Part 20

And while Faye is away I am staying with General and Mrs. Bourke. I cannot have a house until he comes, for quarters cannot be assigned to an officer until he has reported for duty at a post. There are two companies of the old garrison here still, and this has caused much doubling up among the lieutenants--that is, assigning one set of quarters to two officers--but it has been arranged so we can be by ourselves. Four rooms at one end of the hospital have been cut off from the hospital proper by a heavy partition that has been put up at the end of the long corridor, and these rooms are now being calcimined and painted. They were originally intended for the contract surgeon. We will have our own little porch and entrance hall and a nice yard back of the kitchen. It will all be so much more private and comfortable in every way than it could possibly have been in quarters with another family.

It is delightful to be in a nicely furnished, well-regulated house once more. The buildings are all made of adobe, and the officers' quarters have low, broad porches in front, and remind me a little of the houses at Fort Lyon, only of course these are larger and have more rooms. There are nice front yards, and on either side of the officers' walk is a row of beautiful cottonwood trees that form a complete arch. They are watered by an acequia that brings water from Sun River several miles above the post. The post is built along the banks of that river but I do not see from what it derived its name, for the water is muddy all the time. The country about here is rather rolling, but there are two large buttes--one called Square Butte that is really grand, and the other is Crown Butte. The drives up and down the river are lovely, and I think that Bettie and I will soon have many pleasant mornings together on these roads. After the slow dignified drives I am taking almost every day, I wonder how her skittish, affected ways will seem to me!

I am so glad to be with the regiment again--that is, with old friends, although seeing them in a garrison up in the Rocky Mountains is very different from the life in a large city in the far South! Four companies are still at Fort Missoula, where the major of the regiment is in command. Our commanding officer and his wife were there also during the winter, therefore those of us who were at Helena and Camp Baker, feel that we must entertain them in some way. Consequently, now that everyone is settled, the dining and wining has begun. Almost every day there is a dinner or card party given in their honor, and several very delightful luncheons have been given. And then the members of the old garrison, according to army etiquette, have to entertain those that have just come, so altogether we are very gay. The dinners are usually quite elegant, formal affairs, beautifully served with dainty china and handsome silver. The officers appear at these in full-dress uniform, and that adds much to the brilliancy of things, but not much to the comfort of the officers, I imagine.

Everyone is happy in the fall, after the return of the companies from their hard and often dangerous summer campaign, and settles down for the winter. It is then that we feel we can feast and dance, and it is then, too, that garrison life at a frontier post becomes so delightful. We are all very fond of dancing, so I think that Faye and I will give a cotillon later on. In fact, it is about all we can do while living in those four rooms.

We have Episcopal service each alternate Sunday, when the Rev. Mr. Clark comes from Helena, a distance of eighty-five miles, to hold one service for the garrison here and one at the very small village of Sun River. And once more Major Pierce and I are in the same choir. Doctor Gordon plays the organ, and beautifully, too. For some time he was organist in a church at Washington, and of course knows the service perfectly. Our star, however, is a sergeant! He came to this country with an opera troupe, but an attack of diphtheria ruined his voice for the stage, so he enlisted! His voice (barytone) is still of exquisite quality, and just the right volume for our hall.

FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, January, 1879.

THERE has been so much going on in the garrison, and so much for me to attend to in getting the house settled, I have not had time to write more than the note I sent about dear little Billie. I miss him dreadfully, for, small as he was, he was always doing something cunning, always getting into mischief. He died the day we moved to this house, and it hurts even now when I think of how I was kept from caring for him the last day of his short life. And he wanted to be with me, too, for when I put him in his box he would cling to my fingers and try to get back to me. It is such a pity that we ever cracked his nuts. His lower teeth had grown to perfect little tusks that had bored a hole in the roof of his mouth. As soon as that was discovered, we had them cut off, but it was too late--the little grayback would not eat.

We are almost settled now, and Sam, our Chinese cook, is doing splendidly. At first there was trouble, and I had some difficulty in convincing him that I was mistress of my own house and not at all afraid of him. Cagey has gone back to Holly Springs. He had become utterly worthless during the summer camp, where he had almost nothing to do.

