over the newly-laid track, nearly one hundred miles west from Omaha.

And so, upon leaving Fort Leavenworth, we em- barked for the untried future, whatever that might prove to be, and any calculations, based upon former experiences, were of no avail whatever. Our initiation, however, was not long delayed. Even before we reached the terminus of the new track, to exchange our means of conveyance, a wrecked con- struction train impeded further progress and we were forced to halt, high, and very dry, for one entire day, "waiting for things to come to pass," and, "more than twenty miles from a lemon." I felt, perhaps not unworthily, the experience and attitude of ' * patience on a monument, "sol endured the ordeal, while patient hands extricated us from our dilemma.

One can imagine the physical discomfort to a lone woman stranded on the broad open plain, minus the present every-day conveniences of tank and toilet, so indispensable to comfort in travel. The monotony of our first ambulance ride, after leaving the railroad, was absolutely barren of inter- est, and in view of our later experience with the

MY ARMY LIFE

Platte River, of which we had no previous warning, I have never understood exactly how we actually crossed it in company with several emigrant wagons, wholly oblivious of its hidden mysteries and mani- fold dangers, unless the very change from the other modes of travel made the ambulance ride a consoling hint that we were actually on the way to our des- tined goal.

We passed through, or rather by, old Fort Kearney, once a famous frontier post, which had been left in the charge of an Ordnance Sergeant soon after the Eighteenth Infantry had left its barracks early in the summer for their western expedition to Montana, which we were about to join, and began to realize that "thus far" we were still within the limits of civilized occupation, but practically on its very frontier. Little "Dobey Town," dignified by the ambitious sobriquet of Kearney City, only three miles west from the fort and long known as an Overland Stage Station, was left behind without regret, and with eager anticipa- tions we hastened toward Fort McPherson, the first army post along the great stretch of land that sepa- rated us from our journey's end.

CHAPTER III.

INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL—THE FIRST WOMAN PASSENGER

ON THE U. P. RAILROAD WARNINGS OF

PENDING INDIAN WAR.

"THUS far" had chiefly embraced river travel, with very little railroad experience, and the import of these laconic words is more or less familiar to the soldier enlisted for war, but what imagination can adequately convey their meaning to a young woman just celebrating her first marriage anniver- sary and starting on her first sentimental and sen- sational journey across the trackless plains, with her husband, to join his command, more than a thousand miles distant, and through the heart of a hostile Indian country with a mail party made up of an escort of six men, with two ambulances and one wagon for baggage !

With this small personal outfit, gradually aug- mented from ranches along the roadway, we began our real journey across the Plains to "Absaraka," now called Wyoming, the old "Home of the Crows."*

Some ranchmen were sufficiently hospitable to give us a night's lodging, but at other times the ambulance proved to us a bed indeed. With straw pillows and army blankets as accessories to the necessary outfit we had to make ourselves comfort-

_________________________

* The ancestral abode of the Crow Indian tribe.

MY ARMY LIFE

able. Our camp was invariably along the river side and possessed its novel but uninteresting features. The air was salubrious and conducive to sleep after each day 's march, but the fear of rattlesnakes caused disturbance in sleep, as well as vigilance by the camp-fire.

The purchase of supplies at ranches for variety of menu consisted of canned goods and bread and greatly simplified the preparation of meals, for- tunately for me, in the absence of knowledge in the culinary art. Our fuel consisted of whatever we could find of a combustible nature, and at times we utilized buffalo chips as well as dried sage-brush of the last year's growth.

At one of the ranches where we were accorded entertainment for a night or more, near the point where the stage struck off on the overland route to Denver, we found several travellers quite diverse in character, dress, and manners.

An Indian, "Wild Bill" by name, first elicited my attention as the first Indian I had seen, and he was in full Indian trappings. His appearance was alarming, as his very dress suggested the war-path, although for the time being a friendly specimen. Whether as prophet or seer, or merely conscious of the present impression he was making, he did make certain statements as to the movements of Indians which indicated that in his opinion all the north- western tribes were going on the war-path immedi- ately. All this was subsequently verified, and indeed even then far to the north and west Red Cloud had inaugurated his fatal campaign. Fortunately for

OUTWARD BOUND

my peace of mind the facts were not then known to us. This name, "Wild Bill," I suppose had some significance in Indian usage, as they, like the ancient Hebrews, gave names to indicate some particular characteristic or change of circumstances. It may have been adopted from the celebrated American "Wild Bill" of earlier days, as he was a man of such courage and daring that others of his own race adopted it, and as one has observed, "it was the palmy days of our Wild Bills." The original of the name seemed to have been a gentleman with long hair and long mustache, with the usual character- istics of the plainsmen. Our visitor, to me a hero, could not imitate the original in every particular, as Indians have neither beards nor mustaches. His dress was probably donned for the time being through vanity or for effect, and it certainly im- pressed me with foreboding no less than his talk. In reality he was a scout then and afterwards, and it was a mere ruse when he left his pony and rode off with the stage driver in friendly chat. My infor- mation was received from another traveller, a little boy of fourteen years of age, whose name was Charles Sylvester, belonging to Quincy, Illinois. He had been stolen by the Indians when but seven years of age and spent his early years among his captors. One day he was out hunting with a party of Indian boys and accidentally killed a comrade. He dared not return to the village so he escaped on his pony to the white people. After a time, becoming discon- tented with his own people and civilization in gen- eral, he returned to his adopted friends on the North

MY ARMY LIFE

Platte and became an interpreter. It was at this time that I met him and he divulged, or interpreted, what he understood from Wild Bill.

He appeared to have an eye upon business as well, and offered his services to me in the capacity of a servant for $40.00 per month, and "no bacon to eat," as he expressed it. He seemed attracted to me, for some unknown cause, and dogged my foot- steps, perhaps hoping that I might relent and make a contract; barring that, he eventually followed the business of interpreter and became in time an Indian trader with enlarged possibilities, as I after- wards learned from one who knew him well.

The third character was a woman of unique per- sonality and dress, as typical of her craft, in those days, as was Wild Bill himself. Of swarthy skin, with keen black eyes, with black curling hair, and casting furtive glances when conscious of particular notice, her appearance as well as her professions suggested gypsy antecedents. Decided and varied colors marked her dress. Her hands and ears were lavishly jewelled, whether with real or imitation gems my proximity did not disclose, though if real, certainly not of the first water. Her self-conscious importance and my lack of inclination precluded judgment on this point. She was a fortune-teller, with clairvoyant powers, so said, en route to the little settlement of Denver to ply her vocation there. I did not know of her reputation as possessing occult powers until after her departure, otherwise I might have lengthened my story. I had the misfortune to lose a diamond brooch at or near our rendezvous, a

OUTWARD BOUND

matter of great concern on account of its senti- mental as well as real value, and had I suspected her ability in her boasted powers I might possibly have invoked her aid for its recovery, and might have been tempted even to take a peep into the future at her behest.

These wayside ranch stories, limited in their range, and minus the Canterbury features, are typi- cal in a small way of the old life of the times.

