The first time I saw General Sherman was at Rome, Georgia, during the Civil war. I was in the field hospital there at that time and was in the dispensary one day when my attention was called to some military procession on the street. It turned out to be only General Sherman and his staff, the general riding alone in front, his orderly a few yards behind, and a few yards farther back the general staff officers. The procession, if it could be so called, impressed me; first the isolated position of the commanding officer. I thought of pictures I had seen of Napoleon, always alone, and while I could not see the general's face to advantage, for he looked neither to the right or left, I thought him a stern, unbending, self-centered, iron-hearted military despot, without sentiment or generous impulse. I saw him often thereafter, for I was with his command from "Atlanta to the Sea" and up through the Carolinas, and he was always alone on horse-back and in the order mentioned. I never saw him in company with anybody. I had occasion to change my impression regarding him somewhat at the battle of Bentonville. We had marched all night to reach the battlefield in time to take part in the engagement, and arrived on the ground early in the afternoon. As it happened, we stopped near the general's headquarters. The battle was in progress and as we could not go into the trenches until night, I had a good opportunity of observing him during the afternoon. He was walking back and forth along a space of ground a hundred feet or more in extent and when there was a lull in the firing he would slow up to a very moderate walk, but when it became heavy his pace would increase and when it became a roar, as it did several times in the afternoon, he would go at great strides back and forth, back and forth, until it would again quiet down, when he would slow up in harmony with the lull in the battle. From this I learned that he was at least impressionable. Officers would arrive from different parts of the field and report, and instantly receive orders and return at full speed as they came.
From that time I never saw him until at Fort Sill at a "hop" given by Colonel Carpenter in his new quarters at the post. Here I had to again change my impression of the general. He was one of the most cordial of men; he seemed to know everybody, and I was told seldom forgot a name or a face. He had the remarkable gift of making everyone feel that he was an old acquaintance, and he entered into the amusements of the evening, mostly dancing, with zest, and after supper went with the officers to the front porch to smoke and talk. He ridiculed the idea of being a candidate for the presidency, saying he did not possess the temperament or disposition that seemed necessary to qualify one for holding an office where there were so many adverse interests to consider, and where they were so frequently presented from questionable motives, but as far as I remember he admitted no preference for political parties. However, he did express a desire to pass his old age in a quiet way, and free from political strife. He left the crowd on the porch before all were through smoking, and joined the ladies with whom he seemed to enjoy himself as much or more than with the men. I though him a rather awkward dancer but he took part with apparent enthusiasm.
After General Sherman and his party had left the post the feeling of uneasiness increased in the camp, and General Grierson ordered the remaining officers into the new post which was being built. It fell to our lot to be quartered with Mr. Spencer and wife and except for losing a good servant we found it a pleasant change, and were relieved of all apprehension regarding Indians.
There was a band-stand in the center of the parade ground and the Tenth Cavalry band was an excellent one, and in the summer evenings when retreat had been sounded by the buglers and the signal gun fired "just as the sun went down," the band struck up and gave us very delightful music for an hour or so. At such times the families of the officers would be sitting on the front porches of their quarters or visiting with others and chatting and listening to the music.
The bugle calls at the army posts were always interesting to me, and seemed to convey the idea intended almost as well as words. A number of them have words set to the music, if it can be so called, as "Give your horses some corn and some hay" for stable call, and "Take your quinine" for sick call. Reveille had a rousing, get-up quality about it. Sick call was for those who had only slight ailments and were treated at the hospital and returned to duty, or if found to be something serious enough, were sent to one of the wards in the hospital for treatment. Maybe a so-called bilious condition or a scratch on the hand, or if a colored soldier a "misery," or he was "powerful weak." There were not many maligners, and they were soon detected. In the cavalry drill there are many bugle calls for the different evolutions. The bugler rides near the commanding officer and receives the orders and transmits them by bugle to the command. Of all the bugle calls in the service "Taps" the last call at night, affected me most. It has all the quality of our good-bye or goodnight, but to me it had much more. To me our good-bye conveys only the idea of separation, and I like the Spanish word "Adios" much better. It not only conveys the idea of separation but also the sentiment "God be with you" and so "Taps" always impressed me "Good-night, and God be with you," and as the last prolonged note died away the lights went out and everything was still. This did not apply to the officers when at the post, and they and their families could enjoy themselves in their own way, and could put out their lights early or late.
Toward the latter part of June, 1871 a command came up from the Department of Texas on its way to the military posts in Kansas. The medical officer accompanying it returned from Fort Sill to his own department and post, and I was ordered to accompany the command to Kansas. My recollection is that there were three companies. In this command were two young officers, lieutenants, not long out of West Point, who proved very charming companions. One was a Mr. Reese from Kentucky and the other was a Mr. Parker from Connecticut, a sonof the maker of the famous Parker shotgun, generally thought to be the best to be had in those days.
The first thing of special interest on this march was when we had gone into camp about sixty miles north of Fort Sill, which was the second day out. This was about four o'clock in the afternoon, to give the horses and transportation mules a chance to graze. I happened to look back in the direction of our march and saw a small black object far in the distance that I could not make out. I borrowed field glasses of one of the captains and discovered it to be a horse and buggy. I became quite curious about it, as I did not think any sane man would travel through that Indian country alone for any consideration. I would not have done so for all the money in the mint unless in military dress. He came directly to our camp and I walked out to meet him. He proved to be Father Poncelona of Osage Mission, now St. Paul, Kansas, who had been down to Fort Sill to baptise the children and give what comfort he could to the followers of his faith at that post. He was very tired for he had started before daylight, and had driven all day hoping to find our camp somewhere, but he did not know where. I took him to my tent and insisted on him lying down on my cot, which he did under protest, and I brought him some brandy which he drank with seeming relish, and by the time dinner was ready he was ready to join us. I asked him how he came to take such chances alone. He said it was part of his work and that there was a higher power (pointing his finger upwards) that would take care of those who were doing God's service. He was past middle age and had spent most of his life since taking orders as a missionary among the Indians. He had a benign faith-abiding expression of face, such as I have never seen on any other man, and his voice was low and musical, and his manner most winning. I had some difficulty in getting him to take my cot for the night, he insisting that he was used to sleeping on the ground and did not mind it. I finally told him that I was boss of the ranch, and he must do as I told him. To this he smilingly assented, and said that if it was orders he would have to obey. We always had breakfast and broke camp early in the morningand aimed if a suitable campground could be found to go into camp by four o'clock in the afternoon. The priest had expressed a wish for an early start, and I had ordered his horse and buggy to be ready for him, and he had breakfast with us and went his way across the prairie and was soon out of sight in the direction of Camp Supply where he intended going. I have often thought of this and wondered at it. Why did he do it? It was not for money for he was poor and had spent years at the work. What motive had he? What guardian angel accompanied him and kept him from harm? If it is true that there is a divinity that shapes our ends, why are they shaped so differently, and why is it that some are immune where others fear to tread? Right here I think it proper to say that the Catholic priests have always been the pioneers in religious matters on the frontier.