Our little entertainment for the benefit of the mission here was a wonderful success. Every seat was occupied, every corner packed, and we were afraid that the old theater might collapse. We made eighty dollars, clear of all expenses. The tableaux were first, so the small people could be sent home early. Then came our pantomime. Sergeant Thompson sang the words and the orchestra played a soft accompaniment that made the whole thing most effective. Major Pierce was a splendid Villikins, and as Dinah I received enough applause to satisfy anyone, but the curtain remained down, motionless and unresponsive, just because I happened to be the wife of the stage manager!

The prison scene and Miserere from Il Trovatore were beautiful. Sergeant Mann instructed each one of the singers, and the result was far beyond our expectations. Of course the fine orchestra of twenty pieces was a great addition and support. Our duet was not sung, because I was seized with an attack of stage fright at the last rehearsal, so Sergeant Mann sang an exquisite solo in place of the duet, which was ever so much nicer. I was with Mrs. Joyce in one scene of her pantomime, "John Smith," which was far and away the best part of the entertainment. Mrs. Joyce was charming, and showed us what a really fine actress she is. The enlisted men went to laugh, and they kept up a good-natured clapping and laughing from first to last.

It was surprising that so many of the Sun River and ranch people came, for the night was terrible, even for Montana, and the roads must have been impassable in places. Even here in the post there were great drifts of snow, and the path to the theater was cut through banks higher than our heads. It had been mild and pleasant for weeks, and only two nights before the entertainment we had gone to the hall for rehearsal with fewer wraps than usual. We had been there about an hour, I think, when the corporal of the guard came in to report to the officer of the day, that a fierce blizzard was making it impossible for sentries to walk post. His own appearance told better than words what the storm was. He had on a long buffalo coat, muskrat cap and gauntlets, and the fur from his head down, also heavy overshoes, were filled with snow, and at each end of his mustache were icicles hanging. He made a fine, soldierly picture as he brought his rifle to his side and saluted. The officer of the day hurried out, and after a time returned, he also smothered in furs and snow. He said the storm was terrific and he did not see how many of us could possibly get to our homes.

But of course we could not remain in the hall until the blizzard had ceased, so after rehearsing a little more, we wrapped ourselves up as well as we could and started for our homes. The wind was blowing at hurricane speed, I am sure, and the heavy fall of snow was being carried almost horizontally, and how each frozen flake did sting! Those of us who lived in the garrison could not go very far astray, as the fences were on one side and banks of snow on the other, but the light snow had already drifted in between and made walking very slow and difficult. We all got to our different homes finally, with no greater mishap than a few slightly frozen ears and noses. Snow had banked up on the floor inside of our front door so high that for a few minutes Faye and I thought that we could not get in the house.

Major Pierce undertook to see Mrs. Elmer safely to her home at the sutler's store, and in order to get there they were obliged to cross a wide space in between the officers' line and the store. Nothing could be seen ten feet from them when they left the last fence, but they tried to get their bearings by the line of the fence, and closing their eyes, dashed ahead into the cloud of blinding, stinging snow. Major Pierce had expected to go straight to a side door of the store, but the awful strength of the wind and snow pushed them over, and they struck a corner of the fence farthest away--in fact, they would have missed the fence also if Mrs. Elmer's fur cape had not caught on one of the pickets, and gone out on the plains to certain death. Bright lights had been placed in the store windows, but not one had they seen. These storms kill so many range cattle, but the most destructive of all is a freeze after a chinook, that covers the ground with ice so it is impossible for them to get to the grass. At such times the poor animals suffer cruelly. We often hear them lowing, sometimes for days, and can easily imagine that we see the starving beasts wandering on and on, ever in search of an uncovered bit of grass. The lowing of hundreds of cattle on a cold winter night is the most horrible sound one can imagine.