The Plains, at that season, were barren of green- ness, as everything of a vegetable nature was sere and brown, possessing no beauty worthy of descrip- tion. The level prairies had nothing to break the monotony of this sea of waste. Trees and patches of grass were to be found along the water courses and justified the wisdom of previous travellers in choosing, so far as possible, their camping places near them. We were certainly travelling across the '' Great American Desert. ''

And yet the soil was afterwards found to be rich, and only needed modern irrigation to make it won- derfully productive. Once, when General Sherman was serving in that region, some one remarked to him that "it was a fine country and all that it needed was plenty of water and good society." To this the General is reported to have replied very brusquely, "That is all hell needs." As with the soil, so the wild cactus was waiting for modern science to transform and evolve it into food fit for beasts. Then, contact with it had to be avoided with scrupulous care, and no one dreamed that it could serve any good purpose to justify its exist-

3 33

MY ARMY LIFE

ence and the evil function it seemed to serve. A thousand needles in a single plant were so adjusted as to prick and pierce both the hands and feet of the unwary traveller as she descended from her ambulance for a short respite from cramped limbs and bodily weariness incident to the day's travel. How painfully we afterwards understood its char- acter will develop later in our story.

It is said that one of the favorite tortures of some tribes of Indians was to strip their unfortunate captives and bind them tightly to a large cactus of the country, and it was a common saying in regard to a bright boy, "He will make a fine boy if the Apaches don't tie him to a cactus. "

CHAPTER IV.

McPHERSON AND SEDGWICK VISITED.

FORT McPherson, Nebraska, afterwards a well built Post constructed of the red cedar which there abounded and gave beauty, when varnished, to all interior wood-work, consisted of only shabby log and adobe quarters upon our arrival, and we were not loath to leave it behind, though each halting place where we could commune with others than our own little party proved a welcome relief. If I could have ridden on horseback for even a brief spell, what a relief it would have been. I had been quite an expert in the saddle from childhood, and had not entirely lost the art. It did seem but fair, if Uncle Sam could only see things that way and consider the personal comfort of women travellers bound to follow their husbands at whatever cost; but the Government carriage, called "ambulance," was always at command upon transition from rail or steam-boat conveyance to the limited methods of transportation on the frontier.

After another hundred miles of travel, and three hundred and ninety miles from Omaha, we reached Fort Sedgwick with but little to interrupt the con- tinuity of brown grass and sand hills along our immediate route.

Fort Sedgwick, in the northeast corner of Colo- rado, was the old site of Julesburg, now across the Platte River, and had been burned by the son of

MY ARMY LIFE

old "Little Dog," but had been rebuilt and con- tained a dozen houses and stores. According to the nomenclature of town designation in those days in the West, the tradition is as follows: In the days of the overland stage service, and during the early Mormon migration to Salt Lake, one Jules, a Chero- kee exile, kept the so-called "hotel" there for pass- ing travel, and in the cheerful frankness of western life the place was known as "Dirty Jules Ranch" thence to Jules, finally, Julesburg. Here it was my gaod fortune to meet Captain J. P. W. Neil, belong- ing to the same regiment as my husband, the Eigh- teenth U. S. Infantry ; his company had been left to garrison the post when the regiment went westward the previous May. To this day I feel indebted to Mrs. Neil for ministering to my necessities and giving valuable suggestions for enhancing my com- fort during the wearisome days to follow. And what a blessing to sit at her hospitable board and eat good square meals, if only for a few days.

The best preserver of kindnesses is the remem- brance of them and perpetual thanksgiving for them. It was said of a Kentucky soldier during the Civil War that often in the camp, far from home, he would stir an invisible beverage with an imaginary spoon. Perhaps I experienced a kindred sensation afterwards, when I recalled the taste and aroma of Mrs. Neil's coffee as contrasted with our own made over a camp fire of "buffalo chips," the only fuel obtainable at times, and if sorrow's crowning sorrow be the remembering of happier days and events, surely there was nothing left for me to do but fortify

OUTWARD BOUND

myself for and not against the decoction of the camp-fire article.

We had followed the course of the South Platte but now were to cross that strange river, thus de- scribed by one who had made the experiment: "The River Platte is a broad, but dirty, uninviting stream, differing from a slough in having a swift current, often a mile wide, but with no more water than would fill an ordinary canal; three inches of fluid running en the top of several feet of moving quick- sand ; too deep for safe fording; too yellow to wash in ; and too pale to paint with, it is the most useless and disappointing river in America. "

Such was the Platte River in 1866. To-day the river and its tributaries irrigate one million nine hundred and twenty-five thousand four hundred and sixty-two acres of land, which fifty years ago, or even less, were regarded as worthless. Measure- ments of water once used and then returned to the river bed bring out the fact that a large percentage of the water diverted to a particular canal is not wholly lost but returns to the stream and is used over again. Some of the measurements show that in low water the return seepage tends to increase the flow of the stream rather than to diminish that flow. Such is the statement of the Superintendent of Irrigation Affairs.

The very anticipation of crossing, or seeming to cross, this strange river at any given point was at least disconcerting, as we had to expect new eddies, more spiteful currents, more desperate quicksands, and constantly varying depths of water, with no

MY ARMY LIFE

competent guide to direct our course. But we had to risk it at Fort Sedgwick, braced up for the ordeal, and entered the stream. I had the uncom- fortable feeling, at times, that we were gliding down- ward, while to the optical vision our mules were certainly headed for the opposite shore. Several long poles were noticed in one place stuck down deep into the Water and sand, and upon anxious inquiry, "What it all meant as a sign," the information was lucidly returned that "they were a warning to trav- ellers to avoid that particular place, as once upon a time, wagons, mules, and men had disappeared beyond recovery." This was not a comforting assurance at that moment to the lone woman in the ambulance, with every nerve on tension, watching progress, hoping, and praying too, for a safe land- ing on the other side.

I might have felt safer on horseback, as I re- called one occasion during the Civil War when in an emergency I crossed the swollen Harpeth River in Tennessee on the back of a blind mare, guiding by a rope bridle, with the current so swift that the swimming of the beast, with my arms clinging tena- ciously to her neck to keep from drowning, produced a mental fear and physical discomfort that lingered in the memory with special distinctness at this later experience.

But the Platte River was crossed!

How I felt the lack of womanly sympathy at such an hour was known only to Him who "marks the sparrows' fall," so much I had to endure in silence. I seemed all along the journey to be possessed of

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dual mental states, one voiced through outward ex- pression and not the same that held me subcon- sciously to serious duty from beginning to end. It was anything but a pleasure trip, except so far as loyalty to that duty and obedience to orders brought their compensations in doing things because "they can be done." "they must be done," "they will be done." We did not set up a monumental stone after crossing the Platte River. We had no visible ark to lead us as did the Israelites of old, but an over- ruling Providence, our guide, though invisible to mortal sight, then, as ever after in the days to come, was my comfort and my strength.

CHAPTER V.