During this trip Mr. Reese and Mr. Parker and myself rode ahead one afternoon to select camp. We went at good speed and were soon out of sight of the command when Mr. Reese discovered he had lost his pocket book. He was quartermaster and it contained about fifteen hundred dollars of government money. He was sure he had taken it from under his pillow in the morning and he became quite nervous about it. He referred to his loss several times before the command came up with, "Well, if I am mistaken and Andy (his old negro servant whom he had brought from Kentucky) got it I am all right, and I will quit talking about it." But he was ill at ease and went out to meet the command as it approached and we could see the old darky take something from his pocket and give it to Mr. Reese who came back smiling and told us Andy said, "Oh yes, Massa, I just got it right down here, I done found it under your pillow" and this illustrates a phase of negro character quite in contrast with my political experience with Stanton.
Mr. Reese, Mr. Parker and I generally rode together on this march and were seldom out of sight or hearing of prairie dogs. It was suggested one day that maybe they would be good to eat. Knowing that they were not dogs at all but rather a kind of marmot, and sometimes called so, and are strict vegetarians, wekilled a young one and had it for dinner. I was quite pleased with the experiment before trying it, and was not particularly enthusiastic about it afterwards. It was not very bad but was not very good. It tasted something like rabbit but I think mostly like prairie dog. At one time in my life I wanted to try almost everything that was brought to bag in my hunting experiences and I have tested worse things than prairie dogs, and I think that if one were hungry enough he might relish it.
We crossed the line into Kansas about the last of July and soon saw a new house away to the front, a thing we had not seen since leaving Fort Sill. It proved to be a kind of business and residence combination and was the first house in what is now known as Caldwell, Kansas, now the county seat of one of the famous wheat counties of Kansas, and a thriving city. The contrast between the two sides of the land separating Kansas and the Indian territory was very pronounced. Small houses of settlers and little patches of broken ground and other evidences of an inhabited country on the one side, and nothing but absolute vacancy on the other.
At Wichita we remained three or four days, having our transportation repaired. As I remember it, we had a long stretch of sand before crossing the Arkansas and forded the river below the town and then turned to the west. It was a little village of one main street and I think they called it Douglas avenue. The houses were small but neat, and being the first town I had seen for a year or two it looked very attractive. We were there over the Fourth of July and I remember a delightfully clean, attractive little place where they sold ice cream. We had camped just north of the village and Mr. Reese, Mr. Parker and I frequently visited the ice cream parlor. If there were any saloons in the place I do not remember them for if there had been it would have probably shown on the enlisted men of the command.
I do not remember which one suggested it, but we concluded that it would be some fun to visit the real estate offices, of which I think there were two in the town, and hear what the agents had to say. They treated us most cordially and wereanxious to show us around and told us what a wonderful city it was going to be. All the southwest was going to be a great wheat country, although we saw no wheat, and would be tributary to their town and they were going to vote bonds the following Monday for a railroad from Newton, then the terminus of the Santa Fe. If not the terminus it was the great cattle shipping point for the immense herds that came up the Chisholm trail from Texas, the trail we had followed some distance from Fort Sill. Everything would eventually come to Wichita and it would be a second Chicago. One agent offered us a corner lot centrally located for one hundred dollars, and out farther to the west, or north, whichever it might have been, I don't remember, on down to fifteen dollars a lot. We approved of the wonderful prospects for the town and told them we would consider the the matter of investing, and then went back to our tents and laughed about it. We at least had an enjoyable hour or so.
I have had occasion to think about it since, not with any particular feeling of hilarity, but rather one of regret that I did not grasp the wonderful possibilities of the country. Either of the three of us could have invested a little money if we had known enough. After we had again started on the march I stopped and talked with a man standing by the roadside and he told me each alternate section of the land was offered by the Santa Fe railroad at two dollars per acre. It was a beautiful valley and the land looked rich but the country generally looked very primitive.
One company left our command near here and I think went to Fort Larned or Fort Dodge, Kansas, the other two going on to the railroad at Fort Harker, where one company remained, and if I remember right, one company went on to Fort Hayes. I remained with Captain Kerin's company at Fort Harker for a day or two during which time the paymaster came and paid us for June. Captain Kerin was a typical Irishman and his company, almost without exception were Irish, and they were very much devoted to each other. The captain looked on his men very much I thought, as a father would look on a bunch of wayward children. The payment was made by the middle of theafternoon and by night I think most of the men were drunk, the few on guard duty being about the only sober ones, and the captain told me they would stay that way until their money was all gone.
A funny thing occurred that evening. The captain and I were sitting in his tent talking when there was a scratch at the tent cloth and when the captain said, "Come!" the flap was thrown back and one of the sergeants saluted and said: "Report for duty, captain." The captain said: "Sergeant, have ye got any money?" "Yis, captain, a little." "Go and spend it, go and spend it." The sergeant saluted and dropped the tent flap and walked away and the captain turned to me and said: "No use trying to do anything with them until the money is spent, and the whiskey is out of them." Two or three hours afterwards the sergeant returned, scratched on the tent, threw the flap back as before and saluted, and again said in a rather husky voice: "Report for duty, captain." "Sergeant, have you got any money?" "Not a cint, captain." "Very well, report to the first sergeant for duty." The captain told me this was a fair illustration of his experience on every pay day. It is hardly necessary to say that the captain was not a West Point graduate, but he was a royal good fellow and a good soldier and I observed while in the service that officers promoted from the ranks were the most devoted to the interests and comforts of their men. The trip back to my post was east by rail to Junction City and thence on the M., K. and T. to its terminus in the territory. The railway was then under construction and the terminus was changed every month or so. From the railroad I went by stage to Fort Sill. Nothing of interest occurred on the way until we arrived at the last stage station east of the fort. We had breakfast there and were told we had better get in the stage as they were about ready to start. We found a bunch of men hitching up a pair of mules to a light stage-like vehicle, and were told that they were just breaking them in and that it was better to get in the stage first. The driver was already up in his seat and Mr. Stearns, a very large man and owner of the ranch where we had breakfast, was up beside the driver, and was going withus some three or four miles to where they had made a cut-off that took us by a large spring of water, the last we could get before reaching Cache creek, some eighteen miles away. When all was ready and the driver had the lines well in hand the word "Go" was given, and away we went at full speed, much like a horse race. The driver's efforts being wholly devoted to keeping the team in the road. They ran full speed most of the way to the springs but when we arrived there they were going in a quiet little trot, seemingly satisfied with the fun they had had on the way. Mr. Stearns got down and held their bits and the driver got down and we got out of the stage—another man and myself being the only passengers—and walked toward the springs. I do not know how it happened, but when one trace was unfastened the mules broke away from Mr. Stearns and struck out over the prairie. My first thought was that we would have to walk back and wait for some other means of conveyance, but the off mule having one trace unfastened had the advantage in the race and out over the prairie they went in a great circle, round and round at full speed, scattering luggage from the hind boot of the stage until they ran themselves down, the driver and Mr. Stearns cutting across and trying to catch them. At last they succeeded for the mules were pretty well winded by this time and ready to go slow. We found nothing broken and soon had our luggage gathered up and the mules watered and were on our way. We got into Fort Sill a little later than the usual stage time, nothing the worse for the wear.
