Part 16

WE are snow-bound, and everyone seems to think we that we will be compelled to remain here several days. It was bright and sunny when the camp was made yesterday, but before dark a terrible blizzard came up, and by midnight the snow was deep and the cold intense. As long as we remain inside the tents we are quite comfortable with the little conical sheet-iron stoves that can make a tent very warm. And the snow that had banked around the canvas keeps out the freezing-wind. We have everything for our comfort, but such weather does not make life in camp at all attractive.

Faye just came in from Major Pierce's tent, where he says he saw a funny sight. They have a large hospital tent, on each side of which is a row of iron cots, and on the cots were five chubby little children--one a mere baby--kicking up their little pink feet in jolly defiance of their patient old mammy, who was trying to keep them covered up. The tent was warm and cozy, but outside, where the snow was so deep and the cold so penetrating, one could hardly have believed that these small people could have been made so warm and happy. But Mrs. Pierce is a wonderful mother! Major Pierce was opposed to bringing his family on this long march, to be exposed to all kinds of weather, but Mrs. Pierce had no idea of being left behind with two days of car and eight days of the worst kind of stage travel between her husband and herself; so, like a sensible woman, she took matters in her own hands, and when we reached Chicago, where she had been visiting, there at the station was the smiling Mrs. Pierce with babies, governess, nurses, and trunks, all splendidly prepared to come with us--and come they all did. After the major had scolded a little and eased his conscience, he smiled as much as the other members of the family.

The children with us seem to be standing the exposure wonderfully well. One or two were pale at first, but have become rosy and strong, although there is much that must be very trying to them and the mothers also. The tents are "struck" at six sharp in the morning, and that means that we have to be up at four and breakfast at five. That the bedding must be rolled, every little thing tucked away in trunks or bags, the mess chest packed, and the cooking stove and cooking utensils not only made ready to go safely in the wagon, but they must be carried out of the tents before six o'clock. At that time the soldiers come, and, when the bugle sounds, down go the tents, and if anything happens to be left inside, it has to be fished out from underneath the canvas or left there until the tent is folded. The days are so short now that all this has to be done in the darkness, by candle or lantern light, and how mothers can get their small people up and ready for the day by six o'clock, I cannot understand, for it is just all I can manage to get myself and the tent ready by that time.

We are on the banks of a small stream, and the tents are evidently pitched directly upon the roosting ground of wild geese, for during the snowstorm thousands of them came here long after dark, making the most dreadful uproar one ever heard, with the whirring of their big wings and constant "honk! honk!" of hundreds of voices. They circled around so low and the calls were so loud that it seemed sometimes as if they were inside the tents. They must have come home for shelter and become confused and blinded by the lights in the tents, and the loss of their ground. We must be going through a splendid country for game.

I was very ill for several days on the way up, the result of malaria--perhaps too many scuppernong grapes at Pass Christian, and jolting of the heavy army wagon that makes a small stone seem the size of a boulder. One morning I was unable to walk or even stand up, and Faye and Major Bryant carried me to the wagon on a buffalo robe. All of that day's march Faye walked by the side of my wagon, and that allowed him no rest whatever, for in order to make it as easy for me as possible, my wagon had been placed at the extreme end of the long line. The troops march fifty minutes and halt ten, and as we went much slower than the men marched, we would about catch up with the column at each rest, just when the bugle would be blown to fall in line again, and then on the troops and wagons would go, Faye was kept on a continuous tramp. I still think that he should have asked permission to ride on the wagon, part of the day at least, but he would not do so.

One evening when the camp was near a ranch, I heard Doctor Gordon tell Faye outside the tent that I must be left at the place in the morning, that I was too ill to go farther! I said not a word about having heard this, but I promised myself that I would go on. The dread of being left with perfect strangers, of whom I knew nothing, and where I could not possibly have medical attendance, did not improve my condition, but fear gave me strength, and in the morning when camp broke I assured Doctor Gordon that I was better, very much better, and stuck to it with so much persistence that at last he consented to my going on. But during many hours of the march that morning I was obliged to ride on my hands and knees! The road was unusually rough and stony, and the jolting I could not endure, sitting on the canvas or lying on the padded bottom of the wagon.

It so happened that Faye was officer of the day that day, and Colonel Fitz-James, knowing that he was under a heavy strain with a sick wife in addition to the long marches, sent him one of his horses to ride--a very fine animal and one of a matched team. At the first halt Faye missed Hal, and riding back to the company saw he was not with the men, so he went on to my wagon, but found that I was shut up tight, Cagey asleep, and the dog not with us. He did not speak to either of us, but kept on to the last wagon, where a laundress told him that she saw the dog going back down the road we had just come over.