TO FORT LARAMIE,

A MARCH of seventeen miles brought our small cavalcade in sight of a ranch, like a beacon to a sailor when he sings out "Land, Ho!" In our case the expletive, spontaneous and joyous, was "Ranch, Ho!" With kindred emotion of joy, and as if to herald our coming as we approached nearer, we were greeted by the vociferous crowing of a rooster, which, interpreted into its natural significance, meant the presence of chickens. An imaginary menu for supper was quickly formulated, with chicken heading the list. The ranchman, for reasons of his own and without due appreciation of what a chicken supper would really mean to the travellers, declined to part with any, but compromised on the rooster and made the evening sacrifice. It seemed a pity afterwards, as the rooster was so disappoint- ing, and like the possum of the childhood game he was "rough and very tough, and more than all could eat."

It was said of Parson Williams, one of the most celebrated characters of the Rocky Mountains at an early date, that he told of himself when a Circuit Eider in Missouri that he was so well known that even the chickens recognized him as he came riding past the farm-houses. The old chanticleers would crow, "Here comes Parson Williams! Here comes Parson Williams! One of us must be ready for

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dinner!" Our rooster's crowing unconsciously to himself may have been prophetic. At all events there was nothing else to do after our disappoint- ment but to become readjusted to our usual fare and experimental inevitable camp-fire cooking, if not reconciled, in a more subdued state of mind, and retire for the night, not on a downy couch but with grass pillows and army blankets to seek the repose of the ambulance bed with another day behind us.

The next day's march brought us to Pumpkin Creek, which flows past Court House Rock, not rock indeed, but sand, hard pan and clay, rising six hun- dred feet above the water of the creek. After par- taking of supper, and the tin cups and pans had been washed in the clear waters of the creek, and camp-fires were burning low, I proposed to take a saunter to the great rock. The idea was at once ridiculed as it was actually five miles distant, so deceptive was the clear atmosphere of the plains. "Chimney Rock," with its singular proportions, loomed up miles further to the northwest. Both of these sand mountains were noted landmarks to trav- ellers. Though undergoing change through frequent blizzard and waste, they retained the natural pro- portions which gave to each its characteristic name. The gathering of debris about their base will in time efface the bold outline and fair symmetry of their present proportions.

The pass through Scott's Bluff was reached by a deep gorge in which wagons could pass each other only at a few places, and which was so tortuous that the first wagon of a train making a turn, if you

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were near the centre, would appear to be retracing the journey instead of leading you in its pursuit.

The legend of this strange formation is of inter- est. Captain B. L. Bonneville relates that "a num- ber of years ago a party were descending the upper part of the river in canoes when their frail barks were overturned and all their powder spoiled. Their rifles being thus rendered useless they were unable to procure food by hunting and had to depend upon roots and wild fruits for subsistence. After suffer- ing extremely from hunger they arrived at Lara- mie's Fork, a small tributary of the north branch of the Nebraska River, about sixty miles from the cliffs just mentioned. Here one of the party by the name of Scott was taken ill, and his companions came to a halt until he might recover sufficient breath and strength to proceed. While they were searching after edible roots they discovered the trail of white men who had evidently preceded them. What was to be done? By a forced march they might be able to overtake this party and thus reach the settlements in safety. Should they linger, all might die from famine and exhaustion. Scott, how- ever, was incapable of moving, and his companions were too feeble to aid him forward. They dreaded that if they attempted to do so he would be such a clog upon their way that they never would come up with the advance party and determined to abandon him to his fate. Accordingly, under pretense of seeking food and such simple things as might be efficacious in his malady they deserted him and hastened forward upon the trail.

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"They succeeded in overtaking the party of which they were in quest, but concealed their faith- less desertion of Scott, alleging that he died of disease.

"During the ensuing summer the same party, visiting that region with others, came suddenly upon the bleached bones and grinning skull of a human skeleton, which by certain signs indicated that they were the remains of Scott. This was sixty miles from the place where he was abandoned, so that the wretched man had crawled that immense distance before death put an end to his miseries. The wild and picturesque bluffs in the neighbor- hood of his lonely grave have ever since borne his name. ' '

At the very foot of the bluffs, as we passed through, we reached the peculiar and compact little Fort Mitchell, unlike any fort I have ever seen. The external log walls of the quarters, which were in the form of a rectangle, were loopholed and formed the line of defence, with a small parade ground in the center, and here were the quarters of officers, soldiers, horses, and warehouse supplies. Here we were accorded hospitable entertainment by the com- mandant of the little garrison, Brevet-Major Robert Hughes, who had long served upon the staff of General Terry, as he did also at a later date, but was a captain in our own regiment, the Eighteenth, at the time of our visit. Here at last we realized that sense of security never experienced while sleep- ing in an ambulance on the broad open prairie. But those intercalary words, "Forward March, " still

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sounded in our ears like a bugle-call and we must onward to Fort Laramie.

"Thus far," in this partial itinerary, army fashion, and in chronological order, must be inter- preted by the reader, if placed under similar condi- tions to those so feebly outlined. There are always vivid soul experiences during such ordeals that only eternity can explain and recompense. Imagination may catch glimpses of strain and endurance that words cannot express, and the very effort would afford no satisfaction to myself or benefit the reader. " Thus far " the country, to my observation, had seemed like a "no man's land." The former centres of Indian life along the route had been de- serted for the hunt or chase, or more likely for change of their uncertain domiciles to regions farther north, as the call of the Government for all the northwest tribes to assemble at Laramie in the June preceding had directed them in that quarter.

The purpose of the Government was to open a new wagon road through the Powder Eiver Country, around the Big Horn Mountains, greatly shortening the travel to Montana ; but all hinged upon the pos- sibility of peace negotiations at the Laramie Coun- cil proving satisfactory to the Indians themselves, the very Indians whose security in the possession of the coveted new roadway route had been guar- anteed to them by the Harney-Sanborn Treaty of 1865, at the end of the Minnesota war. Hence, to the Indian it meant the surrender of a fair portion of his favorite hunting-grounds, almost the last upon which his living depended, for in the region of

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the proposed road the country abounded with game. Mountain sheep, elk, deer, and buffalo ranged through it in vast numbers, and it is small wonder that they were reluctant to part with it. They were quick to perceive that such a proposition involved the practical and permanent advent of the white man, the presence of soldiers and the building of military posts in the very heart of their best hunt- ing-grounds. Quite a number who did not occupy that particular portion of the country under consid- eration were anxious to make a treaty and remain at peace. Some of this class had long resided near Fort Laramie and were still there when we reached the Fort in September, 1866. Many of these re- tained their residence there for a long time, keeping their own treaty obligations, until at a later period all the Indians of that country were gathered in large reservations, one under the general control of Red Cloud and the other under the similar leader- ship of Spotted Tail.

At the time of my arrival it had become apparent to any sensible observer that the Indians of that country would fight to the death for home and native land, with spirit akin to that of the American soldier of our early history, and who could say that their spirit was not commendable and to be respected?