I do not remember whether it was before or after my trip to Fort Harker that I was called to the Indian agency near Fort Sill to see Black Beaver, the chief of the Delawares, who was sick and had come there for treatment. I found him suffering from dysentery and was seriously ill, and as he was an old man I had serious doubts as to his recovery. He was neither able nor disposed to talk although he knew enough English to make himself understood, but after a few days he began to feel some interest in life and gradually improved until he was convalescent. I felt particularly interested in him because of a story I had read about him as interpreter in an early day for Colonel Marceywho was one of General Sherman's staff officers when they visited Fort Sill a short time before. When the colonel was a young officer in the service and had been sent out to make talks to the Indians, the story ran that the young officer had a pow-wow day appointed with the Kiowas and Comanches, and when they had assembled and gone through the preliminaries of such an occasion Captain Marcey told them of the great benefits the great father at Washington wished to confer on them, and wound up by saying: "We wish to put up poles across the country and string a wire on them and then you can talk over that wire to the Great Father in Washington and not have to wait until some of your people travel such a great way to see him." When he had finished he waited for Black Beaver to get up and tell it to the Indians, but Black Beaver did not move but hung his head and sat there. "Why don't you tell them," asked the captain. Black Beaver shook his head and said: "It's no use to tell them, I don't believe it myself." I was anxious to hear Black Beaver's report of that pow-wow, so when he was well enough I said to him one day: "General Sherman and staff were here a short time ago and Colonel Marcy was among them. I understand you knew Colonel Marcy a good many years ago." He brightened up and said: "Yes, I heard Captain Marcy was here and I wish I could have seen him." By careful questioning I got the story from him practically as Colonel Marcy had recorded it in his book. I said to him: "Well, do you believe it now?" He replied: "Oh, yes, I know it now, I know it can be done, but I don't know how." How much more ignorant was he than the most of us?
I find I have not made my sketch of the events at Fort Sill in order of their occurrence and must now refer back to the winter of 1870 and '71 and we were still under canvas in the camp. It was an unusually cold winter. The thermometer fell to fourteen degrees below zero and the snow was a foot or more deep on the ground. I mention this incident both for the purpose of showing some of the hardships that officers and their wives underwent and also to show the self-sacrifice and loyalty and devotion of the enlisted men in an emergency. Doctor Brownand his young wife were on their way to Fort Sill where he was to become post surgeon, a position I had held since Doctor Forward had been transferred to another post, and they were at the half-way camp between Fort Arbuckle and Fort Sill when the storm broke. The doctor's wife was confined there and the escort accompanying them devoted themselves night and day to making the camp as comfortable as possible, getting water, bringing wood, building fires and cooking, and this they kept up until the weather moderated and Mrs. Brown was sufficiently recovered to make it safe for her to travel. As the result of such heroism and devotion some of them were badly frost bitten, and all suffered more or less. I removed all the toes except one from one man's feet—only one of the large toes being left—and others lost a finger or two or parts of fingers and were otherwise frost bitten. In these cases nature sets up the line between the healthy and dead tissue and the amputation is made in the healthy part and far enough back to get a flap sufficient to cover the bone if possible.
Mrs. Brown and her beautiful baby came with us when we left the post, intending to quit the service. She to visit with friends and relatives in the east.
Another interesting occurrence took place when we were still in camp at Fort Sill. This was the loss of the quartermaster's mules, which occurred the latter part of the winter. The Indians—supposed to be—by some means got the gate of the corral open and with the leader on horseback rushed into the corral and set up the usual yells and shouts and soon had the whole bunch of 140 mules under way before the alarm could be given and the cavalry mounted for pursuit. They had such a start that they could not be followed in the night, it being very dark. Different commands of cavalry were sent out in pursuit but returned in a few days empty-handed. There was one young officer by the name of Harmon, a second lieutenant in the Tenth cavalry, a tall, rather good looking young fellow who had said to some officers that if they would give him a chance he would like to show what he could do. I think he finally went to General Grierson and expressed a wish to try. The general promptlygave him a detachment of cavalry, some thirty or more men, and told him to stay as long as he liked, but to bring back the mules if possible. Nothing was heard of him for some time but finally word came from Fort Arbuckle that Mr. Harmon had reported there with a bunch of horsethieves and that most of the mules were then on their way back to Fort Sill. I heard Mr. Harmon himself tell some of the details of the scout. He had got on the trail of the thieves—not Indians at all—somewhere south of Red river and found two of them in a house he went to at night for information, believing he was close to their camp. He took these two prisoners and waited until morning to attack the camp. The ranchmen where they had stopped and where they had already captured two of the thieves, knew the country well and acted as guides. Mr. Harmon and he had exchanged firearms on the way, he taking Mr. Harmon's pistol and Mr. Harmon his shotgun. They rode along the bed of a little stream until quite near their camp. Most of the thieves were still in bed but the negro cook was busy about the fire. Mr. Harmon's horse being much superior to anything in the command, he was among the thieves practically alone. He shot and wounded one of the men with the second barrel of his shotgun, and commanded them all to throw up their hands or he would kill the last one of them. He dropped the shotgun and reached for his pistols but of course they were gone. However, the thieves stood there with their hands up until the command came and they were hand-cuffed and were soon ready for the march to Fort Arbuckle, the nearest military post. Not more than a half dozen mules had been disposed of.