The wagon master, a sergeant, had joined Faye, riding a mule, and the two rode on after the dog, expecting every minute to overtake him. But the recollection of the unhappy year at Baton Rouge with the hospital steward was still fresh in Hal's memory, and the fear of another separation from his friends drove him on and on, faster and faster, and kept him far ahead of the horses. When at last Faye found him, he was sitting by the smoking ashes of our camp stove, his long nose pointed straight up, giving the most blood-curdling howls of misery and woe possible for a greyhound to give, and this is saying much. The poor dog was wild with delight when he saw Faye, and of course there was no trouble in bringing him back; he was only too glad to have his old friend to follow. He must have missed Faye from the company in the morning, and then failing to find me in the shut-up wagon, had gone back to camp for us. This is all easily understood, but how did that hound find the exact spot where our tent had been, even the very ashes of our stove, on that large camp ground when he has no sense of smell?

I wondered all the day why I did not see Faye and when the stop for luncheon passed and he had not come I began to worry, as much as I could think of anything beyond my own suffering. Late in the afternoon we reached the camp for the night, and still Faye had not come and no one could tell me anything about him. And I was very, very ill! Doctor Gordon was most kind and attentive, but neither he nor other friends could relieve the pain in my heart, for I felt so positive that something was wrong.

Just as our tent had been pitched Faye rode up, looking weary and worried, said a word or two to me, and then rode away again. He soon returned, however, and explained his long absence by telling me briefly that he had gone back for the dog. But he was quiet and distrait, and directly after dinner he went out again. When he came back he told me all about everything that had occurred.

Under any circumstances, it would have been a dreadful thing for him to have been absent from the command without permission, but when officer of the day it was unpardonable, and to take the colonel's horse with him made matters all the worse. And then the wagon master was liable to have been called upon at any time, if anything had happened, or the command had come to a dangerous ford. Faye told me how they had gone back for the dog, and so on, and said that when he first got in camp he rode immediately to the colonel's tent, turned the horse over to an orderly, and reported his return to the colonel, adding that if the horse was injured he would replace him. Then he came to his own tent, fully expecting an order to follow soon, placing him under arrest.

But after dinner, as no order had come, he went again to see the colonel and told him just how the unfortunate affair had come about, how he had felt that if the dog was not found it might cost me my life, as I was so devoted to the dog and so very ill at that time. The colonel listened to the whole story, and then told Faye that he understood it all, that undoubtedly he would have done the same thing! I think it was grand in Colonel Fitz-James to have been so gentle and kind--not one word of reproach did he say to Faye. Perhaps memories of his own wife came to him. The colonel may have a sensitive palate that makes him unpopular with many, but there are two people in his regiment who know that he has a heart so tender and big that the palate will never be considered again by them. Of course the horse was not injured in the least.

We are on the stage road to Helena, and at this place there is a fork that leads to the northwest which the lieutenant colonel and four companies will take to go to Fort Missoula, Montana. The colonel, headquarters, and other companies are to be stationed at Helena during the winter. We expect to meet the stage going south about noon to-morrow, and you should have this in eight days. Billie squirrel has a fine time in the wagon and is very fat. He runs off with bits of my luncheon every day and hides them in different places in the canvas, to his own satisfaction at least. One of the mules back of us has become most friendly, and will take from my hand all sorts of things to eat.

Poor Hal had a fit the other day, something like vertigo, after having chased a rabbit. Doctor Gordon says that he has fatty degeneration of the heart, caused by having so little exercise in the South, but that he will probably get over it if allowed to run every day. But I do not like the very idea of the dog having anything the matter with his heart. It was so pathetic to have him stagger to the tent and drop at my feet, dumbly confident that I could give him relief.

CAMP NEAR HELENA, MONTANA TERRITORY, November, 1877.

THE company has been ordered to Camp Baker, a small post nearly sixty miles farther on. We were turned off from the Helena road and the rest of the command at the base of the mountains, and are now about ten miles from Helena on our way to the new station, which, we are told, is a wretched little two-company post on the other side of the Big Belt range of mountains. I am awfully disappointed in not seeing something of Helena, and very, very sorry that we have to go so far from our friends and to such an isolated place, but it is the company's turn for detached service, so here we are.

The scenery was grand in many places along the latter part of the march, and it is grand here, also. We are in a beautiful broad valley with snow-capped mountains on each side. From all we hear we conclude there must be exceptionally good hunting and fishing about Camp Baker, and there is some consolation in that. The fishing was very good at several of our camps after we reached the mountains, and I can assure you that the speckled trout of the East and these mountain trout are not comparable, the latter are so far, far superior. The flesh is white and very firm, and sometimes they are so cold when brought out of the water one finds it uncomfortable to hold them. They are good fighters, too, and even small ones give splendid sport.

One night the camp was by a beautiful little stream with high banks, and here and there bunches of bushes and rocks--an ideal home for trout, so I started out, hoping to catch something--with a common willow pole and ordinary hook, and grasshoppers for bait. Faye tells everybody that I had only a bent pin for a hook, but of course no one believes him. Major Stokes joined me and we soon found a deep pool just at the edge of camp. His fishing tackle was very much like mine, so when we saw Captain Martin coming toward us with elegant jointed rod, shining new reel, and a camp stool, we felt rather crestfallen. Captain Martin passed on and seated himself comfortably on the bank just below us, but Major Stokes and I went down the bank to the edge of the pool where we were compelled to stand, of course.