While negotiations were under consideration at Laramie in June to induce Red Cloud, a leader of the young warriors of the Northern Sioux, and the principal chiefs themselves to yield the privilege of peaceably establishing the new road with military posts along the route, Colonel H. B. Carrington, of

MY ARMY LIFE

the Eighteenth U. S. Infantry, with the Second Bat- talion of his regiment, about seven hundred strong, arrived at Fort Laramie under peremptory orders of Major General Pope, commanding the Depart- ment of Missouri, to immediately occupy and build forts along the route, which was still under consideration by the special Indian Commis- sion and the Indians who had met with them for conference.

The destination and orders of Colonel Carring- ton were communicated to the assembled chiefs, and they at once recognized the fact that the occupation of the country then in debate was to be forcibly effected in advance of any agreement as to the terms. They immediately gave unequivocal demon- strations of their disapproval. The leading chiefs withdrew from the council with their adherents, refused to accept any presents from the Commis- sion, returned to their own country, and with a strong force of warriors commenced a vigorous and relentless war against all whites, citizens as well as soldiers, who attempted to occupy the route in ques- tion. One intimation then given was this, that "in two moons the command would not have a hoof left."

Bed Cloud himself, it is officially reported, when he saw Colonel Carrington at his visit to the council, upon hia arrival threw his blanket around himself, refused an introduction, and left with this announce- ment of his views, pointing to the officer who had just arrived, "The Great Father sends us presents and wants us to sell him the road, but White Chief

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goes with soldiers to steal the road before the Indians say Yes or No."

These events occurred in June, 1866, before our arrival, but were communicated to us when in Sep- tember the proceedings were fully made known as they now appear in the Government Official Records of "The History of Indian Operations on the Plains during the Campaign of 1866." *

________________________

* Executive Senate Document, No. 33, 1st Session, 50th Congress.-

CHAPTER VI.

BETWEENS—INCIDENTS AND NOTES.

FORT Laramie, next in size after Fort Leaven- worth, and the first post garrisoned in the section now constituting the State of Wyoming, is full of romantic and tragic interest, possessing more his- toric incidents than any other military post at the West. Built by Robert Campbell, its first com- mander, in 1834, for a trading-post, it was destined in the succeeding fifty years to become an important fur-trade centre, and the theatre of great military events. Laramie was named for James Laramie, a Canadian, who also gave his name to Laramie River, Laramie Plains, Laramie Peak, Laramie County, and Laramie City. Laramie himself was well worthy to have his name commemorated, and is described as a man of resolute character, manly in conduct and kindly in disposition. His associates regarded him as absolutely honest, and his courage was never questioned. His conduct toward the Indians was such as to command both their respect and good will. Every act of his life commended him as worthy the friendship of both white men and red men. And yet he met his death at the hands of Indians. A sketch of his life is told in story by Mr. Coutant, the Wyoming Historian,* if not in song.

Francis Parkman visited Fort Laramie in 1846,

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* Coutant's History of Wyoming, vol. i, chap, xxiii.

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accompanied by the Honorable Quincy Shaw of Boston, and remained several months, hunting buffalo with the Indians, and meeting many traders and trappers, among others three grandsons of Daniel Boone. It seems to me that when the trapper changed the canoe for a horse one might begin the material for a great American epic, and very pos- sibly have for its theme "Winning the West," so felicitously chosen by President Roosevelt for his volume with that title.

Suggestive of the theme is the expedition of Fremont, who, when upon the summit of a lofty, snow-clad mountain, forced a ramrod into the crevice of a rock, and unfurled our national banner to wave in the breeze where the flag never waved before ; and on Independence Kock placed the cross, the symbol of the Christian Faith. He says of that occasion, "Not unmindful of the custom of early travellers and explorers in our country, I engraved the symbol of the Christian Faith. Among the thickly inscribed names I made on the hard granite the impression of a large cross, which I covered with a preparation of India rubber, well calculated to resist the influence of wind and rain." It stands amidst the names of many who have long since found their way to the grave, and for whom the huge rock is a giant gravestone. And with the heroes of canal, foot, and wave, we recall also those of dis- covery, those of the fur-trade, and the heroes of missions, that host of worthies who formed the van- guard of civilization and religion, of Ashley and Parkman, of Whitman, the Christian doctor, none

4 49

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the less a patriot, a very Nestor among men, who carried within his own devoted soul the destiny of an empire for his mission, and made it the outpost of Oregon, now an American State.

Almost one hundred and twenty years before his day, Bishop Berkley had sung with prophetic soul :

" There shall be another golden age,

The first four acts already past;

A fifth shall close the drama with her days,

Time's noblest offering is the last.

" Not such as Europe breeds in her decay,

Such as she had when fresh and young,

When Heavenly flame did animate her clay,

By poet shall be sung.

" Westward the course of empire takes its way,

The first four acts already past,

A fifth shall close the drama with the day,

Time's noblest offering is the last."

Whitman travelled with his little party up the North Platte on July 3, 1836, and paused long enough to celebrate American Independence Day. Taking from his wagon a national flag and a Bible, spreading a blanket upon the ground, placing a Bible upon it, and taking the flag-staff in his hand, he said "Let us pray." Then and there he took possession of the territory, not unlike the Patriarch Noah of old, and fervently prayed for his country and the cause of Christ, Mrs. Whitman leading in a patriotic hymn.

The recent attempts to cast doubt upon the his- torical accuracy of the generally accepted words and

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deeds of Whitman in the settlement of the Oregon dispute, reminds one of the famous Bacon-Shake- speare controversy.

One author, writing upon Indian characteristics, says, " There are plenty of well-authenticated in- stances of Indian chivalry. The romance of war and the chase has always been theirs. If you want the romance of love, a thousand elopements in the face of deadly peril will supply you with Lochin- vars! If you want the romance of friendship, you may find it in the companion warriors of the prairie rivals for Damon and Pythias! If you want the romance of grief, take that magnificent Mandan Wah-ta-ta-pa (Four Bears), who starved himself to death because of the ravages of small-pox in his tribe, or Har-won-ge-ta, the Minneconjou Chief (One Horn), who was so maddened by the death of his son that he swore to kill the first living thing that crossed his path. Armed with only a knife, he attacked a buffalo bull and perished on the horns of the infuriated animal. If you seek pure knight- errantry, I commend you to the young Pawnee hero, Pe-ta-la-sha-ra, who at the risk of his life freed a Comanche girl from the stake, and returned un- harmed to his people, and who afterwards saved a Spanish boy from a similar fate by offering a ran- som, and interposed his own life to force the release. If you desire the grander chivalry of strength of mind and nobility of soul, I will put Chief Joseph (the Nez Perces Chief) against any barbarian that ever lived.

"Perchance some Indian may arise to the height

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of this great argument and invoke the poetic muse to adventurous song, but as an untamed, or wild Indian, he has had no speech or literature through which he might appeal.

