A few days after returning to Fort Garland I was ordered to report to Major McClave who commanded a troop of cavalry and was camped near the top of Sangre De Cristo pass. The nights were cold and the camp was in every way an unpleasant one. We only remained there a few days when we broke camp and went down the Veta pass. The Sangre De Cristo and Veta passes joined just beyond the top of the range on the west side. We camped near La Veta, a Mexican village, the first night. In coming down La Veta pass we had a good view of the Spanish peaks, a name I remembered in connection with my very limited study of geography when a lad, and which for some reason I expected to be grand and commanding. After spending a summer in the mountains and seeing them in all their rugged grandeur, the peaks looked small and their hay-stack tops were disappointing. We went by easy marches until we reached a point on the Purgatory river some forty miles above its mouth where we remained in camp about a month. Our camp here was several thousand feet lower than the one near Sangre de Cristo pass and was in a fine grove of large cotton-wood trees and by comparison was a very comfortable place. The nights were a little cool but the days were delightfully pleasant. The Purgatory valley was practically unsettled in those days except near Trinidad, where there were a number of small ranches but I only remember one ranch between our camp and the mouth of the river. While in this camp a wind-storm came up one afternoon and grew in volume as the evening advanced but we felt secure on account of the bluff just across the river to the windward of us. However, I could hear it among the tree tops before dropping to sleep, and I wondered if it could do any harm. When I awoke the next morning the ridge pole of my tent was broken, and the tent crushed in by some great thing extending obliquely upward, and only a few inches above my chest. I hurried outside as quickly as I could and found an immense deadcotton-wood tree lying across my tent with the top caught in the forks of another tree a few yards away.
I found both Major McClave and Mr. Williams, his lieutenant, very interesting companions. The major had served in the ranks before the war, and had been promoted for bravery and efficiency in the service. He was a thorough soldier, courteous and considerate to everybody, and like all the officers I met from the ranks, was very devoted to his men. Mr. Williams was a West Point graduate and an accomplished gentleman, and I shall always remember my experience with this command with pleasure. Mr. Williams and I had found a fine bathing pool in the river and had frequent occasions to enjoy its chilly but invigorating qualities. One day when in the midst of our bath the bugle call for "boots and saddles" sounded. We hurried from the water, dressed and got to camp in time to find everything ready to move. A messenger had arrived in camp bringing word of an Indian raid and the killing of cattle at some point down the river toward Las Anamis. We kept going until some time after midnight when we were within a few miles of Fort Lyon and from there the major and I took the ambulance and went on into Fort Lyon to report and get such information as we could, and instructions for any further action that was considered necessary. We got back to our camp just at good daylight and found Mr. Williams and the men almost ready for the march. After a hurried breakfast we were soon on the way up the Arkansas Valley. We followed this valley to where Wild Horse creek enters the river, then turned up that creek and marched until near sundown when some cattlemen and rangers met us and reported that the Indians had turned east and would probably cross the Arkansas below Fort Lyon. Right here it is just as well to say that cavalry stand a poor show to overtake a band of Indians if they have a few miles the start. The Indian pony does not eat corn; the cavalry horses must have it or at least some kind of grain. Stop and unsaddle your Indian pony, lariat him out and give him an hour to rest and graze, and he is ready for another jaunt of a half day or more. He is a tough, hardy beast and can be forced to keep going when the cavalry horse willsimply quit. We returned slowly to Fort Lyon and reported to the commanding officer for instructions, and were ordered back to Fort Union where Major McClave's troop of cavalry belonged.
There was nothing of special interest on this trip although the night we camped at Dick Wooton's there was a heavy snow and the major spent a good part of the night looking after the comfort of his men and horses. After crossing this spur of the mountains the weather was pleasant and the country free from snow and we reached Fort Union without further incident. I returned by stage to Fort Garland and arrived at that post the forepart of December and was there awaiting orders until the 18th. The weather was cold, Fort Garland being at an altitude of about seven thousand feet above sea level, and it was comfortable to be with my wife and little girl, and in good quarters again.
General Kautz had taken General Alexander's place as post commander, but Dr. Happersett, the post surgeon, and the other officers were the same as when we arrived the preceding April. The social features of the post were charming and I hoped it would be my good fortune to remain there during the winter, but a few days after my arrival orders came for me to report to the commanding officer at Fort Stanton, New Mexico, for duty. We started on December 18th and the thermometer registered eighteen degrees below zero that morning. We were well equipped for the trip, having four mules to the ambulance and a six-mule team and wagon for our baggage. The question may occur to some of my readers how could all your household goods be carried in one wagon? We did not have much to carry, particularly in the way of furniture. The quarters at the different military posts were furnished by the quartermaster with stoves, tables, bedsteads and all kinds of furniture that would be cumbersome to move. We carried folding chairs, carpets, bedding and numerous household necessities and comforts with us, but one wagon was sufficient for this purpose in addition to carrying grain and hay for the mules from one government supply station to another. On most of the routes traveled there weregovernment stations where grain and forage were kept for the animals used in government transportation. We started early, having forty miles to make that day to reach Conejos (Jackrabbit) the first government station on the route. We heated bricks for our feet and by drawing the curtains around the ambulance, it was made quite comfortable. We crossed the Rio Grande on the ice and reached Conejos in the evening and had a very comfortable place for the night. We remained one day at Conejos for supplies of grain and hay for the mules. For the next three days and two nights we were in deep snow all the way, and of course made slow progress, and the escort melted snow for water for ourselves and the animals during this time. We hoped to reach San Juan on the Rio Grande by the end of the third day, but were apprehensive, for we knew we had to cross the Rio Chama, a stream that had acquired an unenviable reputation because of its quicksand. We reached this stream just at dusk of the third day and for the first time in three days saw the friendly lamplights at a Mexican village a short distance above the ford. This was my first acquaintance with quicksand, and I would know better now. We should have unfastened the mules from the wagon, and broken the ice, which was not strong enough to hold them up, and thus made the way clear so we could cross without stopping. To stop is fatal. In place of doing this, we expected the mules to break the ice as they went. About the middle of the stream was a sand-bar only slightly covered with ice and water and the water had been shallow over to this bar, but when the mules came into the deep water beyond, the leaders refused to break the ice, the team stopped, and the wagon gradually settled down until the running gear and bed rested on the sand-bar. I ordered the team unhitched and the ice broken so we could get around with the ambulance, and we made the crossing without difficulty. It was then quite dark and I decided to ask for a volunteer to remain with the wagon and the balance of us would go on to San Juan.