The sequel to this story was interesting to me for it caused me a trip to Fort Arbuckle and back. The guardhouse at Fort Arbuckle was not considered safe and it was thought best to send the thieves to the new guardhouse at Fort Sill until the law could take its course. They were sent under a guard of colored troops commanded by a sergeant with instructions to kill them if they tried to escape. The guard claimed that one man made a break for the brush, but the prisoners claimed that he did nothing of the kind, anyway one of them was badly woundedand was taken back to Fort Arbuckle, and as Doctor Brewer, the post surgeon was sick at that time a request for a medical officer come to Fort Arbuckle and cut a man's leg off was received at Fort Sill and I was ordered on that duty. Before I arrived at Fort Arbuckle, Doctor Brewer considered it too urgent a case to be delayed any longer, and although hardly able to handle the knife, he had amputated the leg before I got there. I remained a few days until the doctor was sufficiently recovered to attend to the medical duties of the post, and then returned to Fort Sill.
I now come to the last record I shall make of service at this post and have hesitated about mentioning it at all, and do so now in as few words as possible, not only because "there are sorrows too sacred to be babbled to the world" but also because they pull so hard on the heart strings. Our little boy was scalded to death at this camp. The negro servant had set a large kettle of boiling water off the stove, and some way in his play he fell into it. We laid him away in the cemetery on the hillside and had a stone covering placed over his grave, to mark the place where his little scalded body lay.
This experience with the little prospect of promotion in the service decided us on our desire to return to private life, and I wrote to the medical director of the department expressing my wishes in the matter, and my reasons for quitting the service, and received orders to report at the headquarters of the department, Leavenworth, Kansas.
It may be well here to relate an experience of army life that occurred at Fort Sill after we had left the post. The feeling of apprehension regarding the Indians had subsided to such an extent that the officers' wives would take outings in the ambulance, and it became in time considered safe to go to the Washita agency and make purchases and return the same day. Two of the officers' wives had made the trip and were nearing the head of Cache creek on their return, when they saw the Indians coming. The negro driver urged the mules with such good effect that they reached the timber and the driver escaped but the women were carried away to the mountains, and for two weeks were subjected to all the brutal horrors to be expected of savages and then were ransomed. We were well acquainted with one of these women but the other had only been at the post a short time before we left.
I think few of the people of our country today realize how recently such horrors have been committed. For most of them it is a matter of the long forgotten past.
We left Fort Sill about the middle of August, 1871 and had for company Mrs. Harmon, wife of Lieutenant Harmon, who captured the horse thieves and Mrs. Brown, wife of the post surgeon, and their little baby and nurse girl. We had an escort of a half dozen men under command of a sergeant as far as Fort Gibson, Indian Territory, near the junction of the Grand and Arkansas rivers, and from there to the end of the railroad two or three men to help about camp. The M., K. and T. railroad was then only finished to Pryor's creek and we had to take a freight train from there to Chetopa, Kansas, the end of thepassenger run. We camped at Stearn's ranch the first night out of Fort Sill. As we were starting the following morning we were informed that a dead man had just been found near the road we were to take, and only two or three miles away. We got some tools at the ranch and stopped long enough to bury him. He had soldier's clothes on and had probably been only recently discharged from the service. A little money was found in his pocket which I told the sergeant to take and on his return to Fort Sill try and have the man identified, if possible, and send the money to his friends. He had not been dead long as the wolves had not disturbed the body.
Our night camp on the Washita was something we shall always remember. Before it got dark the mosquitoes had made our acquaintance in such numbers that we were doubtful of our night's rest, but we had the tent put up and supper over without suffering serious loss of blood. They kept coming in greater numbers until we realized that the first were only installments of the advance guard, and by bedtime they were almost unbearable. We smudged the tent to drive them out but only succeeded in driving out the little nurse girl who was caring for the baby. I tried my usual place in the ambulance for a nap but could not sleep and heard the women talking in the tent until toward midnight when I called my wife and told her that if she would come out to the ambulance I would try and keep the mosquitoes off her until she could get a little rest. We tried that for an hour but had to acknowledge our defeat and we still heard the other women talking in the tent. I was now ready to surrender, so called the sergeant and told him to have the ambulance driver hitch up and we would get out of there and he and the escort could come on when they liked, as we were then away from danger from the Indians. We drove for some time after daylight and found a beautiful camp ground with fine running water and went into camp. The escort was not far behind us—they had also met with defeat. We spent that day and the following night in that camp and had a good rest. The escort had brought a cub bear along and he was a very amusing rascal although a cause of some anxiety to the women.This day after we had sat down to dinner some trash fell on the table and looking up we discovered him out on a limb above us. The women thought best to have the table removed. His home while on the road was in the feed box at the rear of the wagon where he was chained, and the first thing when released was to hunt the water and take a good bath and then he was ready to investigate everything around camp. He would roam around at his own sweet will until away in the night when he would return to his box where we always found him in the morning. We had to keep the commissary supplies well protected, for he was a born thief.
We had a good supply of small game on the way particularly turkeys and prairie chickens. We found the young turkeys at this season of the year to be unusually fine.
When we arrived at Oswego my wife went to visit friends in the country and I went on to the department headquarters at Leavenworth to report. When I got there the medical director was anxious that I should remain in the service and said that he would give me a good post and suggested Camp Limestone in Southeast Kansas in what was then known as the Cherokee neutral lands, about thirty miles south of Fort Scott. It would be close to the railroad and other conveniences and comforts of civilization, and he was sure I would like it, and he hoped there would be an examining board before long for promotions and I had better consider the matter. I asked for two weeks leave of absence to consider his proposition which was cheerfully granted, and I went back to Iowa and looked up the prospects and in ten days was back to continue in the service.
My wife and I together went to our new station at Camp Limestone and arrived there September 9th, 1871. At that time the railroad was finished to Baxter Springs but there had been trouble with the settlers when crossing the Cherokee neutral lands, an area embracing Cherokee and Crawford counties and the southern tier of townships in Bourbon county. The land had been sold for the Indians by the government to James F. Joy, representing what was then known as the Kansas City, Fort Scott and Gulf railroad. The settlers thought they shouldhave the right to homestead the land, and resisted the construction of the railroad, caught and whipped the engineers and threatened their lives and burned their instruments, the result being that troops were sent to protect the purchasers and their employees in the construction of the road.
There were three camps established along the line of the railroad on these lands, one at Drywood, one at Limstone creek, and one near Columbus, and occupied by one company at each post. Temporary buildings were constructed and the troops made as comfortable as possible where they were not expected to remain permanently. Fort Scott was the headquarters, General Neal being in command, but there was a company commander at each camp. We arrived late in the afternoon and went to a house close by and remained there until the mail messenger from the camp should return and report our arrival. In the course of an hour an ambulance came, and we made our way across country to camp and I reported to Captain Fenton of the Sixth cavalry in command of the camp, and we remained at his quarters over night and had our own quarters ready for occupancy the following day. The country was fairly well settled immediately around the camp and along the streams, and there was a schoolhouse less than a mile away.
