Part 15

There was more in that meeting than a stranger would have known of. In the splendid dining room where we sat, which was forty feet in length and floored with tiles of Italian marble, as was the entire large basement, it was impossible not to notice the unpainted casing of one side of a window, and also the two immense patches of common gray plaster on the beautifully frescoed walls, which covered holes made by a piece of shell that had crashed through the house during the siege of Vicksburg. The shell itself had exploded outside near the servants' quarters.

Then, again, every warm evening after dinner, during the time he was at the house, Jefferson Davis and Faye would sit out on the grand, marble porch and smoke and tell of little incidents that had occurred at West Point when each had been a cadet there. At some of these times they would almost touch what was left of a massive pillar at one end, that had also been shattered and cracked by pieces of shell from U.S. gunboats, one piece being still imbedded in the white marble.

For Jefferson Davis knew that Faye's father was an officer in the Navy, and that he had bravely and boldly done his very best toward the undoing of the Confederacy; and by his never-failing, polished courtesy to that father's son--even when sitting by pieces of shell and patched-up walls--the President of the Confederacy set an example of dignified self-restraint, that many a Southern man and woman--particularly woman--would do well to follow.

For in these days of reconstruction officers and their families are not always popular. But at Pass Christian this summer we have received the most hospitable, thoughtful attention, and never once by word or deed were we reminded that we were "Yank-Tanks," as was the case at Holly Springs the first year we were there. However, we did some fine reconstruction business for Uncle Sam right there with those pert Mississippi girls--two of whom were in a short time so thoroughly reconstructed that they joined his forces "for better or for worse!"

The social life during the three years we have been in the South has most of the time been charming, but the service for officers has often been most distasteful. Many times they have been called upon to escort and protect carpetbag politicians of a very low type of manhood--men who could never command one honest vote at their own homes in the North. Faye's company has been moved twenty-one times since we came from Colorado three years ago, and almost every time it was at the request of those unprincipled carpetbaggers. These moves did not always disturb us, however, as during most of the time Faye has been adjutant general of the District of Baton Rouge, and this kept us at Baton Rouge, but during the past winter we have been in New Orleans.

Several old Creole families whose acquaintance we made in the city last winter, have charming old-style Southern homes at Pass Christian, where we have ever been cordially welcomed. It was a common occurrence for me to chaperon their daughters to informal dances at the different cottages along the beach, and on moonlight sailing parties on Mr. Payne's beautiful yacht, and then, during the entire summer, from the time we first got there, I have been captain of one side of a croquet team, Mr. Payne having been captain of the other. The croquet part was, of course, the result of Major Borden's patient and exacting teaching at Baton Rouge.

Mentioning Baton Rouge reminds me of my dear dog that was there almost a year with the hospital steward. He is now with the company at Mount Ver-non Barracks, Alabama, and Faye has telegraphed the sergeant to see that he is taken to Pittsburg with the company.

We are going out now, first of all to Michaud's for some of his delicious biscuit glace! Our city friends are all away still, so there will be nothing for us to do but wander around, pour passer le temps until we go to the station.

MONONGAHELA HOUSE, PITTSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA, September, 1877.

ONCE again we have our trunks packed for the long trip to Montana, and this time I think we will go, as the special train that is to take us is now at the station, and baggage of the regiment is being hurriedly loaded. Word came this morning that the regiment would start to-night, so it seems that at last General Sherman has gained his point. For three long weeks we have been kept here in suspense--packing and then unpacking--one day we were to go, the next we were not to go, while the commanding general and the division commander were playing "tug of war" with us.

The trip will be long and very expensive, and we go from a hot climate to a cold one at a season when the immediate purchase of warm clothing is imperative, and with all this unexpected expense we have been forced to pay big hotel bills for weeks, just because of a disagreement between two generals that should have been settled in one day. Money is very precious to the poor Army at present, too, for not one dollar has been paid to officers or enlisted men for over three months! How officers with large families can possibly manage this move I do not see--sell their pay accounts I expect, and then be court martialed for having done so.

Congress failed to pass the army appropriation bill before it adjourned, consequently no money can be paid to the Army until the next session! Yet the Army is expected to go along just the same, promptly pay Uncle Sam himself all commissary and quartermaster bills at the end of each month, and without one little grumble do his bidding, no matter what the extra expense may be. I wonder what the wise men of Congress, who were too weary to take up the bill before going to their comfortable homes--I wonder what they would do if the Army as a body would say, "We are tired. Uncle, dear, and are going home for the summer to rest. You will have to get along without us and manage the Indians and strikers the best way you can." This would be about as sensible as forcing the Army to be paupers for months, and then ordering regiments from East to West and South to North. Of course many families will be compelled to remain back, that might otherwise have gone.