I called the men together, and asked if any one of them would volunteer to stay with the wagon over night. An Irishman stepped out and said, "Yis Doctor, I will stay with it." Itseems to me that in a case like this, or for that matter in any emergency, one can always depend on the Irishman. I knew his habits at the post, for he was in the guardhouse occasionally for drunkenness, so I said to him, "Look here, this is not an easy job. If those Mexicans up there knew this wagon was in here they might give you trouble, and if they found you drunk they would probably kill you and loot the wagon. Now I am going to leave a bottle of whiskey with you, for it is a very cold night and you will need some before morning, so be careful and do not take too much of it. Get out and walk when you get too cold to sleep but don't get drunk for your life may be in danger if you are not able to take care of yourself." "Yis Sir, Doctor, I understand that sir, and I will keep sober, sir, and I will take care of the stuff all right, sir." We left him there and the balance of the escort with the six mule team, and my wife and baby and I in the ambulance, started on to San Juan some six miles away. We got off the road as we neared the station, and our ambulance got into an irrigation ditch and turned over on one side, but did no harm and we soon had it right again, and after some trouble in finding a road, finally reaching San Juan about midnight. We had wandered around a good deal in trying to find the road again.
The following day the escort returned to the Rio Grande, and found the Irishman all right and only about half of the whiskey gone. He had fully merited all my confidence. They unloaded the wagon and slid the contents across the river on the ice, and by digging and prying with the tools they had taken from the station, and hitching all ten mules to the wagon, they drew it out the quick-sand and across the river and arrived at the station with everything in good shape about dark that evening. The morning before Christmas my wife and I concluded to ride to Santa Fe about twenty miles away for breakfast. It was a stinging cold morning, and we had to go over a little mountain range on the way, but the roads were hard and smooth as a pavement, and we made the trip at a clipping gait, but were thoroughly chilled by the time we reached Santa Fe. There was no fire in our room and I went to the landlord, Alex McDowelland asked him to send us something to warm us up. In a few minutes a man came in with a tray and glasses and something he called Tom-and-Jerry and hoped we would like it. I think I never tasted anything so delicious, and I believe my wife appreciated it as much as I did, and the effect was marvelous. We were soon warm and comfortable, and by comparison with the experience of the past few days, it seemed a paradise indeed. This was my first acquaintance with Tom-and-Jerry, and while I became better acquainted with these gentlemen afterwards, we were never very cordial friends but I never met them under such favorable conditions as on the morning after that cold ride over the mountains. We did some shopping on the 24th and remained over Christmas at the hotel. The morning after Christmas we again started on our way to Fort Stanton.
The trip from Santa Fe to Fort Stanton was not an attractive one. There was not much snow and no mountains to cross but the route was uninhabited and dreary, consisting of alternate stretches of timber and alkali lands, until we neared Fort Stanton when the timber improved in quality, and the country generally was more inviting. We reached Fort Stanton on the second of January and were at once assigned to comfortable quarters which we occupied the following day but stayed with a brother officer's family the first night. I found Fort Stanton a very desirable post at which to serve. Major Clendenning was in command and Doctor Fitch was post surgeon until my arrival. The fort and military reservation were beautifully located on what was then the Mescalero Apache reservation in the White mountains, El Capitan being the nearest peak, and on a little stream called Rio Bonito, (pretty little river) and it was an exceptionally pretty stream. Anywhere east it would have been called a creek or branch. It was a mountain stream of clear cold water and the post was supplied with water through a ditch taken out from the river at some distance above the post, and carried to the highest point on the parade ground, and from there distributed each way around the parade ground and then taken to the corral and the stables lower down the valley. In front of each officer's quarters a barrel was sunk in the ditch to a depth where the water would almost reach the top of the staves and the up and down stream sides were cut away as low as the bottom of the ditch, thus allowing the water to pass through freely. Small trout were often dipped up in the water taken from these barrels. Fort Stanton is located at an altitude of a little over six thousand feet and is not only a beautiful location but is a very healthy post. It was abandoned long ago as a military post but is still owned by the government and used as a sanitarium for tuberculosis. I have visited it since it was converted in to a sanitarium, and for cleanliness and generalsanitary conditions it did not compare with the post when used for military purposes.
In those days game was plentiful in the mountains and the duck shooting along the pretty little river was exceptionally good.
