Some officers of the Ninth Cavalry6 met us at the station with the post ambulances. There were six companies of our regiment7, with headquarters and band.
It was November, and the drive across the rolling prairie-land gave us a fair glimpse of the country around. We crossed the old bridge over the Niobrara River, and entered the post. The snow lay already on the brown and barren hills, and the place struck a chill to my heart.
The Ninth Cavalry took care of all the officers' families until we could get established. Lieutenant8 Bingham, a handsome and distinguished9-looking young bachelor, took us with our two children to his quarters, and made us delightfully11 at home. His quarters were luxuriously13 furnished, and he was altogether adorable. This, to be sure, helped to soften14 my first harsh impressions of the place.
Quarters were not very plentiful15, and we were compelled to take a house occupied by a young officer of the Ninth. What base ingratitude16 it seemed, after the kindness we had accepted from his regiment! But there was no help for it. We secured a colored cook, who proved a very treasure, and on inquiring how she came to be in those wilds, I learned that she had accompanied a young heiress who eloped with a cavalry lieutenant, from her home in New York some years before.
What a contrast was here, and what a cruel contrast! With blood thinned down by the enervating17 summer at Tucson, here we were, thrust into the polar regions! Ice and snow and blizzards18, blizzards and snow and ice! The mercury disappeared at the bottom of the thermometer, and we had nothing to mark any degrees lower than 40 below zero. Human calculations had evidently stopped there. Enormous box stoves were in every room and in the halls; the old-fashioned sort that we used to see in school-rooms and meeting-houses in New England. Into these, the soldiers stuffed great logs of mountain mahogany, and the fires were kept roaring day and night.
A board walk ran in front of the officers' quarters, and, desperate for fresh air and exercise, some of the ladies would bundle up and go to walk. But frozen chins, ears and elbows soon made this undesirable19, and we gave up trying the fresh air, unless the mercury rose to 18 below, when a few of us would take our daily promenade20.
We could not complain of our fare, however, for our larder21 hung full of all sorts of delicate and delicious things, brought in by the grangers, and which we were glad to buy. Prairie-chickens, young pigs, venison, and ducks, all hanging, to be used when desired.
To frappe a bottle of wine, we stood it on the porch; in a few minutes it would pour crystals. House-keeping was easy, but keeping warm was difficult.
It was about this time that the law was passed abolishing the post-trader's store, and forbidding the selling of whiskey to soldiers on a Government reservation. The pleasant canteen, or Post Exchange, the soldiers' club-room, was established, where the men could go to relieve the monotony of their lives.
With the abolition22 of whiskey, the tone of the post improved greatly; the men were contented23 with a glass of beer or light wine, the canteen was well managed, so the profits went back into the company messes in the shape of luxuries heretofore unknown; billiards24 and reading-rooms were established; and from that time on, the canteen came to be regarded in the army as a most excellent institution. The men gained in self-respect; the canteen provided them with a place where they could go and take a bite of lunch, read, chat, smoke, or play games with their own chosen friends, and escape the lonesomeness of the barracks.
But, alas25! this condition of things was not destined26 to endure, for the women of the various Temperance societies, in their mistaken zeal27 and woeful ignorance of the soldiers' life, succeeded in influencing legislation to such an extent that the canteen, in its turn, was abolished; with what dire28 results, we of the army all know.
Those estimable women of the W. C. T. U. thought to do good to the army, no doubt, but through their pitiful ignorance of the soldiers' needs they have done him an incalculable harm.
Let them stay by their lectures and their clubs, I say, and their other amusements; let them exercise their good influences nearer home, with a class of people whose conditions are understood by them, where they can, no doubt, do worlds of good.
They cannot know the drear monotony of the barracks life on the frontier in times of peace. I have lived close by it, and I know it well. A ceaseless round of drill and work and lessons, and work and lessons and drill—no recreation, no excitement, no change.
Far away from family and all home companionship, a man longs for some pleasant place to go, after the day's work is done. Perhaps these women think (if, in their blind enthusiasm, they think at all) that a young soldier or an old soldier needs no recreation. At all events, they have taken from him the only one he had, the good old canteen, and given him nothing in return.
Now Fort Niobrara was a large post. There were ten companies, cavalry and infantry29, General August V. Kautz, the Colonel of the Eighth Infantry, in command.
And here, amidst the sand-hills of Nebraska, we first began to really know our Colonel. A man of strong convictions and abiding30 honesty, a soldier who knew his profession thoroughly31, having not only achieved distinction in the Civil War, but having served when little more than a boy, in the Mexican War of 1846. Genial32 in his manners, brave and kind, he was beloved by all.
The three Kautz children, Frankie, Austin, and Navarra, were the inseparable companions of our own children. There was a small school for the children of the post, and a soldier by the name of Delany was schoolmaster. He tried hard to make our children learn, but they did not wish to study, and spent all their spare time in planning tricks to be played upon poor Delany. It was a difficult situation for the soldier. Finally, the two oldest Kautz children were sent East to boarding-school, and we also began to realize that something must be done.