Part of the settlers had been there for some years and were getting things about them to look quite home-like. Fruit trees growing, peach trees bearing, and hedge-fences set out, and while there was always a seeming scarcity of money and farm products brought low prices, the people seemed contented and hopeful. This was a very comfortable contrast with our experiences among the Indians. Small game, particularly quail and prairie chickens were plentiful, and wild fowl abundant in season. There being very little to do in a professional way I had plenty of time to indulge in my favorite sport with dog and gun. We had not been at that camp long until Captain Fenton's company was replaced by another company of which Captain (Brevet Major) Upham was in command and Mr. Gordon, first lieutenant and Mr. Kerr, just recently from West Point was second lieutenant, and this company remained at Fort Limestone during my servicethere, and until the spring of 1873 when all the camps on the neutral lands were discontinued, the Supreme Court having decided the title of the land in the railroad company.
When General Neal was assigned to another post, Major Upham took his place at Fort Scott, leaving Mr. Gordon in command at our camp. The officers of the different camps had transportation or yearly passes on the railroad from Fort Scott to Baxter Springs and Fort Scott being then the principal town in the southeast part of the state we were frequently there to make purchases or for any purpose our wishes might suggest. We boarded the train at a place called Engleton, since changed to Beulah although there was no station or side-track and only one house close by, and trains only stopped on signals or to let off passengers. Take it altogether it was very much like living on a farm in a new country that was fairly well settled, but we had many comforts that farmers could not afford and did not have to work as they did to earn a living.
Most of the farmers belonged to what was called the Settlers' League and those of them who did not belong from choice did so from fear. I got acquainted with a number who felt no way in sympathy with some of their doings such as burning bridges and other unlawful acts. They were all civil enough to the officers and men of our camp and quite a number were disposed to be friendly. Some of them had contracted their land from the railroad company considering their investments, which in many cases embraced good improvements, too valuable to take chances but kept their contracts a secret. I frequently took their payments to the land offices in Fort Scott, they preferring to send it rather than go themselves.
Eighteen hundred and seventy-two was a bountiful crop year and we could get all the peaches and many other things we needed very cheap. The quartermaster contracted his corn that year at 14 cents a bushel and the farmers who furnished it were greatly pleased at getting such a good price for shelled corn. Early in the spring of the year I received orders to take charge of the surgical needs of the camp near Columbus and to make a trip three times each week and as much oftener as I though itnecessary. This I could do and return to my own camp the same day. This was a pleasant duty for it gave me more to do and I was taken to and from the railroad in the ambulance each trip.
Captain Bennett of the Fifth infantry was the commanding officer at Columbus, a dignified, courteous, soldierly gentleman, to whom I became very much attached. In a letter from General Miles he speaks of Captain Bennett as follows: "Captain Bennett who was in command of the camp at Columbus was a very gallant officer. He had an excellent record during the Civil war and went with the regiment to Montana. He was engaged in several Indian campaigns and in 1879 was killed in an engagement with hostile Bannock Indians at Clark's Fork of the Yellowstone. He was an ideal officer and one of the many heroes who gave his life in protecting the homes of the defenseless settlers and maintaining the supremacy of the government." This duty continued until late the following fall when another surgeon, Doctor Gray, was sent to take charge of that camp.
When the open season for chicken shooting began we had frequent visitors who were fond of the sport. Major Upham, commanding at Fort Scott, would come often and bring friends from Fort Scott, generally Mr. Drake and Mr. McDonald and sometimes others, to spend a day with dog and gun. Captain Butler from the camp on Drywood would come for a day. Colonel Delancey Floyd-Jones of the Third infantry came down from Fort Hayes for two or three days, and brought with him an excellent setter dog, that could not stand the heat as well as the pointers, but was much more easily controlled. I was a bit amused at his experience while there. When asked at the dinner table the first day if he would be helped to both beef and chicken he replied, "No beef for me while I'm here, I can get all the beef I want at Fort Hayes, I came down here to eat prairie chicken." The last morning he was there I said, "Well Colonel, how is it this morning, prairie chicken or steak, or both?" "Well, he said, I believe I will try a little steak this morning." He went away delighted with his experience and promised me another visit in the fall, but for some reason we did not see him again.He was a fine type of the old army officer, dignified, courteous and cordial.
I had done my first chicken shooting on the way in from Fort Sill, and was by no means a good shot. Mr. Kerr, the young lieutenant, who was stationed here, was the best wing-shot I have ever seen on the sporting field. He had his gun made to measure and although he was six feet tall and finely proportioned he had ordered his gun to be only 6½ pounds in weight. Up to that time I had thought the bigger the gun the more deadly the weapon. I found I had a good deal to learn about guns and how to shoot them. I must tell you about one of my first experiences in chicken-shooting with Mr. Kerr. I happened to see one on the ground and could not resist the temptation and I will never forget the disgusted expression on his face as he turned to me and said, "For God's sake, are you hungry." That one precipitation cured me of shooting birds on the ground, unless I was hungry. Time and practice finally made me a fairly creditable shot but I was never steady in the field or at the trap. Mr. Kerr on the other hand was always steady and reliable. I remember one day just before Christmas when the snow was several inches deep he asked me to count out one hundred loaded cartridges for him while he attended guard mount. The ambulance was at the door and he started promptly when guard mount was over. He brought back eighty-four quail and nine loaded cartridges. Poor old Dick, his faithful pointer had retrieved them all, and was an invalid for two or three days thereafter.
Mr. Kerr's quarters and ours were just across the corner of the parade ground from each other, his facing north and ours east, and he was at our house a great deal, especially in the evenings. The conversation generally turned to guns and their different makes and merits; to dogs and their different breeds and training; the loads to be used and the proper proportion of powder and shot. All these things were discussed until we felt we were authorities on the subject but for fear we might be wrong about the powder and shot, we experimented to find if any of the powder left the gun-barrel unburnt, and with targetwe settled at least to our own satisfaction, the amount of shot and powder to be used. My subsequent hunting experience has not materially modified our conclusions. In those days we used black powder and loaded our own shells, the smokeless powder and machine loaded shells being then unknown.
One of the interesting things at this camp that year was Mr. Gordon's company garden, some four or five acres in extent with everything imaginable planted in it. The company did the work of planting and cultivating but the rabbits did a large part of the eating. There would be days when all the company would be out shooting rabbits and it was much like the picket firing I had become familiar with in the volunteer service. This was kept up until the rabbits were comparatively few around camp, and the garden produced abundantly and was a great help in rounding out the men's rations. One of the enlisted men was an expert with the rifle and caught many of the rabbits on the run.