We are taking out a young colored man we brought up with us from Holly Springs. He has been at the arsenal since we have been here, and Hal has been with him. It is over one year since the dog saw me, and I am almost afraid he will not know me tonight at the station. Before we left Pass Christian Faye telegraphed the sergeant to bring Hal with the company and purchase necessary food for him on the way up. So, when the company got here, bills were presented by several of the men, who claimed to have bought meat for the dog, the sum total of which was nine dollars for the two days! We were so pleased to know that Hal had been so well cared for. But the soldiers were welcome to the money and more with it, for we were so glad to have the dog with us again, safe and well.

We have quite a Rae family now--Faye and I--a darky, a greyhound, and one small gray squirrel! It will be a hard trip for Billie, but I have made for him a little ribbon collar and sewed securely to it a long tape which makes a fine "picket rope" that can be tied to various things in various places, and in this way he can be picketed and yet receive exercise and air.

We are to go almost straight north from the railroad for a distance of over four hundred miles, and of course this will take several weeks under the most favorable conditions. But you must not mind our going so far away--it will be no farther than the Indian Territory, and the climate of Montana must be very much better than it was at Camp Supply, and the houses must certainly be more comfortable, as the winters are so long and severe. I shall be so glad to have a home of my own again, and have a horse to ride also.

Faye has just come from the station and says that almost everything has been loaded, and that we are really to start to-night at eight o'clock. This is cheering news, for I think that everyone is anxious to get to Montana, except the poor officers who cannot afford to take their families with them.

CORINNE, UTAH TERRITORY, September, 1877.

WE were almost one week coming out, but finally got here yesterday morning. Our train was a special, and having no schedule, we were often sidetracked for hours at a time, to make way for the regular trains. As soon as possible after we arrived, the tents were unpacked and put up, and it was amazing to see how soon there was order out of chaos. This morning the camp looks like a little white city--streets and all. There is great activity everywhere, as preparations have already commenced for the march north. Our camp "mess" has been started, and we will be very comfortable, I think, with a good soldier cook and Cagey to take care of the tents. I am making covers for the bed, trunk, and folding table, of dark-blue cretonne with white figures, which carries out the color scheme of the folding chairs and will give a little air of cheeriness to the tent, and of the same material I am making pockets that can be pinned on the side walls of the tent, in which various things can be tucked at night. These covers and big pockets will be folded and put in the roll of bedding every morning.

There are not enough ambulances to go around, so I had my choice between being crowded in with other people, or going in a big army wagon by myself, and having had one experience in crowding, I chose the wagon without hesitation. Faye is having the rear half padded with straw and canvas on the sides and bottom, and the high top will be of canvas drawn over "bows," in true emigrant fashion. Our tent will be folded to form a seat and placed in the back, upon which I can sit and look out through the round opening and gossip with the mules that will be attached to the wagon back of me. In the front half will be packed all of our camp furniture and things, the knockdown bed, mess-chest, two little stoves (one for cooking), the bedding which will be tightly rolled in canvas and strapped, and so on. Cagey will sit by the driver. There is not one spring in the wagon, but even without, I will be more comfortable than with Mrs. Hayden and three small children. They can have the ambulance to themselves perhaps, and will have all the room. I thought of Billie, too. He can be picketed all the time in the wagon, but imagine the little fellow's misery in an ambulance with three restless children for six or eight hours each day!

Hal is with us--in fact, I can hardly get away from the poor dog, he is so afraid of being separated from me again. When we got to the station at Pittsburg he was there with Cagey, and it took only one quick glance to see that he was a heart-broken, spirit-broken dog. Not one spark was left of the fire that made the old Hal try to pull me through an immense plate-glass mirror, in a hotel at Jackson, Mississippi, to fight his own reflection (the time the strange man offered one hundred and fifty dollars for him), and certainly he was not the hound that whipped the big bulldog at Monroe, Louisiana, two years ago. He did not see me as I came up back of him, and as he had not even heard my voice for over one year, I was almost childishly afraid to speak to him. But I finally said, "Hal, you have not forgotten your old friend?" He turned instantly, but as I put my hand upon his head there was no joyous bound or lifting of the ears and tail--just a look of recognition, then a raising up full length of the slender body on his back legs, and putting a forefoot on each of my shoulders as far over as he could reach, he gripped me tight, fairly digging his toe nails into me, and with his head pressed close to my neck he held on and on, giving little low whines that were more like human sobs than the cry of a dog. Of course I had my arms around him, and of course I cried, too. It was so pitifully distressing, for it told how keenly the poor dumb beast had suffered during the year he had been away from us. People stared, and soon there was a crowd about us with an abundance of curiosity. Cagey explained the situation, and from then on to train time, Hal was patted and petted and given dainties from lunch baskets.