What was afterwards known as the Lincoln County War was just then in its incipiency. Considerable shooting was done between the cattle and sheep men, and the death of a sheepherder—always a Mexican—or a cattleman, was of frequent occurrence. Word came to the post one evening, that a deputy sheriff had been shot while attempting to settle some difficulty between the cattle and the sheep men, and a surgeon was requested to go to Lincoln, the county seat some ten miles down the valley to see him. Major Clendenning sent for me and explained the matter, but said if he were in my place he would not go, as those Mexicans would just as leave take a shot at me as anybody else. He said, however, that if I decided to go I should have the ambulance and any help I needed. I decided no help was necessary, but took the ambulance and driver and went to Lincoln that night. Mr. Mills, the deputy sheriff who had been shot had a half-brother at the post by the name of Stanley and I had heard the story of one of their shooting experiences when little fellows. They were practising with pistols and had become so expert that one day they tried the experiment of holding something out in one hand for the other to shoot at, but as this was not exciting enough, one of them extended his arm and pointed out his index finger and said to the other: "See if you can clip the end of that." He clipped a little too much for I had seen Stanley's hand and the finger was off at the first joint from the end. "You fool, you, you took too much. Now give me a chance." The other being willing to play fair, extended his finger the same way and lost the same amount of finger. This was the story, and I was curious to see Mr. Mills' hand which I took good care to observe while dressing his wound and found it almost exactly like Stanley's. Mr. Mills' wound was by a shot that entered near the heart, struck a rib and didnot enter the plural cavity, but followed the rib around and came out on the back and was not a very serious wound.
The Sutler's store at Fort Stanton was up-stream some distance and just around the point of a little canon that led down to the river. A path from the corner of the parade ground led up to the store but there was only a narrow space between the point of the canon and the ditch that supplied the post with water. There was also a bridge across the ditch at the Sutler's store, for the convenience of getting in and taking out goods. One dark night I had been up to the store and started home, and after going a short distance, I concluded I had crossed the ditch on the bridge, instead of going along the narrow strip between the ditch and canon. To save time and retracing of steps I concluded to jump into the ditch. I knew it was wide and required a good jump but I found that instead of jumping the ditch, I had jumped off the bluff into the canon. Fortunately it had been made a dumping ground for chips and trash from the wood-yard, and I landed on this trash and rolled the balance of the way to the bottom of the canon among the rocks, probably twenty-five or thirty feet. My first thought was that I was seriously hurt, but after groaning a while and finding no bones broken, I got up and felt my way out at the top of the canon near the Sutler's store. I was very sore for a few days but no serious injuries resulted.
In March of this year Captain Fechet (pronounced Fe-sha, accent on the last syllable), with his troop of cavalry, was ordered to go over on the Jornada del Muerto, and try to find a shorter route across that desert from Fort Stanton to Fort Selden, and I was sent along. We took the usual route to Fort McRae, where I again met Dr. Lyons, the post surgeon, whom I had visited at this point when I was post surgeon at Fort Craig in 1869. We found the doctor at dinner when we arrived. The cloth was spread at one end of the table and just beyond the cloth, at the farther end, was a human skull, with the necessary instruments, which the doctor had been dissecting. It struck me as a rather strange mixture of diet and scientific investigation. It is hardly necessary to say that the doctor was not amarried man, for no woman would stand for that sort of table decoration, but would probably prefer a bunch of flowers as a center-piece for the table. Some unfortunate had been fished out of the river, and no relations having been found, the body was considered of service for a better knowledge of anatomy.
From Fort McRae we went to the Aleman, or as it was better known, Jack Martin's, where we stayed over night, and from there we went to Fort Selden and remained several days. While there the captain and I made a trip to Las Cruces where we remained over night, and had a very pleasant evening with some Catholic priests, where we were cordially received and entertained. On our return to Fort Selden we again took up the march to Fort Stanton but did not leave the beaten track either going or coming. We had taken some half-dozen Mescalero Apache Indians along with us as guides and scouts, but I could never see that we accomplished anything by the trip, or that we made any effort to do so.
Along about the first of April I received a suit of clothes from Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, that I had ordered the previous September upon my return from the summer camp on the Rio Grande. It had not occurred to me that I might have changed some in physique, but when I got the clothes I found that I could only wear the pants by putting a V-shape in the back of the waistband and I could only wear the vest by inserting pieces below the arm-holes, but the coat was entirely too small to be of any practical service. My experience in the mountains had evidently made quite a different type of man out of me, and I should have had my measure taken again before sending orders to the tailor.
Soon after our return from the trip to find a new route across the Jornada, I received a letter from Doctor Lyons asking me to exchange stations with him. I wrote back that I would make the change if he would make the application, which he did, and orders soon came directing the change. We started from Stanton the latter part of April, with the usual ambulance, and wagon and baggage, and an escort to care for us on the way. Between the White mountains and the lower range to the westis quite a wide valley which is called the Malpais (or bad country) near the center of which is a lava flow a few hundred yards wide. The crater, or peak from which it came is not in the mountain range as one would naturally suppose it to be but stands out near the middle of the valley, maybe ten miles above where we crossed. The outlines of the streams are quite distinct until some distance below, where it is lost in a great white plain of alkali. There had been much work done to make a road across this lava flow passable for vehicles, but it was still very rough when we crossed it, so much so that my wife preferred to walk, and nearly wore her shoe soles out in doing so. When did this lava flow occur? I don't know. Maybe ten thousand years ago, but it looked as though it might have been last week.