While here I had an opportunity of observing for the first time the variableness in area of rainfall at different seasons of the year. The latter part of winter and early spring I observed that if it was cloudy or raining at Fort Scott, it was the same way at Columbus fifty miles away and I presume over a much greater area. But as the season advanced, I would find it raining at Limestone, while on my arrival at Columbus the weather would be clear and dry only twenty miles away. Sometimes a heavy shower would fall between the camps and both camps would be dry. This was a surprise to me because I had not thought of it before, and I think the feeling generally is if it is raining where you happen to be, it is raining everywhere else.
Before this camp was abandoned I had some hospital property on hand for which I was responsible, and that had ceased to be of service, and I had applied for its inspection and condemnation. Soon afterwards Colonel Nelson A. Miles of the Fifteenth infantry and inspector general of the department came and condemned the property. After dinner we played chess until time for him to be taken to the northbound train, and I have often wondered since that time if he remembers victory as wellas I do defeat. Since then he became a distinguished officer in our Indian warfare and finally attained the rank of lieutenant general and commander-in-chief of the army.
Most of the officers who served at the different camps on the neutral land while I was at Limestone have since died. So far as I know, General Kerr—the Mr. Kerr of our camp life there—and myself are the only ones remaining. Mr. Kerr became a captain in 1885 and was wounded in the assault on San Juan ridge July 1, 1898, promoted to major in October, 1898, was military attache at Berlin in 1900 to 1902, promoted to colonel in 1903 and to brigadier general in 1908 and retired from active service in 1909 as brigadier general in the United States Army. He saw much Indian fighting on the frontier, and received numerous medals and honorable mention, in orders from different departments and army headquarters. It is a pleasure to mention these promotions and orders commending him for meritorious conduct for as a young man good things were expected of him by his friends. He is still living and it must be a great comfort to him in his old age to reflect on the distinguished and valuable services he has rendered his country.
The following winter the Supreme Court rendered its decision in the case involving the title to the Cherokee neutral lands in favor of the railroads. I think the settlers generally felt that the decision would be against them for many of them sold their improvements and moved away, and most of those remaining contracted their land from the railroad companies.
Orders came the latter part of March to abandon the camp and I was ordered to accompany the command to Fort Gibson, Indian Territory, and then to report to the commanding officer at Fort Garland, Colorado, for assignment to duty. From Fort Gibson I returned to Camp Limestone for my wife and little girl baby, who was born the previous November. We were furnished tickets by the railroad as far as Kansas City, but when we came to use them we found they had been packed with our baggage and of course had to pay car-fare. We went over the same railroad from Kansas City as the one I had first taken in crossing the plains but in place of stopping in Kansas, as it did then, it had been finished to Denver.
There was a narrow gauge road from Denver to Pueblo. Its passenger train was at the depot when ours pulled in and our train stopped beside it. It was quite a curiosity to me. It looked so very small, I thought of it as a toy affair and wondered if we could make any headway on such a thing. I was surprised and much gratified to soon know how much I had miscalculated its merits. It was a long train and went in and out among the canons and around the mountain sides in an amusing way and with surprising speed. Maybe we would look out and see an engine coming down the track across the canon from us and would discover it to be our own engine puttering along as though pleased with its job. We stayed over night at Pueblo and in the morning we found there was an ambulance to take us and Major Hartz over the mountains to Fort Garland. The major had introduced himself the previous night on our arrival from Denver. On the route to Garland we spent the night at the different stage stations and were made fairly comfortable. As we neared the summit of Sangre De Cristo Pass (Blood of Christ) the snow was very deep and soft. We thought it too much of a load for the mules and so the major and I concluded to walk. It was well we did so, for the mules had all they could do to flounder through it. I stood the walking very well but it was laboriouswork. The major did not fare so well, for as we neared the top, which is about eleven thousand, five hundred feet above sea level, he was spitting blood and having difficulty in breathing. The west side of the range was clear of snow and it was only two or three miles from the summit to Stearn's ranch, where we stayed over night, and by morning although the major had a restless night the hemorrhage had stopped. The following day we drove to Fort Garland only twenty miles away.
Fort Garland is situated at the edge of the foothills just south of old Baldy, one of the highest peaks of the Sangre De Cristo range. It was a pretty location overlooking the Rio Grande valley to the south and west and we were assigned to comfortable quarters.
About the first part of May a troop of cavalry under command of Major Carraher was ordered to establish a camp at the junction of the west fork with the main stream of the Rio Grande, about one hundred miles west and a little north of the post, and I was assigned to duty as surgeon of the command. This camp was established as a base of supplies for government surveyors who were to survey the San Juan Indian reservation. There had been trouble for some years between the Ute Indians and prospectors who had gone into their reservation and located some valuable mines, and warfare between them had resulted in the government buying the land and opening it to settlers, and this survey was to fix the boundaries and divide the land into sections and cross sections so legal title could be given.
The surveyors arrived a few days after we had established camp. A Mr. Prout was in charge of the party and they stayed at camp several days to establish the exact latitude and longitude of the camp as a base from which to make additional surveys. I became very much interested in this work and they explained a good deal of it to me but I was surprised at the time it required and the figuring necessary. I had the pleasure of watching the chronometer and calling time on signal from the observer. The nights were clear and in that rare atmosphere the stars shone with great brilliancy.
An escort accompanied the surveyors in their work, a squad of a half dozen men in command of a noncommissioned officer, generally a sergeant, and each week these were relieved by others and returned to camp. There was practically no need for a surgeon with the camp that summer, the only two cases in the hospital being a man who was blinded by a premature shot in the mines and my pointer dog which I shot on one of my hunting trips.
The country along the Rio Grande was unsettled, there being but one abandoned log-house between Fort Garland and Loma, now called Del Norte, a Mexican village with a good sprinkling of American houses, and located at the head of what was called the San Luis valley. The log-house was dignified by the name of Alamoosa and was our camp-ground and half-way place between Fort Garland and our summer camp. The trip was generally made in two days although the distance was nearly one hundred miles. From Loma to the camp, a distance of some fifteen miles, the mountains sloped gradually to the river and there were a few adobe houses occupied by Mexicans. As there was very little to do I spent a good deal of time hunting and fishing. Rainbow trout are very plentiful in the river for here it was a clear rushing mountain stream with deep pools and the water was cold throughout the summer from melting snows. We had fish at all times and cooked in every imaginable way until we were almost sickened at the thought of fish, although they were always pretty to look at. To this day my wife does not want to see or eat fish. All kinds of game were abundant but I never had much success with the larger varieties, I did not understand deer hunting and always managed it the wrong way. I did not know anything about their runways, so still hunting was not practical and in riding over the mountains they saw me before I saw them and that settled the matter. I tried repeatedly to get a shot at an elk that I frequently saw on his favorite grazing ground, a small park a half mile or more away near the top of one of the high points in the mountains, but with all my care, and calculating the direction of the wind, and figuring on the best way of approach, he would always scent the dangerwhile I was making my way through the thicket of aspens that surrounded the park and I could hear the keen whistle-like note and hear him bounding away before I caught sight of him.