Cold as it is, I ride Bettie almost every day, but only on the high ground where the snow has been blown off. We are a funny sight sometimes when we come in--Bettie's head, neck, and chest white with her frozen breath, icicles two or three inches long hanging from each side of her chin, and my fur collar and cap white also. I wear a sealskin cap with broad ear tabs, long sealskin gauntlets that keep my hands and arms warm, and high leggings and moccasins of beaver, but with the fur inside, which makes them much warmer. A tight chamois skin waist underneath my cadet-cloth habit and a broad fur collar completes a riding costume that keeps me warm without being bungling. I found a sealskin coat too warm and heavy.

No one will ride now and they do not know what fine exercise they are missing. And I am sure that Bettie is glad to get her blood warm once during the twenty-four hours. Friends kindly tell me that some day I will be found frozen out on the plains, and that the frisky Bettie will kill me, and so on. I ride too fast to feel the cold, and Bettie I enjoy--all but the airs she assumes inside the post. Our house is near the center of the officers' line, and no matter which way I go or what I do, that little beast can never be made to walk one step until we get out on the road, but insists upon going sideways, tossing her head, and giving little rears. It looks so affected and makes me feel very foolish, particularly since Mrs. Conger said to me the other day: "Why do you make your horse dance that way--he might throw you." I then asked her if she would not kindly ride Bettie a few times and teach her to keep her feet down. But she said it was too cold to go out!

We have much more room in this house than we had in the hospital, and are more comfortable every way. Almost every day or evening there is some sort of an entertainment--german, dinner, luncheon, or card party. I am so glad that we gave the first cotillon that had ever been given in the regiment, for it was something new on the frontier; therefore everyone enjoyed it. Just now the garrison seems to have gone cotillon crazy, and not being satisfied with a number of private ones, a german club has been organized that gives dances in the hall every two weeks. So far Faye has been the leader of each one. With all this pleasure, the soldiers are not being neglected. Every morning there are drills and a funny kind of target practice inside the quarters, and of course there are inspections and other things.

FORT ELLIS, MONTANA TERRITORY, January, 1879.

IT is still cold, stinging cold, and we are beginning to think that there was much truth in what we were told on our way over last fall--that Fort Ellis is the very coldest place in the whole territory. For two days the temperature was fifty below, and I can assure you that things hummed! The logs of our house made loud reports like pistol shots, and there was frost on the walls of every room that were not near roaring fires. No one ventures forth such weather unless compelled to do so, and then, of course, every precaution is taken to guard against freezing. In this altitude one will freeze before feeling the cold, as I know from experience, having at the present time two fiery red ears of enormous size. They are fiery in feeling, too, as well as in color.

The atmosphere looks like frozen mist, and is wonderful, and almost at any time between sunrise and sunset a "sun dog" can be seen with its scintillating rainbow tints, that are brilliant yet exquisitely delicate in coloring. Our houses are really very warm--the thick logs are plastered inside and papered, every window has a storm sash and every room a double floor, and our big stoves can burn immense logs. But notwithstanding all this, our greatest trial is to keep things to eat. Everything freezes solid, and so far we have not found one edible that is improved by freezing. It must be awfully discouraging to a cook to find on a biting cold morning, that there is not one thing in the house that can be prepared for breakfast until it has passed through the thawing process; that even the water in the barrels has become solid, round pieces of ice! All along the roof of one side of our house are immense icicles that almost touch the snow on the ground. These are a reminder of the last chinook!

But only last week it was quite pleasant--not real summery, but warm enough for one to go about in safety. Faye came down from the saw-mill one of those days to see the commanding officer about something and to get the mail. When he was about to start back, in fact, was telling me good-by, I happened to say that I wished I could go, too. Faye said: "You could not stand the exposure, but you might wear my little fur coat" Suggesting the coat was a give-in that I at once took advantage of, and in precisely twenty minutes Charlie, our Chinese cook, had been told what to do, a few articles of clothing wrapped and strapped, and I on Bettie's back ready for the wilds. An old soldier on a big corral horse was our only escort, and to his saddle were fastened our various bags and bundles.