Our surroundings during the early winter, it is true, had been dreary33 enough, but as the weather softened34 a bit and the spring approached, the post began to wake up.
In the meantime, Cupid had not been idle. It was observed that Mr. Bingham, our gracious host of the Ninth Cavalry, had fallen in love with Antoinette, the pretty and attractive daughter of Captain Lynch of our own regiment, and the post began to be on the qui vive to see how the affair would end, for nobody expects to see the course of true love run smooth. In their case, however, the Fates were kind and in due time the happy engagement was announced.
We had an excellent amusement hall, with a fine floor for dancing. The chapel35 was at one end, and a fairly good stage was at the other.
Being nearer civilization now, in the state of Nebraska, Uncle Sam provided us with a chaplain, and a weekly service was held by the Anglican clergyman—a tall, well-formed man, a scholar and, as we say, a gentleman. He wore the uniform of the army chaplain, and as far as looks went could hold his own with any of the younger officers. And it was a great comfort to the church people to have this weekly service.
During the rest of the time, the chapel was concealed36 by heavy curtains, and the seats turned around facing the stage.
We had a good string orchestra of twenty or more pieces, and as there were a number of active young bachelors at the post, a series of weekly dances was inaugurated. Never did I enjoy dancing more than at this time.
Then Mrs. Kautz, who was a thorough music lover and had a cultivated taste as well as a trained and exquisite37 voice, gave several musicales, for which much preparation was made, and which were most delightful10. These were given at the quarters of General Kautz, a long, low, rambling38 one-story house, arranged with that artistic39 taste for which Mrs. Kautz was distinguished.
We charged admission, for we needed some more scenery, and the neighboring frontier town of Valentine came riding and driving over the prairie and across the old bridge of the Niobrara River, to see our plays. We had a well-lighted stage. Our methods were primitive42, as there was no gas or electricity there in those days, but the results were good, and the histrionic ability shown by some of our young men and women seemed marvellous to us.
I remember especially Bob Emmet's acting43, which moved me to tears, in a most pathetic love scene. I thought, "What has the stage lost, in this gifted man!"
But he is of a family whose talents are well known, and his personality, no doubt, added much to his natural ability as an actor.
Neither the army nor the stage can now claim this brilliant cavalry officer, as he was induced, by urgent family reasons, shortly after the period of which I am writing, to resign his commission and retire to private life, at the very height of his ambitious career.
And now the summer came on apace. A tennis-court was made, and added greatly to our amusement. We were in the saddle every day, and the country around proved very attractive at this season, both for riding and driving.
But all this gayety did not content me, for the serious question of education for our children now presented itself; the question which, sooner or later, presents itself to the minds of all the parents of army children. It is settled differently by different people. It had taken a year for us to decide.
I made up my mind that the first thing to be done was to take the children East and then decide on schools afterwards. So our plans were completed and the day of departure fixed44 upon. Jack45 was to remain at the Post.
About an hour before I was to leave I saw the members of the string orchestra filing across the parade ground, coming directly towards our quarters. My heart began to beat faster, as I realized that Mrs. Kautz had planned a serenade for me. I felt it was a great break in my army life, but I did not know I was leaving the old regiment forever, the regiment with which I had been associated for so many years. And as I listened to the beautiful strains of the music I loved so well, my eyes were wet with tears, and after all the goodbye's were said, to the officers and their wives, my friends who had shared all our joys and our sorrows in so many places and under so many conditions, I ran out to the stable and pressed my cheek against the soft warm noses of our two saddle horses. I felt that life was over for me, and nothing but work and care remained. I say I felt all this. It must have been premonition, for I had no idea that I was leaving the line of the army forever.
The ambulance was at the door, to take us to Valentine, where I bade Jack good bye, and took the train for the East. His last promise was to visit us once a year, or whenever he could get a leave of absence.
My husband had now worn the single bar on his shoulder-strap for eleven years or more; before that, the straps46 of the second lieutenant had adorned47 his broad shoulders for a period quite as long. Twenty-two years a lieutenant in the regular army, after fighting, in a volunteer regiment of his own state, through the four years of the Civil War! The "gallant48 and meritorious49 service" for which he had received brevets, seemed, indeed, to have been forgotten. He had grown grey in Indian campaigns, and it looked as if the frontier might always be the home of the senior lieutenant of the old Eighth. Promotion50 in that regiment had been at a standstill for years.
Being in Washington for a short time towards mid-winter enjoying the social side of military life at the Capital, an opportunity came to me to meet President Cleveland, and although his administration was nearing its close, and the stress of official cares was very great, he seemed to have leisure and interest to ask me about my life on the frontier; and as the conversation became quite personal, the impulse seized me, to tell him just how I felt about the education of our children, and then to tell him what I thought and what others thought about the unjust way in which the promotions51 and retirements52 in our regiment had been managed.
He listened with the greatest interest and seemed pleased with my frankness. He asked me what the soldiers and officers out there thought of "So and So." "They hate him," I said.