"There may yet be found among the Six Nations the famous 'Iroquois Confederacy,' which, accord- ing to Parkman, would have controlled the American continent if the white man had a little longer delayed his advent, either in the descendants of Cornplanter, the personal friend of Washington, or of Handsome Lake, and Bed Jacket, the coming type of the Epic poet, since in their devotion to the Great Father of American Liberty, ever a friend of the Red Man, and up to the date of the Eleventh United States Census, they cherish the tradition that Washington still occupies a palace at the entrance to the Happy Hunting Grounds of the Indian Paradise, to receive and welcome the Senecas, and that he will abide there to receive their salutes as they enter so long as man shall have his earthly existence prolonged. Although they have children named from every American President from Adams down to Cleveland, and later, they have held the name of Washington as too sacred for adoption in their own households."

CHAPTER VII.

AT LARAMIE—A FAMOUS OLD POST.

BUT I must retrace my footsteps from this tempt- ing excursion into the past to the realities of the very present. With all deference to its historic character, Fort Laramie, in my observation and experience, did not impress me as particularly inter- esting. We crossed the clear, beautiful stream as we approached the Fort, but at that season its glory had departed. The parade ground was bare of sod, but in its centre "the flag was still there." The adobe houses of gray appearance imparted their sombre hue to the whole surroundings. The scen- ery, however, beautiful or otherwise, affected me but little, except in a general depression, so great was my concern to escape the ambulance and plant my feet on any kind of earth whatever.

The attempt to adjust myself to the surround- ings began at once, although I knew perfectly well that our stay would be transient. I was learning the army habit, and this was but another step in the process of development into a full-fledged army woman, unless that development were diverted in some unforeseen experience. Quarters were assigned us, and with alacrity, if not delight, I took posses- sion of my first adobe ("dobey") residence. The first duty after a survey of the rooms was to unpack trunks, for the first time since leaving Fort Leaven- worth, as the most needful articles for the journey

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had been stored in the ambulance. Two small rooms and a kitchen of like proportions, which seemed, however, like spacious apartments, were to be our own for the present. Gray army blankets were tacked upon the floors to the extent of their capacity. Hospital cots were utilized for beds, and we began, as the children say, "to keep house." And now for my nick-nacks and such belongings to reproduce home environment, as I attempted once before on Governor's Island, where my initial army experience began! The thought was ever recurrent that my stay would not be long, as my husband was under orders to join his regiment at Fort Phil. Kearney, two hundred and forty miles beyond.

Even while at Omaha there appeared to be an indefinite idea at headquarters that Indian opera- tions had begun; but few, even at Laramie, so far west, realized that a real war of extermination pre- vailed about Fort Phil. Kearney, and that this war was being waged for the extermination of the white man and not of the Indian. And yet, at that very time, the advantage was on the side of the redman in every particular, firearms included, as we learned later to our sorrow. There was no telegraphic com- munication between the two posts, and practically no travel, except with an occasional mail party which the colonel commanding persisted in sending over the trail at great risk of life, as we viewed it. There were plenty of Indians of the friendly sort visible at any hour of the day, but there was a feel- ing of perfect security at Fort Laramie itself.

All was vague, uninviting, and apparently almost

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impracticable, for the transportation of trunks in army wagons for a long distance was certainly a hazardous undertaking, as I found when the task of unpacking began. As I lifted the trunk trays every article was permeated with dust, and some of them unrecognizable. Garments immediately beneath had been so cut that the trays seemed to have been converted into chopping knives, or saws would better describe them and their work.

The long drawn out process of mending and darning was, to say the least, inopportune and unan- ticipated. In my dilemma the servant question con- fronted me at once. In slavery days it was no ques- tion at all, for my father was a slave owner, though an ideal one, and I had no occasion to give this sub- ject thought. Few lieutenants in active service on the Plains took the responsibility of securing ser- vants, as transportation was limited and accommo- dations very circumscribed. During all my married life, however, the same question has from time to time arisen, ghost-like, and will not down. It was finally settled, or half settled, in this instance by securing the services of a squaw to do laundry work and extricate me from the accumulated dust of travel. I simply had to make a beginning some- where, and this was easier of accomplishment than the risk involved in cooking. My new-found helper was in total ignorance of the use of the wash-boiler, in lieu of which she rubbed the clothing into holes to remove refractory stains, so that I reluctantly settled down to the conviction that chawed clothing I was fated to wear.

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Calico could be obtained at the sutler's store, and in a measure retrieved my loss, though I was very forcibly reminded of war prices paid for simi- lar goods at my Southern home not so very long before. When my squaw had completed her task, as I supposed, I sat waiting for a signal to that effect by her reappearance. Instead of that I found her just outside my quarters sitting down in the dirt, but fast asleep, by no means suggesting a "Madonna of the Tub," although she wore two pairs of ear- rings and chains depended from her neck. As I confronted her for settlement the Atlantic Ocean might as well have rolled between us so far as any communication we were able to make could help the situation. Someone was needed to break the spell and bring about an understanding. Finally a soldier appeared who knew some words of her language and offered to act as interpreter, so that between his efforts and a combination of signs and grunts I was relieved of all responsibility.

The water used at Laramie was at that time hauled from the river for all purposes and was abundant and clear, and yet there was a conscious- ness that you were limited in its use, perhaps on account of the process of conveyance. I had not then the experience which came later in Texas of buying water that had been transported sixty miles by railroad and was peddled in the streets by wagons at exorbitant prices. In that case the only alternative was a choice between the strong alkaline water of the Bio Grande, which seemed no barrier to

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Mexican taste, or the purchase of melted manu- factured ice at its great cost.

We had, of course, our mess-chest with its limited supply of cooking utensils and the inevitable camp- kettle for the journey, and when these were aug- mented by stock from the sutler's store and the stove set up in the kitchen the puzzle in this domestic experience was, li Where is the cook?"

For a consideration we were invited to join the "Mess," composed of a dozen or more officers at the post, who were most courteous and obliging to the only woman at their board. Fortunately there were quite comfortable chairs in the quarters. We also had our own two small camp chairs, an important portion of our worldly goods, or it might have de- volved upon us to sit on the hospital cots, a position beyond endurance. I am conscious that I made great effort to be comfortable upon very little, and simply had to do it, not of choice but of necessity. A small mirror was discovered on a shelf one day, probably left by a former occupant of the quarters, but its surface so much resembled tin and was so discourag- ing in its reflections that I resorted to my little hand mirror to be reassured of my own identity.

I made another discovery a little later, greatly to my surprise and gratification, that my squaw was not the only representative of my sex at Laramie. The other was a school teacher sent out to teach the young Indian idea "how to shoot." They could shoot well enough in other directions, if opportunity offered, and this was an innovation surely, though it absorbed so much of her time as to leave scant

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leisure for social visiting; but her very presence was a pleasant thought.

I grew somewhat interested in the little Indians. Children intuitively recognize their friends and these Indian children were no exception to the rule. Their eyes would follow me curiously and earnestly as I strolled about the garrison. I was sitting near my window one day, occupied with some work, when a dark cloud seemed to obscure my vision. Looking up I found the window space covered by little brown faces, to which I gave a smile of recognition, and with a friendly word, which, of course, they could not understand, though my manner was easily inter- preted, I beckoned them to the door and dispensed with generous hand some ginger-snaps obtained from the sutler's store.

