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

by Frances M.A. Roe.

PREFACE

PERHAPS it is not necessary to say that the events mentioned in the letters are not imaginary--perhaps the letters themselves tell that!

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

ARMY LETTERS FROM AN OFFICER'S WIFE

KIT CARSON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1871.

IT is late, so this can be only a note--to tell you that we arrived here safely, and will take the stage for Fort Lyon to-morrow morning at six o'clock. I am thankful enough that our stay is short at this terrible place, where one feels there is danger of being murdered any minute.

Not one woman have I seen here, but there are men--any number of dreadful-looking men--each one armed with big pistols, and leather belts full of cartridges. But the houses we saw as we came from the station were worse even than the men. They looked, in the moonlight, like huge cakes of clay, where spooks and creepy things might be found. The hotel is much like the houses, and appears to have been made of dirt, and a few drygoods boxes. Even the low roof is of dirt. The whole place is horrible, and dismal beyond description, and just why anyone lives here I cannot understand.

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

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

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1871.

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

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

It seems that in the Army, lieutenants are called "Mister" always, but all other officers must be addressed by their rank. At least that is what they tell me. But in Faye's company, the captain is called general, and the first lieutenant is called major, and as this is most confusing, I get things mixed sometimes. Most girls would. A soldier in uniform waited upon us at dinner, and that seemed so funny. I wanted to watch him all the time, which distracted me, I suppose, for once I called General Phillips "Mister!" It so happened, too, that just that instant there was not a sound in the room, so everyone heard the blunder.

General Phillips straightened back in his chair, and his little son gave a smothered giggle--for which he should have been sent to bed at once.

But that was not all! That soldier, who had been so dignified and stiff, put his hand over his mouth and fairly rushed from the room so he could laugh outright. And how I longed to run some place, too--but not to laugh, oh, no!

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

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

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

Yesterday morning, directly after guard-mounting, Faye put on his full-dress uniform--epaulets, beautiful scarlet sash, and sword--and went over to the office of the commanding officer to report officially.

The officer in command of the post is lieutenant colonel of the regiment, but he, also, is a general by brevet, and one can see by his very walk that he expects this to be remembered always. So it is apparent to me that the safest thing to do is to call everyone general--there seem to be so many here. If I make a mistake, it will be on the right side, at least.

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

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

We saw our house yesterday--quarters I must learn to say--and it is ever so much nicer than we had expected it to be. All of the officers'

quarters are new, and this set has never been occupied. It has a hall with a pretty stairway, three rooms and a large shed downstairs, and two rooms and a very large hall closet on the second floor. A soldier is cleaning the windows and floors, and making things tidy generally. Many of the men like to cook, and do things for officers of their company, thereby adding to their pay, and these men are called strikers.

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

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

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

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY, October, 1871.

WHEN a very small girl, I was told many wonderful tales about a grand Indian chief called Red Jacket, by my great-grandmother, who, you will remember, saw him a number of times when she, also, was a small girl.

And since then--almost all my life--I have wanted to see with my very own eyes an Indian--a real n.o.ble red man--dressed in beautiful skins embroidered with beads, and on his head long, waving feathers.

Well, I have seen an Indian--a number of Indians--but they were not Red Jackets, neither were they n.o.ble red men. They were simply, and only, painted, dirty, and nauseous-smelling savages! Mrs. Phillips says that Indians are all alike--that when you have seen one you have seen all.

And she must know, for she has lived on the frontier a long time, and has seen many Indians of many tribes.

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

Their coming was so sudden we did not have a chance to get out of their way, and it so happened that Mrs. Phillips and I were in their line of march, and when the one in the lead got to us, we were pushed aside with such impatient force that we both fell over on the counter. The others pa.s.sed 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 n.o.ble red man!

As soon as they got to the counter they demanded powder, b.a.l.l.s, 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 quant.i.ties of ammunition within their reach, and only two white men to protect us. Even the few small windows had iron bars across. They could have killed every one of us, and ridden far away before anyone in the sleepy town found it out.

Well, when those inside had been given, or had helped themselves to, whatever they wanted, out they all marched again, quickly and silently, just as they had come in. They instantly mounted their ponies, and all rode down the street and out of sight at race speed, some leaning so far over on their little beasts that one could hardly see the Indian at all.

The pony that was ridden into the store door was without a bridle, and was guided by a long strip of buffalo skin which was fastened around his lower jaw by a slipknot. It is amazing to see how tractable the Indians can make their ponies with only that one rein.

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

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

We heard this morning that those very savages rode out on the plains in a roundabout way, so as to get in advance of the Cheyennes, and then had hidden themselves on the top of a bluff overlooking the trail they knew the Cheyennes to be following, and had fired upon them as they pa.s.sed below, killing two and wounding a number of others. You can see how treacherous these Indians are, and how very far from n.o.ble 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 sc.r.a.ping 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!