Whereupon he laughed outright53 and I knew I had committed an indiscretion, but life on the frontier does not teach one diplomacy54 of speech, and by that time I was nerved up to say just what I felt, regardless of results.
"Well," he said, smiling, "I am afraid I cannot interfere55 much with those military matters;" then, pointing with his left hand and thumb towards the War Department, "they fix them all up over there in the Adjutant General's office," he added.
Then he asked me many more questions; if I had always stayed out there with my husband, and why I did not live in the East, as so many army women did; and all the time I could hear the dull thud of the carpenters' hammers, for they were building even then the board seats for the public who would witness the inaugural56 ceremonies of his successor, and with each stroke of the hammer, his face seemed to grow more sad.
I felt the greatness of the man; his desire to be just and good: his marvellous personal power, his ability to understand and to sympathize, and when I parted from him he said again laughingly, "Well, I shall not forget your husband's regiment, and if anything turns up for those fine men you have told me about, they will hear from me." And I knew they were the words of a man, who meant what he said.
In the course of our conversation he had asked, "Who are these men? Do they ever come to Washington? I rarely have these things explained to me and I have little time to interfere with the decisions of the Adjutant General's office."
I replied: "No, Mr. President, they are not the men you see around Washington. Our regiment stays on the frontier, and these men are the ones who do the fighting, and you people here in Washington are apt to forget all about them."
"What have they ever done? Were they in the Civil War?" he asked.
"Their records stand in black and white in the War Department," I replied, "if you have the interest to learn more about them."
"Women's opinions are influenced by their feelings," he said.
"Mine are based upon what I know, and I am prepared to stand by my convictions," I replied.
Soon after this interview, I returned to New York and I did not give the matter very much further thought, but my impression of the greatness of Mr. Cleveland and of his powerful personality has remained with me to this day.
A vacancy57 occurred about this time in the Quartermaster's Department, and the appointment was eagerly sought for by many Lieutenants58 of the army. President Cleveland saw fit to give the appointment to Lieutenant Summerhayes, making him a Captain and Quartermaster, and then, another vacancy occurring shortly after, he appointed Lieutenant John McEwen Hyde to be also a Captain and Quartermaster.
Lieutenant Hyde stood next in rank to my husband and had grown grey in the old Eighth Infantry. So the regiment came in for its honor at last, and General Kautz, when the news of the second appointment reached him, exclaimed, "Well! well! does the President think my regiment a nursery for the Staff?"
The Eighth Foot and the Ninth Horse at Niobrara gave the new Captain and Quartermaster a rousing farewell, for now my husband was leaving his old regiment forever; and, while he appreciated fully12 the honor of his new staff position, he felt a sadness at breaking off the associations of so many years—a sadness which can scarcely be understood by the young officers of the present day, who are promoted from one regiment to another, and rarely remain long enough with one organization to know even the men of their own Company.
There were many champagne59 suppers, dinners and card-parties given for him, to make the good-bye something to be remembered, and at the end of a week's festivities, he departed by a night train from Valentine, thus eluding60 the hospitality of those generous but wild frontiersmen, who were waiting to give him what they call out there a "send-off."
For Valentine was like all frontier towns; a row of stores and saloons. The men who kept them were generous, if somewhat rough. One of the officers of the post, having occasion to go to the railroad station one day at Valentine, saw the body of a man hanging to a telegraph pole a short distance up the track. He said to the station man: "What does that mean?" (nodding his head in the direction of the telegraph pole).
"Why, it means just this," said the station man, "the people who hung that man last night had the nerve to put him right in front of this place, by G—. What would the passengers think of this town, sir, as they went by? Why, the reputation of Valentine would be ruined! Yes, sir, we cut him down and moved him up a pole or two. He was a hard case, though," he added.
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1
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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9
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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14
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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16
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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17
enervating
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| v.使衰弱，使失去活力( enervate的现在分词 ) | |
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18
blizzards
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| 暴风雪( blizzard的名词复数 )； 暴风雪似的一阵，大量（或大批） | |
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19
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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20
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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abolition
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| n.废除，取消 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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34
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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35
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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36
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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38
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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40
theatricals
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| n.（业余性的）戏剧演出，舞台表演艺术；职业演员；戏剧的( theatrical的名词复数 )；剧场的；炫耀的；戏剧性的 | |
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41
versatile
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| adj.通用的，万用的；多才多艺的，多方面的 | |
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42
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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43
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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44
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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45
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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46
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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47
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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48
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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49
meritorious
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| adj.值得赞赏的 | |
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50
promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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51
promotions
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| 促进( promotion的名词复数 )； 提升； 推广； 宣传 | |
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52
retirements
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| 退休( retirement的名词复数 )； 退职； 退役； 退休的实例 | |
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53
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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54
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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55
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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56
inaugural
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| adj.就职的；n.就职典礼 | |
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57
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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58
lieutenants
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| n.陆军中尉( lieutenant的名词复数 )；副职官员；空军；仅低于…官阶的官员 | |
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59
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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60
eluding
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的现在分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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