Indian children, like other children, have ways of conveying information readily, and very soon both windows would be crowded. This continued for several days, and my first experiment was in danger of getting beyond control, so that I had to change my "Infantry Tactics" and bribe them with other ginger-snaps to cease their visitations. My experience must have been like that of Mark Twain in the Swiss mountain "yodling." The novel sound so pleased him at first that he paid the boys gener- ously to keep it up for his entertainment. Thus encouraged, their number was so augmented that the sound became monotonous, and, in fact, such a bore that in self-defence he bribed them to desist.

One day during the first week of my sojourn I went with my husband and several of the other

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officers on a hunting excursion and as it was the only time I left the fort it was quite a diversion. We did not go sufficiently far, however, to require us to be mounted. Hunting and shooting were no novelty to me, except that the conditions were quite different. Hitherto I had accompanied my husband several times on horseback and he had taught me to lay my small gun between the animal's ears and fire without fear, so gentle was the little mare he had given me, but I think without ever having brought down any game for my venture. On this occasion Indian boys, who formed a part of the company, were very agile in finding any game that dropped in obscure places and quite adept, true to their natural instinct, in such exercise. These little boys had adopted the American boy's dress, with some differ- ence of adjustment, minus the seats of their trousers.

On our return I visited the small Indian ceme- tery. A burying-ground, in the ordinary sense, would literally mean nothing to one of these Indians. I came upon what had been the burial place of a chief's daughter. The receptacle for the body was a platform erected on four poles and the tails of her favorite ponies that had been slain were tacked to the posts. This was all that remained to tell the story. Their idea is that ponies would be ridden after reaching the Happy Hunting Grounds. Articles used by the dead during life, or furnished by the generosity of friends, are considered neces- sary to the comfort or appearance of the dweller in the future life. It is said that Indians near some of the agencies frequently used the boxes in which

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Government or other stores came to them, so that inscriptions which at a distance look like an elab- orate epitaph on a closer inspection may be found to read "Best Soap," or "Star Crackers," and otherwise.

And so the days at Laramie passed by, always with strange apprehensions not suggested by the immediate environment of the Post. With the courage of youth, and an abiding sense of the pres- ence of Him who leads by cloud or fiery pillar, I felt sustained through dark hours, but there are times when human nature is self assertive. The prospect of a long tedious journey to Fort Phil. Kearney, in another ambulance, and the possibili- ties of disaster to myself over the rough way through a hostile Indian country, would almost paralyze me with fear and foreboding. My mind would be filled with such desperation that at times I would close my doors and windows and pace the floor from agony at the situation. The officers at the Fort would not admit that there was any danger for even a small party following the established trail, but the appre- hension, long maturing, and from signs and por- tents that only can be appreciated on the frontier, never left me.

And yet after a storm the calm and the still small voice of comfort and consolation were so real to my soul that I could write cheering letters to my far away home while under the grateful spell, and live to-day to chronicle my safe deliverance then, and through subsequent times of peril and disaster.

CHAPTER VIII.

LEAVING LARAMIE—ALARMS OF WAR

DISCREDITED.

How did the authorities at Washington, or Omaha, from whence orders emanated, know what the execution of these orders involved or would entail upon individual officers here and there dis- tributed over the country but imperatively needed with their regiments on the frontier, where, without reason, all conditions were assumed to be those of absolute peace? Certainly any provision for women to accompany their husbands westward was farthest from thought. Officers' wives thus travelling, risk- ing all trials and exposures for that purpose, have certain advantages thereby, rather than to follow after by themselves, and all these trials and ex- posures have been set forth by abler pens than mine. My own experience was at least unique, and not realized fully at the time, for we only lived day by day—"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." It certainly was enough for us, when we had the day to live in, and the thought of remaining behind never had consideration. Even General Sherman himself, in 1866, when he left his headquarters at St. Louis to assist in the organization of the Mon- tana expedition of that year, urged all army officers' wives to accompany their husbands and to take with them all needed comforts for a pleasant garrison life in the newly opened country, where all would

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be healthful, with pleasant service and absolute peace.

The day of packing once more rolled around, and with mixed mental activities, which I cannot even at this late day exactly crystallize into a fully recog- nized expression. Which is the more agreeable task —packing or unpacking? So the converse springs to mind ; which is the more disagreeable—unpacking or packing? It may seem a trivial question. Much depends upon the object in view from either stand- point. Thus far physical activities involved both, and life seemed narrowed to just this kind of exer- cise. We surrendered our "dobey" house, our hos- pital cots, our sombre blankets, even our tin mirror, unmolested, and with packed mess-chest boarded the everlasting ambulance. Two young "contract sur- geons," Mr. Van Volzah, one of Colonel Carring- ton's most trusty mail carriers, and an escort of only six men, and our baggage-wagon, are all in readiness for the last good-by to the pleasant group of officers and friends who bade us God speed on our journey, and we take up our march northward, one of the little party never to return again. . . .

We kept steadily along our trail to Nine Mile Ranch for several miles with nothing to relieve the dull monotony of the journey. There was no tempta- tion to diversion, as it began to dawn upon us in some degree that we were advancing directly in the face of hostilities, while their full import could not be felt then as later on. Some of the officers who had previously traversed the same route, as we learned later, had fired pistols in the canon, then

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named after our Regimental Adjutant, "Phisterer Canon, " to awaken the echoes which were startling and many times repeated, and upon subsequently reaching our destination and meeting the famous guide of the expedition, the noted James Bridger, we could appreciate the warning he gave to that party, when, checking their careless amusement, he quaintly told them, "Better not go fur, there's Injuns enough lying under wolf skins, or skulking in them cliffs. I warrant ye, they's seen ye every day, and when ye don't see eny of 'em about is just the time they'se thickest, and just the time to look for their devilment." We saw no Indians that day, but I had an experience with cactus that, in the expressive term of a later day was "the limit."

I had occasion to leave the ambulance at one stage of the journey, and my driver, with no special instructions to wait for my reappearance, drove slowly along in the track of the other team, while our escort and other drivers, having no occasion of their own for halting, moved tranquilly along ob- livious of transactions in their rear.

When I returned to the road I found to my dis- may that they had covered quite a distance. It was my custom to wear cloth slippers in travelling, sleep- ing in them also, ready for any emergency that might arise, and this had hitherto proven a wise use of them, particularly on the over-land journey when cramped space in the ambulance was the inev- itable. In my haste to reach the road, or trail, I had the dreadful misfortune to run into a cactus clump. My slippers were instantly punctured with

MY ARMY LIFE

innumerable needles. There was no time to stop even for an initial attempt to extricate them, as fear of some unseen enemy possessed my mind as cactus needles possessed my feet. A realizing sense of the distance between myself and my escort was one of torture, if not by Indians, none the less real. With limping step, increasing the pain every moment, and without sufficient voice left to be heard, I ran nearly a mile. . . . The team stopped as I neared it. Thoroughly exhausted, I fell prostrate. On being lifted into the ambulance, I was unable to stir or explain my dilemma, for sensations are felt not expressed at the actual time of their occurrence. My head was not crowned with a "victor's wreath," but my feet were filled with the "trophies of the race. "

On recovering strength, with intermitted effort and perseverance I spent much of two days' jour- neying, so far as tearful eyes would permit, in extri- cating the cactus needles, a novel employment indeed, but one that demanded thoroughness as the price of future comfort.