There were quite a number of little cone-shaped mounds in this valley, and I examined some of those close to the road. They varied in size, and none that I saw were more than ten or twelve feet in height, and they all had craters, containing blackish looking water. In some of them the water seemed to be higher than the valley in which they were located.
We camped on the second night in the foothills of the San Andres range, and the following evening at the Oho De Anija. These springs were interesting because of the great amount of painted and broken pottery to be found nearby. I think some excavating might bring to light whole pieces of value to the archaeologist. The spring is located only a few miles from Paraja a on the Rio Grande, and at the extreme northern limit of the Jornada del Muerto, and the next day we arrived at Fort McRae.
McRae was a one company post, and located on a little bench of land at the side of the canon that led down to the Rio Grande from the Frau Christobel mountains. There were no square for a parade ground but all buildings faced toward the canon, of which at this point was not abrupt but sloped gradually to the bottom.
The officers' quarters were very comfortable, being built of heavy adobe walls, and covered with dirt, consequently were warm in winter and cool in summer. The rooms were large and had the usual jaspa floors common to the military posts along the Rio Grande. Government blankets are first laid on these floors and over them is laid the carpet and both are nailed down with lath or shingle nails, with leather heads, to hold the carpet in place. There was a fireplace in both living and dining rooms and water was obtained at a spring in the canon, a short distance away. While the quarters were comfortable the outlook and surroundings were anything but attractive. The view from the front porch was of a bleak cactus covered ridge across the canon, and this was limited in extent and back of the post the canon rose abruptly to a great height. Up the canon was the barracks of the men, and farther up was the Sutler's store. Below the officers' quarters, was the quartermaster and commissary storehouses and corrals and stables.
For some time we were quite reconciled to the situation. Both the commanding officer, Captain Farnsworth and his lieutenant, a Mr. Carlton, were bachelors, and were courteous and pleasant gentlemen. They did not remain long, however, after our arrival at the post, but were superseded by Captain Kauffman and Mr. Fountain, the latter a West Pointer, but Captain Kauffman was raised from the ranks, and to me never seemed to fit the promoted position he held. Mr. Fountain on the contrary, I thought, gave promise of becoming a distinguished officer. Until they came, my wife was the only officer's wife at the post, and with the addition of Mrs. Kauffmanit could hardly be considered a great social center. We made the most of it, however, and were fairly well satisfied with our position.
During the early part of the summer we attended an entertainment given by the men at the barracks, and our little girl caught cold. At first we thought it only a temporary illness and that she would soon be better, but in this we were disappointed. She gradually lost appetite and grew weaker and I wrote to Dr. Boughter, post surgeon at Fort Craig, requesting him to come and see her, which he did. We concluded the water at the post was bad for her, as it was strongly impregnated with alkali, and we thought it best to take her out to Jack Martin's ranch, where we knew the water was good. Captain Kauffman was very considerate about the proposed change, and we agreed that I should return to the post three times a week to look after any who needed medical attention. This trip could be made in one day on horse-back, the distance for the round trip being about forty miles. We got out there the latter part of July, but within a few days realized more fully the serious nature of our little daughter's illness. Dr. Boughter came from Fort Craig to see her but could give us no encouragement.
The Scotch are a superstitious folk, and up to the age of fourteen I was raised in an atmosphere of superstition. They had signs and omens, and attributed a personality to everything, animate and inanimate. While they denied a belief in spirits and hob-goblins, I am satisfied these things influenced their lives. I remember two old crones at an uncle's, wizened up old maids, that I think were no relation, but just lived there, who used to tell us little ones spook and ghost stories until I was afraid to go to bed in the next room, or out of doors at night. It seemed to be in the blood and Walter Scott's books are full of it. This may explain in a way my hope that something would happen that would bring our little one back to health again. My frequent trips to the post and sitting up at night to give my wife a little rest, which she so sorely needed, together with my anxiety, had probably made me morbid, for one day, August 14th, as I remember, I was on my way to the post. It was avery hot day and the atmosphere was shimmering with radiated heat, and not a living thing was to be seen over that vast, desolate Jornada del Muerto, except maybe a lizard scurrying across the road, and I was half-way or more to the head of that canon in which the post was located, when a little grayish-brown bird suddenly appeared from somewhere, and fluttered over the horses' head just out of reach of my hand. I accepted it at once and without question, as a messenger sent to me, and my anxiety was to interpret its message. I tried to reach it with my hand, but it kept just out of reach, and presently lit in the road in front. I immediately got off my horse, and taking the lariat rope in my hand, walked up to it, but it kept moving out of the way, but only just out of reach. I again got on my horse but had no sooner done so, than it came back again and fluttered over the horse's head. From there it flew to a cactus bush by the roadside, and I got off my horse again and walked up to the bush and took my canteen—no one travels through such a country without a canteen of water—and holding it up over the bush poured out a little stream of water. The bird at once gathered from the leaves, such drops as lodged, and seemed greatly delighted. I then pressed my left hand, back downward, into the sand, and holding the canteen up poured a little stream of water into the palm of my hand. The bird at once left its perch, and flew down and lit near my hand, and after a little debating with herself, hopped up on my hand and drank, and at each swallow would look up at me as if to say, "Oh, I am so thankful." I was greatly comforted and got on my horse again feeling that my hopes would be realized, and that I would find my little child on the road to recovery, upon my return in the evening. I had only gone a short distance when the little bird again flew around in front of me and again fluttered its wings just out of reach of my hand. I got off again and this time did not take the lariat rope down, but merely stepped up by the horse's head, stooped down and pressed my hand in the sand as before, and the bird did not hesitate, but came at once, and stood on my hand and drank the water, and when its thirst was fully satisfied it hopped away, and I got on my horse and wenton to the post. When I returned that evening I found our little child no better and she died that night.