He was in the car next to ours, coming out, and we saw him often. Many times there were long runs across the plains, when the only thing to be seen, far or near, would be the huge tanks containing water for the engines. At one of these places, while we were getting water. Cagey happened to be asleep, and a recruit, thinking that Hal was ill-treated by being kept tied all the time, unfastened the chain from his collar and led him from the car.

The first thing the dog saw was another dog, and alas! a greyhound belonging to Ryan, an old soldier. The next thing he saw was the dear, old, beautiful plains, for which he had pined so long and wearily. The two dogs had never seen each other before, but hounds are clannish and never fail to recognize their own kind, so with one or two jumps by way of introduction, the two were off and out of sight before anyone at the cars noticed what they were doing. I was sitting by the window in our car and saw the dogs go over the rolling hill, and saw also that a dozen or more soldiers were running after them. I told Faye what had happened, and he started out and over the hill on a hard run. Time passed, and we in the cars watched, but neither men nor dogs came back. Finally a long whistle was blown from the engine, and in a short time the train began to move very slowly. The officers and men came running back, but the dogs were not with them! My heart was almost broken; to leave my beautiful dog on the plains to starve to death was maddening. I wanted to be alone, so to the dressing room I went, and with face buried in a portiere was sobbing my very breath away when Mrs. Pierce, wife of Major Pierce, came in and said so sweetly and sympathetically: "Don't cry, dear; Hal is following the car and the conductor is going to stop the train."

Giving her a hasty embrace, I ran back to the end of the last car, and sure enough, there was Hal, the old Hal, bounding along with tail high up and eyes sparkling, showing that the blood of his ancestors was still in his veins. The conductor did not stop the train, simply because the soldiers did not give him an opportunity. They turned the brakes and then held them, and if a train man had interfered there would have been a fight right then and there.

As soon as the train was stopped Faye and Ryan were the first to go for the dogs, but by that time the hounds thought the whole affair great fun and objected to being caught--at least Ryan's dog objected. The porter in our car caught Hal, but Ryan told him to let the dog go, that he would bring the two back together. This was shrewd in Ryan, for he reasoned that Major Carleton might wait for an officer's dog, but never for one that belonged to only an enlisted man; but really it was the other way, the enlisted men held the brakes. The dogs ran back almost a mile to the water tank, and the conductor backed the train down after them, and not until both dogs were caught and on board could steam budge it ahead.

The major was in temporary command of the regiment at that time. He is a very pompous man and always in fear that proper respect will not be shown his rank, and when we were being backed down he went through our car and said in a loud voice: "I am very sorry Mrs. Rae, that you should lose your fine greyhound, but this train cannot be detained any longer--it must move on!" I said nothing, for I saw the two big men in blue at the brake in front, and knew Major Carleton would never order them away, much as he might bluster and try to impress us with his importance, for he is really a tender-hearted man.

Poor Faye was utterly exhausted from running so long, and for some time Ryan was in a critical condition. It seems that he buried his wife quite recently, and has left his only child in New Orleans in a convent, and the greyhound, a pet of both wife and little girl, is all he has left to comfort him. Everyone is so glad that he got the dog. Hal was not unchained again, I assure you, until we got here, but poor Cagey almost killed himself at every stopping place running up and down with the dog to give him a little exercise.

It is really delightful to be in a tent once more, and I am anticipating much pleasure in camping through a strange country. A large wagon train of commissary stores will be with us, so we can easily add to our supplies now and then. It is amazing to see the really jolly mood everyone seems to be in. The officers are singing and whistling, and we can often hear from the distance the boisterous laughter of the men. And the wives! there is an expression of happy content on the face of each one. We know, if the world does not, that the part we are to take on this march is most important. We will see that the tents are made comfortable and cheerful at every camp; that the little dinner after the weary march, the early breakfast, and the cold luncheon are each and all as dainty as camp cooking will permit. Yes, we are sometimes called "camp followers," but we do not mind--it probably originated with some envious old bachelor officer. We know all about the comfort and cheer that goes with us, and then--we have not been left behind!

RYAN'S JUNCTION, IDAHO TERRITORY, October, 1877.