Certainly, whatever else I might reasonably have expected as incidental to the journey, this particular trial was not catalogued as a contingent adversary in my path. Of all the trials that I heard or read as confronting my sex in travelling the Plains, this was to me the most trying episode, up to that date.

CHAPTER IX.

TO FORT RENO—SCENERY AND INCIDENTS—THE CAC-

TUS ARROWS OUR ONLY FOE.

THE journey of forty miles from Fort Laramie brought us to Bridger's Ferry, where the North Platte was crossed, and with the exception of at Fort Reno and Fort Phil. Kearney there was not at that time a resident white man between the ferry and Bozeman, afterwards known as Bozeman City, Montana. At the date of our march John Bozeman owned the little semi-fortified ranch occupied by him and had realized much success in the cultivation of vegetables. He also furnished many supplies to the few emigrants that had tried the old Bozeman trail prior to the attempt to establish a permanent road for emigrants to Montana by that route.

What was most necessary and always important was to find wood and water for camping purposes. It was almost impossible to detach oneself from present dreary surroundings, even in thought. Con- templation of beautiful mountains, even though one had to but lift the eyes to behold them apparently so near in the clear blue sky, brought no correspond- ing uplift of spirit, for mountains, hills, canons and ridges suggested a hidden foe, and yet the fact remained, topographically, that from the South Fork of the Cheyenne River we had a fine view of Lara- mie Peak five thousand nine hundred feet above sea level.

5 65

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In some places where we found the river dry only a slight digging was necessary to start the water to the surface and secure the needed supply. Lack of fuel along this portion of the route as elsewhere, already noted, compelled us to use the dry sage- brush and buffalo chips.

When the Dry Branch of Powder River was reached we obtained our first view of the Big Horn Mountains, eighty miles distant. Cloud Peak, which we knew to be just behind Fort Phil. Kearney, rose thirteen thousand feet above the sea. With but semi-consciousness one could not but feel in some degree the grandeur of the scene that unfolded con- stantly, like a great panorama, appealing to the sense as both picturesque and sublime. But I hon- estly confess that the most appealing sense at that time was that we had reached Fort Reno and would find something to eat, when once at the officers' mess- table, different from the contents of a mess-chest, our only source of supply during the long days of dusty travel.

The two officers stationed there, Captain Proctor and Adjutant Thaddeus P. Kirtland, a cousin of our Colonel, were most hospitable and kind, surrender- ing their own quarters for my accommodation, and especially considerate in many ways to a lone woman who chanced to be their temporary guest. Two companies of the Eighteenth constituted the garri- son, and this was a source of special confidence.

Fort Reno, formerly Fort Connor, was suffi- ciently safe at that time, except from marauding bands of hostile Indians who would drive off stock

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at every available opportunity. These Indians were willing to pledge themselves not to disturb Reno, if the soldiers would simply occupy that Post and neither go nor build additional forts beyond that point. But Colonel Carrington, commanding the expedition of the summer just past and the entire Mountain District, had peremptory orders not only to garrison and repair Fort Reno, but to build two forts beyond, in the very face of intensely hostile protests. Our safety from molestation on the last day's march to Reno was wholly due to the fact that the tribes further north were preparing a great rally, to go upon the war path in great force against Fort Phil. Kearney and its vicinity. Hence it was that the farther we advanced only brought us nearer to the scene of greatest danger, and how great that was I did not then realize; otherwise, the journey might have terminated fatally for me before I reached there.

I can say with the Psalmist, most truly, "He sheltered me from the terror by night, and from the arrow that flieth by noonday." In great mercy the veil was not drawn. The actual conditions at Phil. Kearney were not known fully even at Reno, or were considerately kept from our knowledge. The little travelling was done by occasional mail parties under imperative orders from Omaha, impossible of execution, "to forward a mail weekly at the rate of fifty miles per day, or stand a court martial for failure so to do." Of course, under my peculiar cir- cumstances, the officers at Reno withheld all uncer- tain rumors to hasten our safe progress before any

MY ARMY LIFE

more violent demonstrations were made by the Indians between Reno and Phil. Kearney. My hus- band was a soldier reporting for duty and had no hesitation in implicity obeying orders, so that as soon as rested we bade good-by to our kind hosts, never dreaming, thank God, that we should ever visit Fort Reno so differently, as proved to be our destiny.

CHAPTER X.

TO CRAZY WOMAN'S FORK—ITS TRADITION AND FIGHT.

AFTER a march of twenty-six miles we reached Crazy Woman's Fork of the Powder River in safety. Just at the crossing, the stream makes a sharp turn, giving two separate fords, and having a steep bank on the east side as the traveller enters its basin, but on the west side rising gradually to the summit of the divide that separates its waters from those of Clear Creek.

The only episode connected with this camp was the discovery of a lone stray white cow, that sug- gested to myself an apparition, at first, in the dis- tance. Not so to the men of the party, who made a precipitate movement toward her in the hope of se- curing fresh beef. After considerable effort the cow was captured. She must have had a history, but she kept it all to herself, for if there had been any ade- quate endowment of her use of the English language, in place of her limited vocal range, I doubt not that she would have given us an interesting narrative, for record here. It certainly did seem strange to us to see this isolated specimen of civilized association so completely astray from all suitable guardianship or care. Was she lost from some emigrant train, or had she been run off by Indians and managed to subsist upon buffalo grass in lieu of better prov- ender? We wondered in vain, but afterwards learned that several estrays from a large herd that

MY ARMY LIFE

accompanied the expedition in the summer were lost on the way. At any rate she was our captive, and after improvised methods of the speediest style we made a sacrifice of her person. In previous travels in Arkansas I had eaten bear steak, and it was not very uncommon to eat warm chicken in my Southern home; but this was the first instance in my experi- ence of practical lessons in the culinary art, and that of cooking warm beef, awaited demonstration. I remembered how the deft hand of the colored cook unceremoniously wrung the neck of a chicken, dipped it in hot water to remove its feathers quickly, dismembered it, rolled the parts in batter, and trans- ferred all to the frying pan; but warm beef, never! Our frying pans were soon in evidence and the experiment began. It reminded me of the days of my childhood when I often witnessed my grand- father's darkies cooking turtles of their own cap- ture. The piece of turtle would tremble during the process of cooking, and even after they were pro- nounced "dun" and placed upon the cabin table before them. Children could never be prevailed upon to touch them. They seemed so uncanny to our eyes that we could not banish the thought that, after all, they must be alive.