A messenger was sent to the post and the ambulance came the following day with a little coffin made at the quartermaster's and the trip back to the post was to us indeed the "Journey of Death." Our home was so desolate that I became more morbid than ever, and was soon taken down with typhoid dysentery, and Dr. Boughter came from the Fort Craig to wait on me. My recovery was very slow and I was indifferent to anything that might happen. My wife at last became discouraged and she and Captain Kauffman talked the situation over, and after consulting Dr. Boughter concluded to have me taken to Fort Craig for treatment. I was not informed of their conclusion, and when they told me the ambulance was at the door, and a bed in it and that I was going to Fort Craig, it did not even interest me. If they had told me I was going to the cemetery I would have been just as well satisfied with the arrangement, although they thought I would be interested because of having been post surgeon there some years before. After I was at Fort Craig a few days, I began to take some interest in life and thought I would like to see what changes had been made, and the more I thought about it, the more interest I took until I finally wanted to see for myself. With this awakening I began to have some appetite for food, and I soon began to gain strength and as I improved I wanted to cross the river and see my old hunting grounds. All these things undoubtedly contributed to my recovery for I soon made rapid progress toward good health again. The doctor had given us his quarters to occupy while there and they were handsomely furnished and we were made most comfortable. It was then the latter part of September and the nights were cool and the days pleasant. We took our meals at the officers' mess and had good things to eat, and I shall always remember how delicious the pigeon squabs were to me. Before returning to Fort McRae the doctor and I planned to hunt across the river. One of the officers had a gun he would loan us, and the doctor said the blacksmith had one, and he had no doubt he would loan it. I preferred going for it myself, as I wanted to see the shop andhouse close to the bluff where the blacksmith lived. The blacksmith was very well pleased to loan his gun, but said one barrel was loaded, and he shot it off and handed the gun to me, saying, "Now it is all right." It was a muzzle-loader and after wiping it out carefully at the doctor's quarters I found one of the tubes were stopped up. I put a cap on the tube and in place of taking the gun out of doors, or pointing it in the fireplace, I merely turned the muzzle down toward the carpet and pulled the trigger. A report followed that astonished the doctor, my wife and myself, who were all taking interest in the preparation for the hunt. The shot tore through the carpet and into the jaspa floor and sent the plaster flying in all directions, and made a hole in the floor big enough to bury a small-sized dog. Another instance of where the gun that was not loaded, did serious damage, but fortunately no one was hurt.
The post had changed very little since I was there five years before but I took great interest in seeing everything. Doctor Boughter was a bachelor, a man of ability in his profession, an accomplished gentleman, and a friend in our great affliction.
On our return to Fort McRae, while I felt a great repugnance to ever seeing the place again, I was more resigned to what I considered the inevitable that is, that death comes to everybody, is one of nature's laws, and is the culminating process, just as birth is the beginning of life. When we reached the head of the canon leading down to the post I was able to look upon the incident of my experience with the little bird, from a very different point of view.
It was now clear enough to me, that there was nothing miraculous or unnatural about it, but that for some cause it had simply become separated from the flock to which it belonged, for they are generally found in flocks along with cattle. I think it was the female and may have gone to some other bird's nest to deposit its egg, as is its habit, for I had studied it closely while drinking out of my hand, and recognized it as one of the cowbirds or buntings, and I have since been able to identify it as belonging among the blackbirds and orioles or the icteridae of the ornothologist, its special division being Molothrus Aster, adivision found in Texas and Southern New Mexico, but I think not much farther north. The sexes are difficult to distinguish at a distance, differing in this respect from their near relatives farther north, where the male is a glossy black with chocolate colored head and neck. Whatever the cause may have been this one was evidently lost, and was famishing for water, and recognized the horse as a friend, and in no way could have considered me in that relation, it came to my hand simply and only as a matter of necessity. It was pleasant to relieve the thirst of the little lost bird, but I shall never again think of it as in any way supernatural.
Our quarters were just as we had left them but with the added feeling of desolation, and from that time we frequently discussed the question of leaving the service. It being then well toward winter we deferred it until spring, and we spent the time until then performing our duties in a perfunctory way, and planning and rejecting plans as we made them, being undecided where to locate. I spent a part of the time in hunting with more or less success, but more as a recreation than as a matter of interest. On one of these trips I killed three antelopes with two shots, being the only ones seen that day. I managed to get in good range and when the first one fell the other two ran together and stood looking at the fallen one. They stood so that a shot through the flank of one would hit the other just back of the shoulder. I dressed the first one and got it on the horse and found the second some two hundred yards away, but by the time I had it on the horse it was too dark to track the third. Next morning I went out and found only the bones and some pieces of the hide, the wolves having cared for the rest of it. On another occasion I took an orderly with me to care for my horse in case I found occasion to stalk any game, but when we got into a valley which was the customary route for Indians from the White mountains on the east, to the Magdalenas west of the river, some horsemen came in at the head of the valley, and set up a yell and at that distance we took them for Indians and did not wait for a closer acquaintance but made for the post with all possible speed.