Far up a narrow valley that lies in between two mountain ranges, the government has a saw-mill that is worked by twenty or more soldiers under the supervision of an officer, where lumber can be cut when needed for the post. One of these ranges is very high, and Mount Bridger, first of the range and nearest Fort Ellis, along whose base we had to go, has snow on its top most of the year. Often when wind is not noticeable at the post, we can see the light snow being blown with terrific force from the peak of this mountain for hundreds of yards in a perfectly horizontal line, when it will spread out and fall in a magnificent spray another two or three hundred feet.

The mill is sixteen miles from Fort Ellis, and the snow was very deep--so deep in places that the horses had difficulty in getting their feet forward, and as we got farther up, the valley narrowed into a ravine where the snow was even deeper. There was no road or even trail to be seen; the bark on trees had been cut to mark the way, but far astray we could not have gone unless we had deliberately ridden up the side of a mountain. The only thing that resembled a house along the sixteen miles was a deserted cabin about half way up, and which only accentuated the awful loneliness.

Bettie had been standing in the stable for several days, and that, with the biting cold air in the valley, made her entirely too frisky, and she was very nervous, too, over the deep snow that held her feet down. We went Indian file--I always in the middle--as there were little grades and falling-off places all along that were hidden by the snow, and I was cautioned constantly by Faye and Bryant to keep my horse in line. The snow is very fine and dry in this altitude, and never packs as it does in a more moist atmosphere.

When we had ridden about one half the distance up we came to a little hill, at the bottom of which was known to be a bridge that crossed the deep-cut banks of one of those mountain streams that are dry eleven months of the year and raging torrents the twelfth, when the snow melts. It so happened that Faye did not get on this bridge just right, so down in the light snow he and Pete went, and all that we could see of them were Faye's head and shoulders and the head of the horse with the awful bulging eyes! Poor Pete was terribly frightened, and floundered about until he nearly buried himself in snow as he tried to find something solid upon which to put his feet.

I was just back of Faye when he went down, but the next instant I had retreated to the top of the hill, and had to use all the strength in my arms to avoid being brought back to the post. When Bettie saw Pete go down, she whirled like a flash and with two or three bounds was on top of the hill again. She was awfully frightened and stood close to Bryant's horse, trembling all over. Poor Bryant did not know what to do or which one to assist, so I told him to go down and get the lieutenant up on the bank and I would follow. Just how Faye got out of his difficulty I did not see, for I was too busy attending to my own affairs. Bettie acted as though she was bewitched, and go down to the bridge she would not. Finally, when I was about tired out, Faye said we must not waste more time there and that I had better ride Pete.

So I dismounted and the saddles were changed, and then there was more trouble. Pete had never been ridden by a woman before, and thinking, perhaps, that his sudden one-sidedness was a part of the bridge performance, at once protested by jumps and lunges, but he soon quieted down and we started on again. Bettie danced a little with Faye, but that was all. She evidently remembered her lost battle with him at Camp Baker.

It was almost dark when we reached the saw-mill, and as soon as it became known that I was with the "lieutenant" every man sprang up from some place underneath the snow to look at me, and two or three ran over to assist Bryant with our things. It was awfully nice to know that I was a person of importance, even if it was out in a camp in the mountains where probably a woman had never been before. The little log cabin built for officers had only the one long room, with large, comfortable bunk, two tables, chairs, a "settle" of pine boards, and near one end of the room was a box stove large enough to heat two rooms of that size. By the time my stiffened body could get inside, the stove had been filled to the top with pine wood that roared and crackled in a most cheerful and inviting manner.

But the snow out there! I do not consider it advisable to tell the exact truth, so I will simply say that it was higher than the cabin, but that for some reason it had left an open space of about three feet all around the logs, and that gave us air and light through windows which had been thoughtfully placed unusually high. The long stable, built against a bank, where the horses and mules were kept, was entirely buried underneath the snow, and you would never have dreamed that there was anything whatever there unless you had seen the path that had been shoveled down to the door. The cabin the men lived in, I did not see at all. We were in a ravine where the pine forest was magnificent, but one could see that the trees were shortened many feet by the great depth of snow.