On these hunting trips I rode a government mule that General Alexander, the post commander at Fort Garland, had given me for the summer's use, and who spoke of him with great praise as an exceptionally good saddle animal. He was said to be twenty-seven years old, and had formerly been used as a messenger mule between Fort Garland and Taos when the mail was brought to the post from the latter point. I suppose he had been gray at one time but now he was white from age, but had been well cared for and although in fine condition, had been retired from actual service. I found him all that he was recommended to be, and with an additional merit that he was not afraid of a gun. I could fire from the saddle and he would not flinch, and because of this exceptional quality, I had a great deal of sport shooting jack-rabbits. They would jump up and run away fifty or a hundred yards and sit up straight, which is their habit, and I would aim in line and a little below the mark and as the mule would inhale it would raise the muzzle of the rifle and by pulling the trigger at the right moment I was sure to see the rabbit tumble over. I never had much chance from the saddle at larger game. The color of the mule was against it, and I was not a good shot with the rifle at moving objects.
I became much attached to this mule for his exceptionally easy gait and his fine disposition, however, he played me a bad trick one day for which I have since forgiven him because of my own culpable ignorance. It was getting late and I was out of my usual hunting range when I saw an antelope grazing in one of the many beautiful parks to be found in the mountains. There was a small ravine down the center of this park near which I noticed a clump of willows and figured that if I could approach from behind the willows I could get a good shot. My scheme worked all right and I got up within range and fired. To my great surprise I saw the shot take effect on the hillside beyond and had passed over the antelope's shoulders. This was a puzzle to me for I was sure I had taken good aim, and equally surethat I did not have the "buck-ague." The antelope ran away and stopped and looked back at me when I estimated him to be about two hundred and fifty yards away. I made a careful allowance for the distance and fired at the shoulder and at the report of the gun he dropped in his tracks apparently without a struggle. I thought a little strange of this, for I had aimed just back of the shoulders and supposed he would at least make a jump or two and struggle some after falling. Imagine my surprise when I found his neck broken just back of his ears, a purely accidental shot. I went back to my mule, which by the way I had named "Paddy O'Rooney" but always addressed him by his given name, and I thought I would put the antelope on him without dressing it as it was getting late and I wanted to find a trail down to the valley. I found that Paddy had an altogether different view of the matter, for he had no desire to get acquainted with the dead antelope. There was no timber near where I could tie him to a tree, to force him to accept the load and so a bright idea occurred to me. I have done a good many foolish things in my life, but I think nothing quite so idiotic as this. I decided that I would tie the end of the lariat rope to the antelope's hind legs, the other end being fastened around Paddy's neck and I would then get on the mule and pull the antelope up. This scheme worked pretty well at least part way. I was in the saddle and my gun across in front of me and I backed Paddy up toward the antelope, wrapping the lariat around the horn of the saddle as he backed. Paddy would look back and snort a little, but was quite gentle until I attempted to raise the antelope up to me. When Paddy saw it move I believe he thought the thing had come to life and was going to swallow him, for the way he went down the mountain side would have shamed John Gilpin and his foam covered horse. I tried to hold him but I might as well have tried to hold a cyclone. I had been raised on a farm and helped break the young horses to ride and work, and I thought I could hold anything, but I had never been on a scared mule before, and I found I was utterly helpless. My first impulse was to throw away my gun and try to get off and let the mule and the antelope have it out together butthe lariat was across my right thigh and I could not get away from it. I believe the thing following him added to his terror, for we went over places I could not have forced him over in his sane condition. I went over the track of our runaway race a few days later and found a ledge of nearly four feet in height that we had gone over, and I really think it would have been the same thing to Paddy if it had been forty feet in place of four. The old saying "All's well that ends well" proved true in this case. The lariat rope slipped around the saddle horn caused by the jerking of the antelope as it bounded along and choked Paddy down just as we got to the edge of the timber. I hurriedly dismounted and loosened the lariat so that he could get his breath and found that he was pretty well tuckered out. I tied him to a tree and then went back to examine my antelope. The hind and fore-quarters were held together by the backbone and a strip of skin along the belly but the ribs and entrails were gone. Fortunately we had stopped near a trail which I knew would lead down to the valley, although I had never been over it before. When I tried to put what was left of the antelope on Paddy's back he again rebelled. I then tied his neck up against a small tree and wrapped the lariat around the tree and his neck until he could not buck, but in his struggles he lost his footing and hung himself. I cut the rope as quickly as I could, and got him on his feet again and gave him a little more freedom the next time and while he protested most vigorously, I finally got my antelope securely fastened in the saddle and led the poor worn-out mule down the trail. It was very dark by this time and we made slow progress but finally reached the valley and I estimated that we were not more than three or four miles from camp. We had only gone a short distance when we met a detachment of cavalry that had been ordered out by Major Carraher in search of me. The major had been over to my tent two or three times and finding I was not there became uneasy, thinking I might have met with some accident, or the Indians might have found me. We arrived in camp about nine or ten o'clock with what was left of the antelope, a very tired hunter and a very tired mule.
The following day I tested my rifle at a mark and found good cause for my wild shooting the previous day. I suppose the front sight had been slightly moved by striking on a tree or something on my trip before I found the antelope. Paddy and I still remained good friends and he took me many pleasant rides through the mountains.
With the latter part of August came the wing-shooting of the dusky grouse (Canace of the Ornothologist) a large slate-colored bird, some larger than our prairie chickens (Cupidonia Cupido). The young birds could then fly strong and afforded great sport. My observation is that it is a very stupid bird. I have seen them sit on the limb of a tree until knocked off after repeated throwing and have seen them sit on the bare ground apparently thinking they were hid, until I have walked up to within ten or fifteen feet of them, before they would take wing. Until well grown I found them most frequently in the open parks where there was a ravine with water and willows and other undergrowth, and more or less grass for cover, but later in the season they took to the large timber. So far as my experience goes they are the best table bird of all the grouse family. The flesh is white and delicious. Their range is as high as timber line in the summer but they go lower as the season advances. There were no quail at this altitude. I think they do not go so high and I saw no other game birds.