My wife visited that winter at Fort Selden with Mrs. Conrad, wife of Lieutenant Conrad, who was quartermaster at Fort Stanton when we were there, and who died at sea on his way back from the Spanish war in Cuba.
We were in the habit at Fort McRae of trading an army ration to which I was entitled, in addition to my pay, to Mexicans for vegetables, eggs, etc., or paying cash as the occasion offered. One day a Mexican brought a grain sack full of onionsand we weighed them and found they weighed a little over forty-one pounds. I agreed to pay him four cents a pound, but said to him we will call it forty pounds and allow the balance for the weight of the sack. He could not speak English but I could talk Spanish enough to make him understand and he would nod his head and say "Bueno" (Good) but when I counted out the money he did not seem satisfied. I went over it repeatedly showing it was one dollar and sixty cents and he would nod his head and say "Bueno" but went away and brought another Mexican with him who understood and talked English, and when he heard the transaction repeated he called his fellow countryman a fool and they walked away together. I counted the onions after they had gone, and there were just twenty-four of them. I like to tell this story to my friends, for while they smile their assent, there is an expression on their faces that is at least suggestive. Two or three of the onions that I measured were over eighteen inches in circumference. These onions were raised in the Rio Grande valley and were as crisp as celery, and comparatively free from the characteristic sting of the ordinary onion. Eggs were fifty cents per dozen and if one did not need any today, they would take them back home, and perhaps bring them tomorrow at the same price, but would not take less. We paid one dollar per pound for butter to Mrs. Jack Martin who sent it to us by the messenger who went there for our mail, and it was very choice butter.
At the Sutler's store one day I was introduced to a Mr. Garcia, a young man of fine appearance, and who could talk English well, who had returned from the university for his vacation. I found him very interesting and intelligent, and while we were talking, Mr. Ayers, the post trader, brought us some native wine which we sipped while in conversation. He belonged to a wealthy family of Spanish descent and was quite a different type from the ordinary Mexican, and would compare favorably with our average university student. After he had gone Mr. Ayers told me his name in full was "Hasoos Christo Garcia." I spell it this way to give the Spanish pronunciation, and not the Spanish spelling. In the middle name the accent is on the firstsyllable. In English the name would be Jesus Christ Garcia, and this is not mentioned in this startling way, in any spirit of irreverence, for a name that is held sacred over a great part of the world, but is done for the purpose of showing the difference in the customs of different countries. Jesus Christ is almost as common a given name among the Mexicans as James or John is with us.
While at Fort McRae Mr. Fountain had heard of a beautiful place on the Rio Polomas, a little stream that enters the Rio Grande from the west a few miles below the post, and that he thought might be worth investigating. I agreed to join him and we had a few troopers detached as an escort, and went to see it. On the way we passed through the little Mexican village of Polomas, where a Jew had established a business and who had told Mr. Fountain of the proposed place of visit. He joined us and acted as guide for the trip. On the way while working our way through a thick undergrowth Mr. Fountain and I became separated from the men and came out on a pretty open park of a few acres in extent, about the middle of which was an immense cinnamon bear, apparently waiting to see what caused the disturbance in the brush. On our coming into the open he took to his heels and we followed, the men having joined us, and firing our pistols and shouting, but when my horse caught the scent of the bear, he just stopped and stood there trembling with fright, and all my efforts to make him go by spurring and cuffing him, were unavailing. I could not move him, but sat there and awaited his pleasure. After a bit he began to move cautiously but was much frightened, and I did not join the crowd until they had chased the bear into the rocks at the foot of the canon, and had returned to the place we intended to visit. It was a beautiful place indeed, and a beautiful stream of water came out from the side of the bluff some twenty feet above the valley, and meandered down to the main stream. The valley was not wide but impressed both Mr. Fountain and myself, as a desirable place to establish a ranch, which he was desirous of doing for a brother he wished to set up in business. I agreed to join him in the enterprise, and we sent for a Studebaker wagon and thenecessary implements and outfit for starting a ranch. I afterwards disposed of my interest to Mr. Fountain, and have since learned that he had his brother come out, and fitted him up with stock, etc., sufficient for a start, but that the Indians took a part in the affair; destroyed his ranch and killed his cattle. I have since then, often thought of it as a desirable place for a cattle ranch.
In the spring of 1875, there having been no medical examining board ordered, and so far as we knew no prospect of one, we fully decided to try our lives in a different way, and made preparations accordingly. I ordered a metallic casket for the body of our little daughter, believing that the post would soon be abandoned, and we could not bear the idea of leaving her in that wretched place, and the first part of May we packed such household goods as we thought desirable to take with us, only leaving such as I might need after my wife should start, it being my intention to go during the summer or early fall. My wife started about the middle of May and soon afterwards the casket came, and the captain gave me a detail of men to take up the body of our little girl and place it in the quartermaster's storehouse until we should decide where to have it shipped. This we were to do after I should join my wife and decided on a location for a home. My wife had gone to her old friend's home west of Oswego, Kansas, where she had stopped on a previous occasion when we thought of leaving the service. On application, Doctor Lyon returned to his old post at Fort McRae and I went to Stanton in July and about the first of September together with Mr. Clark, who was going on leave of absence, I proceeded to the end of the railroad at Las Animas, Colorado, and thence to Leavenworth, Kansas, where I reported to the medical director of the department and left the service October 30th, 1875.