The water was beautifully clear and as soon as everybody and everything became quiet, we saw down on the bottom one or two trout, then more appeared, and still more, until there must have been a dozen or so beautiful fish in between the stones, each one about ten inches long. But go near the hooks they would not, neither would they rise to Captain Martin's most tempting flies--for he, too, saw many trout, from where he sat. We stood there a long time, until our patience was quite exhausted, trying to catch some of those fish, sometimes letting the current take the grasshoppers almost to their very noses, when finally Major Stokes whispered, "There, Mrs. Rae there, try to get that big fellow!" Now as we had all been most unsuccessful with the little "fellows," I had no hope whatever of getting the big one, still I tried, for he certainly was a beauty and looked very large as he came slowly along, carefully avoiding the stones. Before I had moved my bait six inches, there was a flash of white down there, and then with a little jerk I hooked that fish--hooked him safely.

That was very, very nice, but the fish set up a terrible fight that would have given great sport with a reel, but I did not have a reel, and the steep bank directly back of me only made matters worse. I saw that time must not be wasted, that I must not give him a chance to slacken the line and perhaps shake the hook off, so I faced about, and putting the pole over my shoulder, proceeded to climb the bank of four or five feet, dragging the flopping fish after me! Captain Martin laughed heartily, but instead of laughing at the funny sight, Major Stokes jumped to my assistance, and between us we landed the fish up on the bank. It was a lovely trout--by far the largest we had seen, and Major Stokes insisted that we should take him to the commissary scales, where he weighed over three and one half pounds!

The jumping about of my big trout ruined the fishing, of course, in that part of the stream for some time, so, with a look of disgust for things generally, Captain Martin folded his rod and camp stool and returned to his tent. I had the trout served for our dinner, and, having been so recently caught, it was delicious. These mountain trout are very delicate, and if one wishes to enjoy their very finest flavor, they should be cooked and served as soon as they are out of the water. If kept even a few hours this delicacy is lost--a fact we have discovered for ourselves on the march up.

The camp to-night is near the house of a German family, and I am writing in their little prim sitting room, and Billie squirrel is with me and very busy examining' things generally. I came over to wait while the tents were being pitched, and was received with such cordial hospitality, and have found the little room so warm and comfortable that I have stayed on longer than I had intended. Soon after I came my kind hostess brought in a cup of most delicious coffee and a little pitcher of cream--real cream--something I had not tasted for six weeks, and she also brought a plate piled high with generous pieces of German cinnamon cake, at the same time telling me that I must eat every bit of it--that I looked "real peaked," and not strong enough to go tramping around with all those men! When I told her that it was through my own choice that I was "tramping," that I enjoyed it she looked at me with genuine pity, and as though she had just discovered that I did not have good common sense.

We start on early in the morning, and it will take two three days to cross the mountains. The little camp of one company looks lonesome after the large regimental camp we have been with so long. The air is really wonderful, so clear and crisp and exhilarating. It makes me long for a good horse, and horses we intend to have as soon as possible. We are anticipating so much pleasure in having a home once more, even if it is to be of logs and buried in snow, perhaps, during the winter. Hal is outside, and his beseeching whines have swelled to awful howls that remind me of neglected duties in the tent.

CAMP BAKER, MONTANA TERRITORY, November, 1877.

IT was rather late in the afternoon yesterday when we got to this post, because of a delay on the mountains. But this did not cause inconvenience to anyone--there was a vacant set of quarters that Lieutenant Hayden took possession of at once for his family, and where with camp outfit they can be comfortable until the wagons are unloaded. Faye and I are staying with the commanding officer and his wife. Colonel Gardner is lieutenant colonel of the --th Infantry, and has a most enviable reputation as a post commander. As an officer, we have not seen him yet, but we do know that he can be a most charming host. He has already informed Faye that he intends to appoint him adjutant and quartermaster of the post.

We are in a little valley almost surrounded by magnificent, heavily timbered mountains, and Colonel Gardner says that at any time one can find deer, mountain sheep, and bear in these forests, adding that there are also mountain lions and wild cats! The scenery on the road from Helena to Camp Baker was grand, but the roads were dreadful, most of the time along the sides of steep mountains that seemed to be one enormous pile of big boulders in some places and solid rock in others. These roads have been cut into the rock and are scarcely wider than the wagon track, and often we could look almost straight down seventy-five feet, or even more, on one side, and straight up for hundreds of feet on the other side.

And in the canons many of the grades were so steep that the wheels of the wagons had to be chained in addition to the big brakes to prevent them from running sideways, and so off the grade. I rode down one of these places, but it was the last as well as the first. Every time the big wagon jolted over a stone--and it was jolt over stones all the time--it seemed as if it must topple over the side and roll to the bottom; and then the way the driver talked to the mules to keep them straight, and the creaking and scraping of the wagons, was enough to frighten the most courageous.

In Confederate Gulch we crossed a ferry that was most marvelous. A heavy steel cable was stretched across the river--the Missouri--and fastened securely to each bank, and then a flat boat was chained at each end to the cable, but so it could slide along when the ferryman gripped the cable with a large hook, and gave long, hard pulls. Faye says that the very swift current of the stream assisted him much.