There was a bird about camp called the "Nut-cracker" and I believe in some places known as "lark's Crow" (Nussifrage Columbrana) that for a nuisance I believe could not be equalled. In action, in size and something in appearance and rasping voice he much resembled our jays. They were in great numbers about our camp and were impudent fellows and seemed determined to get into everything. Mr. H. W. Henshaw was with us that summer collecting natural history specimens for the Smithsonian Institute. He was quite anxious to find the nest and eggs of this bird. I supposed from their abundance this would be a matter requiring little effort, but I found I was mistaken. I made it my special part that summer to locate a nest of these birds and was constantly on the lookout. I often went out withMr. Henshaw in the morning when he would start on his day's round but generally lost out after the first hour. He was an athlete in size and finely proportioned and hardened to the work by constant practice, and could walk the legs off me in an hour's travel. I would then strike out for myself but was always looking for the Nut-cracker and trying to locate his nest. One day I saw him fly away from a hole some fifteen feet up in an old tree stump, the limbs having fallen away. This looked encouraging so I climbed up and found a nest but no eggs. I reported my find to Mr. Henshaw that evening and he was pleased with the prospects and said we would go together in about a week, and by that time we might find eggs in the nest. I had marked the place well and we had no difficulty in finding it. Mr. Henshaw did the climbing this time and thrust his hand in the hole but found no eggs. "Wait a minute though," he said and thrust his hand down in the hole again, but brought it out in a hurry and the blood was dripping from it. He suggested I make a forked stick such as every boy knows who has ever twisted a rabbit out of a stone wall or hollow log, and he twisted the thing out which proved to be a mountain rat, something entirely new to me. It was a rat in every way I had known them but had a bushy tail like a squirrel. We took it to camp with us and the skin went away with his other specimens to the institute. This is commonly called the bushy-tailed rat but is designated Neotoma Cinera Orelestes by the zoologist.
Mr. Henshaw is now chief of the biological survey in the United States Department of Agriculture, to whom I am indebted for many agreeable experiences and for most of my knowledge concerning most of the birds and animals herein mentioned. His contributions to the National Geographical Magazine are particularly interesting and instructive. The rat mentioned is also one of the varieties of what is known as pack-rats. They construct a nest of sticks and other rubbish found in the neighborhood, and if near a house may carry off spoons or knives or anything that attracts their attention. There is a smooth tailed rat belonging to this genus that is very abundant in New Mexicoand is apt to leave something in place of the article he carries away, and on that account is often called the swap-rat.
General Alexander and some other officers from the post at Fort Garland came to our camp the latter part of July. Complaint had been made by cattlemen, really some Englishmen by the name of Hamilton, that some of their cattle had been killed and they blamed the escort that accompanies the engineers for their death. Mr. Delaney, who came with the general, and I were detailed to go to Antelope park, where the ranch was located, and investigate the matter. The general and some other officers accompanied us as far as Wagon-wheel Gap and with a small escort we continued on to the park, the general and other officers returning to camp. We found the Hamilton brothers very cordial and hospitable. We talked the business over quite thoroughly and remained until near midnight before returning to our camp a short distance away. The following morning we found a half-inch or more of ice in a cup that had been left with some water in it the night before, rather cool weather I thought for the 30th of July. It was very chilly riding for the first two or three hours in the morning, but the sunshine finally got the better of the cold, and we were comfortable for the balance of the day. We camped at Wagon-wheel Gap the following night and found it an interesting place, although there was but one log building and that unoccupied, in the place.
The river here makes a great circular bend around an almost perpendicular wall of rock that I judged to be about a half-mile high. Across the river from this was a beautiful valley sloping gradually up into the mountains and in it were many hot springs varying in temperature from barely tepid to boiling hot.
The following day brought us back to our summer camp again. Our camp here was beautifully located among the pines and between the camp and bluff there was a pretty little lake which had been made by turning a little mountain stream into the low ground between the camp and the bluff. The officers' tents were in line facing this lake, and at the back ground sloped gradually to the river about a half-mile away. A very interesting "nature feature" of this camp, was the uniformitywith which we got a shower of rain every morning during July and August, and we got into the habit of expecting it at eleven o'clock and were seldom disappointed. One day, August 17th, the water from the cloud in passing over became congealed and formed snow-flakes that for size were really astonishing. I was on my way to Loma on my faithful mule Paddy O'Rooney, and when it came it shut out practically everything from sight, a few yards away, and lasted probably twenty or thirty minutes. About four inches of snow fell in that time, then the sun came out bright and warm, and it seemed to go away almost as fast as it came. On my way back to camp the depressions along the way were flooded and by night only the spots protected by ledges of rock or dense foliage were left. With all these pleasant surroundings, and nothing to do but fish and hunt, life became a little monotonous. I sometimes wonder if people will get tired of golden streets and heavenly music.
The survey being ended we broke camp September 9th and started back to Fort Garland. Mr. Prout and one other engineer, whose name I cannot now recall, accepted commissions in the Egyptian army and a letter received some months later assured me it was not a very comfortable service.
While in this camp my wife and I thought one day it would be fine to take an outing together, so the ambulance was ordered and she and our little baby girl and nurse girl and myself and the driver made up the party. We crossed the west fork of the Rio Grande and went up the valley for some distance. The west fork is smaller than the main stream, with many pools and little rapids and hugs close to the north side of the valley as far as we went. The mountains rose abruptly from the waters and at a great height divided into peaks and spires, pinnacles and domes, in abandoned confusion, that impressed me not only as most remarkable but also the most beautiful combination of mountain scenery I had ever witnessed. The pools were especially attractive for I had taken my tackle with me, so I left the party in charge of the driver and started out for some good sport. I did not meet with the ready response I expected from the fish, and kept going on up stream trying one pool after another until Iwas quite out of sight of the ambulance but still kept going, each pool looking more inviting than the one just passed. I finally came to an unusually large pool, deep and wide, and that ran close to the perpendicular bluff on the opposite side. I had made a number of casts when a voice from somewhere called out "What luck?" It might have been from the clouds and I would not have been more surprised, and at first I could not locate it, but looked up and down stream and back over the valley but saw no one. Finally just across from me on a big block of rock that had become detached from the mountainside and in plain view sat a man. His clothing was so near the color of the rock and he sat so stalk still that I would never have discovered him if he had not made the inquiry. Answering I said, "Not very good," but some way I was so startled by that inquiry seemingly coming from the unknown and then finding a real man where of all places I least expected him, that I think I was a little nervous about it, and soon lost interest in fishing and returned to the ambulance. He had evidently been watching me as I was going up stream but made no other effort for closer acquaintance and I left him with that one response, "Not very good."