Upon my return to Fort Stanton from Fort McRae I found Mr. Stanley, the one who had his finger shot off when a boy, was just able to hobble about again from an experience he had with a cinnamon bear. He had gone out to some ranch where they were losing some of their stock, particularly their pigs, by what they thought to be a bear, and Stanley went out to kill it. Hewas an excellent shot, was fearless and deliberate and found the bear as he expected, but in some unaccountable way which he could not explain, he failed to stop it, and the result was most disastrous to himself. It had torn one side of his face away, and had broken both legs and one arm, before leaving him. They found him the next day and brought him to a hospital and he was able to get around on crutches when I saw him, but would be a cripple for life. The ranchmen went out and finished the bear, but it was found he had nine shots through his body before giving up the fight.
The military reservation at Fort Stanton was the largest of any post at which I served, and is located as before mentioned on what was then known as the Mescalero Apache Indian reservation. These Indians were considered friendly, and so far as I know have remained so, and they are the only tribe of Indians of which I have acquaintance who cremate their dead. I was invited one day to go with the hay contractor, who intended making the rounds of his various hay camps, and on the way we passed through an Indian camp not far from the post at which there was a sick Indian. We stopped to inquire as to his condition. It seems that a day or so before they had gone to the post for medicine, and had said the patient was suffering great pain, and asked for some physic. The post surgeon, a Spaniard by birth, and educated abroad, understood the term physic in its generic sense and not as it is so universally used by us, and had sent him opiates, when a cathartic was probably indicated. When we saw him that day, which we did from our saddles, as we did not dismount, he was greatly swollen up, and when we passed the same neighborhood a few days afterwards, the Indian had died and his tent and all his belongings including a pony to ride, had been burned and the band had moved across the river and established a new camp.
(Social Life at the Military Posts.)
The social life at the military posts on the frontier, nearly a half century ago, was necessarily very limited. Except at Fort Sill, I served at no post at which more than two companies of troops comprised the garrison, and even in these cases there was not always the full complement of officers, some probably being on detached service, or maybe on leave of absence. As before remarked, Fort McRae was only a one company post, and at no time were there more than three officers, and there were only two officers' wives. There were no social relations outside of the post, and no effort or disposition to form acquaintances. The nearest military post was fifty or more miles away, and the exception to the usual dull routine of life in such an isolated place, was when some fellow officer happened to come our way, enroute to some other post, maybe for assignment to duty or maybe on detached service. Another exception was when the paymaster made his appearance to pay off the garrison, which he did every two months. These were always enjoyable occasions, and we would sit up late and talk about everything of interest at the different posts, or of what may have been seen or heard on the way. This was the most isolated and desolate of all the posts at which I served. It was about twenty miles from the southern overland stage line, and we had to send a messenger from the post for our mail which we did three times a week. Magazines and such reading matter as could be brought by mail helped cheer our lonely lives, so that taken altogether, it was a good deal better than being in the penitentiary.
At Fort Garland, though only two companies were stationed there during my service at the post, there were about the full complement of officers, several of whom were married, and it proved to be an unusually pleasant place socially. There was no formality, and so far as I know this was true at all the military posts on the frontier, except at Fort Craig where my wifewas not with me, but on the contrary there was a feeling of mutual interest and sympathy that made it seem like one family. We would meet at some officer's quarters for dinner or luncheon, and maybe at some other officer's quarters in the evening to play a social game of cards, and the officers' wives would make informal visits with each other and maybe spend an hour or so, very much as if they were sisters.
Fort Sill was one of the largest military posts in the service at that time, and there were twenty or more officers there, probably half of whom were married and had their families with them. It will be readily seen that this made quite a social center.
There were frequent military dances or "hops" as they were called in the service. There were also card parties, not always by invitation, but maybe a half-dozen would be talking together, and would decide to drop into some officer's quarters for a game of cards, others were likely to drop in also, so that sometimes there would be quite a crowd of us together to spend the evening. I thought the informality of these meetings added very much to their charm.
There was a good library at this post which was liberally patronized by the officers and their families, and also by the enlisted men.
A jockey club was formed among the officers and a race-course laid out on the flat south of the post, and race meetings were held on Saturday afternoons, which afforded a great deal of pleasure and amusement. In one of these races which was to take place in the course of a month, it was agreed that each officer should ride his own horse. The difference in the weight of the riders it was thought, would be an important factor in determining the results. Major Van de Weyle weighed one hundred and ninety pounds while Mr. Lebo weighed only one hundred and fifteen pounds. They all had good horses and the race was looked forward to with great interest. The major was jollied a good deal about his weight, but he insisted that he would be able to train down, and he would show them what his horse, which was a fine one, could do. The race-course was a mile in length and it was supposed the heavyweights would stand noshow, but Captain Walsh, who weighed one hundred and sixty-five pounds, won the race and Major Van de Weyle, who had increased six pounds in weight, came in fourth, in a bunch of seven, who started in the race.
In addition to the social life at the post, the fishing and hunting were good for those of us who cared to indulge in that kind of sport. Both Medicine Bluff and Cache creeks were fine fishing streams, and I found congenial company in one or two of the officers who enjoyed the fishing as much as I did myself. Among those most pleasantly remembered, was a Mr. Pratt, a lieutenant in one of the cavalry companies at the post He was an expert fisherman and a cordial good fellow and I have always thought of our fishing trips with pleasure.
After we left Fort Sill he was detached from his command and put in charge of the educational interests of the Indians.