I essayed to partake of my portion of cow at the auspicious moment, for the thought sprang up that meat at the stage of fresh, very fresh, must be preferable to the canned or salt meat of which one grows weary when limited to its nourishment during a long journey. I made progress, possibly too rapid progress, with my experiment, for I soon lost it,

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with all else in the shape of food, and promptly banished the thought of ever again being success- fully tempted to eat any very fresh meat. This mental resolve did not end my discomfort, for I had to go to bed, and in an ambulance too, as if I had been naughty, and at a time when I had put forth my very best efforts to do the thing that seemed right, and in which all concerned had concurred. I had accordingly to munch crackers when the internal equilibrium was restored, and with intermittent sleep patiently await the morning camp-fire for my next refreshment.

"Only two more camp-fires to build" before reaching our final destination, ' and nothing of inci- dent worthy of notice."

The poet's words, "to live and move and have our being," were translated into the most literal prose, and reduced, mathematically, to its "lowest terms," and its narrowest limits, "one road, one object to attain, and one small party on the way."

To reach our goal in safety was the single desire of our hearts and the concentrated thought of our minds, and so we dragged along until we reached the beautiful Lake De Smedt, on the last day of the journey. This lake * was named for the celebrated Catholic missionary priest first sent to the Flathead, Crow, and other Indians of the northwest, and whose

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* Captain Palmer says (see page 515, vol. 1, "Coutant's History of Wyoming" ), " Lake Smedt is so strongly impreg- nated with alkali that an egg or potato will not sink if thrown in the water. Not many miles from the lake is a flowing oil well. A scheme might be inaugurated to tunnel under the lake,

MY ARMY LIFE

successful and honored labors eventually took him to the country now known as Wyoming. He visited the Powder River country, and if he had no other monument than that erected at St. Louis in 1873, this lake will be a perpetual reminder of his useful life among the Indians more than twenty years before the period of which I am writing. He pub- lished two volumes, "Letters and Sketches" and "Oregon Missions, " which contain most valuable information of western occupation and his efforts to Christianize the savages of the far west. There still remain in Wyoming a few old residents who remem- ber his beneficent work and testify to the personal merit of "Black Robe," as he was called by the Indians upon his first arrival to labor in their behalf.

There are two traditions regarding the name of "Crazy Woman's Fork." One is that a poor de- mented squaw once lived near this branch of Powder River, in a miserable hut, and died there. Another is, that a party once travelling in that locality, fol- lowing as they supposed the footsteps of Father De Smedt, were attacked by Indians and one of the men was killed and mutilated in their characteristic

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set the tunnel on fire and boil the whole body of alkali water and oil into soap."

But, more seriously, we were informed after reaching our destination that the officers of the fort, soon after their arrival, found the north shore of the lake a mass of excoriæ, as from an iron furnace, and that the water was so intensely alkaline that no fishes could live in it, and that they could not force their horses into its waters when trying to collect some brant which fell on the surface during a hunting trip.

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manner, and that his wife became insane, wandered away, and was never heard from. The latter tra- dition is most readily credited by people now living in that vicinity as the more reasonable one, from the fact, as I was recently informed, that such a con- dition as insanity is unknown among squaws, and if insanity is sometimes attributed to the red man, it is due to the white man's firewater.

But other associations connected with the place are of a historical and authentic nature.

On July 20, 1866, about two months before we encamped on the same spot, there occurred a des- perate fight with a band of Indians, which, beyond official report, has never been in print until now, after the lapse of forty-two years, when the story is given me in detail by the only survivor of that day's fight, Mr. S. S. Peters, of Omaha. It reads as follows:

"Our detachment had left Fort Laramie about the 10 of July, and after an exhausting march of eight or nine days reached Fort Reno, on Powder River, and went into camp just outside the stockade. Lieutenant A. H. Wands was in command of the party, and with him were Lieutenants James H. Bradley, P. M. Skinner, George H. Templeton, and Napoleon H. Daniels. All of these officers and men had seen stirring service during the Civil War in various volunteer regiments, and some of the offi- cers had been promoted to the regular army for gallantry during the war. There was with the detachment also an ex-Captain Marr, of a Missouri Regiment, and two civilians. Chaplain David Wright and Assistant Surgeon Heintz joined the party at Fort Reno, and were to proceed with it to the new post at the forks of the Pineys in the Big Horn Mountain country, which was then known as Fort Carrington, in honor of the Colonel commanding the Eighteenth Infantry. The name of Fort Phil. Kearney was given to the post afterward.

MY ARMY LIFE

"The detachment remained in camp a day at Fort Reno, and even then it was with considerable reluctance that Captain Joseph L. Proctor, commanding the post, consented for the party to proceed on to Fort Carrington, with so few numbers, as the Indians were known to be very bad, and it was extremely dangerous for small parties to venture away from the immediate protection of the fort, especially toward the west. Red Cloud was the leader of the hostile Indians and had given out the word that he would massacre every party of white soldiers that dared cross Crazy Woman. He and his Minneconjou Sioux felt that they had been driven to bay by the encroachments of the whites into that country, and with their hereditary enemies on the further west, the Crows, the rapid encroachment of the white soldiers from the east and south had driven him and his band of Sioux to desperation.

"Lieutenant Wands was determined, however, to proceed, and orders were given to prepare for a very early start in the morning of July 20, 1806, from Fort Reno. The outfit consisted all told of twenty-six individuals, including two women, one the wife of Lieutenant Wands and the other the wife of an enlisted man. Five wagons, two ambulances, and four riding horses, one a handsome stallion belonging to Captain Marr, completed the cavalcade.

"The following night was excessively warm and sleep was almost out of the question, and, with all night howling of the great drove of timber wolves and coyotes hovering about the camp, very few of the detachment got any sleep at all.

"Lieutenant Daniels, an Indianian, was especially restless and came over to where I was on guard and walked the beat with me. He said that he had a presentiment that something was going to happen to him very soon and he did not know how to account for it. All efforts to discourage him from enter- taining the gloomy phantasy were unavailing, and he seemed determined to dwell upon it, and remained with me until the signal for calling in the guard was given and preparations were ordered made for the start before daylight.

"The purpose of the early start was to get over as much ground as possible before the heat of the day had got in its

JAMES BRIDGER.

Famous Scout and Guide, in 1866.

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work. We were advised to take as little water with us as pos- sible, because there was a pool and spring at a place about sixteen miles from Reno, known as Dry Creek, and the water was much better than the Powder River water, which was warm and insipid.

"The march to Dry Creek was made without incident and we reached it just as the sun was rising. To our dismay and grievous disappointment, the spring and pool were found to be about dry, and the dead, scalped and naked body of a white man was found lying in the dry basin of the pool. The body was filled with arrows and had suffered numerous and unmentionable indignities. The fragment of a gray shirt still hanging about the shoulders of the dead man indicated that he was in all proba- bility a soldier. He was evidently a courier from Fort Carring- ton, and had been waylaid and shot the night before while trying to scoop out the sand in the little basin to find a drink of water.

My Army Life and the Fort Phil Kearny Massacre

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