He became a distinguished officer in this work. When still a lieutenant he established the Indian school at Carlisle, Pa., a well known industrial school, in 1879, and was superintendent until 1904. In 1916, when my wife and I were on our golden wedding trip we met him again at Nye Beach, Oregon, and were pleased to renew our acquaintance after more than forty-five years.
His distinguished services raised him to the rank of brigadier general, and he is now on the retired list of the army.
At Camp Limestone there were three officers and two officers' wives. We had acquaintances at Fort Scott and Girard, who either visited us or made the customary calls. These, with the officers and others who came in the shooting season, made up the social features of the camp.
In those days drinking was far more prevalent, both in the army and out of it, than it is today. I think none but the old people of today can have the correct "view-point" of the difference in which the use of alcoholic beverages was considered fifty years ago and now. At that time it was not considered harmful, but rather commendable, if not taken to excess, as a means of promoting social intercourse, and except at Fort Sill it was to be had at all the post trader's stores at the militaryposts on the frontier, and at most of them it was on the sideboard or on the mantle over the fire-place, in the officers' billiard room free to those who cared to use it. Of course, even in those days, there were those who talked very energetically if not violently against the use of it and some preachers would even tell you you would go to hell if you drank it. But people don't scare easily, and you would maybe think about it and take another drink, concluding that maybe there is no hell, or if there is you won't go there, or maybe the preacher didn't know anything about it anyway. Since then the scientific medical man has come to the front. He does not try to scare you, but he has some scientific facts which he has fully proven, and tells you about them, among these are: it promotes hardening of the arteries (Arterio Sclerosis); it produces fatty degeneration and other diseases of the liver; it impairs digestion; it interferes with the assimilation of food; it impairs heart action, and has many other injurious effects on the system, such as preparing it for fatal results in pneumonia and most of the acute inflammatory diseases.
He appeals to your reason in place of to your fears, and you are bound to take notice. The result is a vast difference in public opinion regarding its use then and now.
In the army it was used almost exclusively in a social way. There were occasional excesses, but these were not of frequent occurrence and there was one restraining influence; the fear of court-martial.
It will be readily understood that there were so-called "black sheep" in the army as well as in the churches, and in the fraternal orders. In the army, however, there was no hesitancy in getting rid of them, a thing I have seldom known to be done either in the churches or in the fraternal orders, and this was by means of court-martial. No matter what the specific charges may have been, there is generally, if not always added this one: "Conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman." This it will be readily seen covers a wide range, and permits thorough investigation of character and the very terms of this chargeindicates not only the high character that is expected, but that is demanded of an officer in the service.
I had been in the army nearly seven years with no chance for promotion, and while feeling some doubt as to my success in private life we felt it to be the best thing to leave the service. We decided to live at Girard, Kansas, and came to this place in November of that year.
Two things have particularly impressed me, in looking back over the nearly half century since I entered the service—one is the amazing development of the west, and the other is the wonderful evolution in the practice of medicine and surgery. As an example of the first, take Kansas—not because it is Kansas, but because it is typical of the great west. Population in 1870, 364,399; in 1914, 1,677,106. Wheat crop in 1871, 4,614,924 bushels; in 1914, 180,925,885 bushels. And other crops in proportion. The western half of the state was then practically uninhabited. Today it is the great wheat belt of the country.
When I entered the service people died wholesale from diphtheria, typhoid fever and inflammation of the bowels. Bacteriology, the great searchlight of medicine, as we have it today, was then practically unknown. Today we innoculate against typhoid fever and are immune. Today we operate for appendicitis and inflammation of the bowels practically disappears from our list of diseases. Today we give antitoxin and the child's life is saved. We used to expect pus after a surgical operation and were disappointed if we did not get a so-called "healthy pus." Today the surgeon would be ashamed of it.
Both before leaving the army and since, I have had people refer to our army officers and their families, with some degree of aspersion, saying they were too proud and would not speak to common folk; that they were aristocrats, and much other nonsense. Possibly their isolated condition when I was in the service, gave some color to such accusations, but as far as I can estimate them, if they are an aristocracy, it is an aristocracy of merit; of intellect; of honor; of integrity; of loyalty; of a strong sense of duty and many other worthy qualities that mark them as distinguished from any other kind of aristocracy we have inthis country, and I think particularly from our so-called aristocracy of wealth, so often associated with snobbery, and whose daughters so often present the nauseating spectacle, of trading themselves off to some degenerate and profligate descendant of inherited title and giving a million to boot.
Just now, 1918, we hear a great deal about the army and the necessity of increasing its numbers, and much about its officers, but do we ever hear anything about the officers' wives? They may not be of great importance now, but how was it forty or fifty years ago? At that time the great western half of our country was practically unsettled. There were few railroads, and no transcontinental line until 1869. Denver and Santa Fe were considered mere trading posts. There were only two overland stage lines and no settlements of consequence. The military posts were scattered over this vast region, separated from each other by many miles of distance and the ever present danger of attack from Indians. How about the wives of the army officers of that day, who shared with their husbands the dangers and hardships of frontier life? I wish here to pay my tribute to one who shared with me all of the sorrows, and most of the hardships herein related, and many others not considered of sufficient importance to mention. One who seldom complained; whose courage never faltered; whose abiding faith often prompted her to say, "It will all come out for the best in the end."
Thus, we have traveled along life's pathway, with its joys and sorrows, until now we realize that we have crossed the divide, and are going down the western slope. The shadows are growing longer, the valley is not far distant, night is coming on, it will soon be taps and the lights will go out.