Book: Army Letters from an Officer\'s Wife, 1871 1888

F >> Frances M.A. Roe >> Army Letters from an Officer\'s Wife, 1871 1888



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ARMY LETTERS FROM AN OFFICER'S WIFE

FRANCES M. A. ROE.

PREFACE

PERHAPS it is not necessary to say that the events mentioned in the
letters are not imaginary--perhaps the letters themselves tell that!
They are truthful accounts of experiences that came into my own life
with the Army in the far West, whether they be about Indians,
desperadoes, or hunting--not one little thing has been stolen. They
are of a life that has passed--as has passed the buffalo and the
antelope--yes, and the log and adobe quarters for the Army. All
flowery descriptions have been omitted, as it seemed that a simple,
concise narration of events as they actually occurred, was more in
keeping with the life, and that which came into it.
FRANCES M. A. ROE.

ARMY LETTERS FROM AN OFFICER'S WIFE

KIT CARSON, COLORADO TERRITORY,
October, 1871.

IT is late, so this can be only a note--to tell you that we arrived
here safely, and will take the stage for Fort Lyon to-morrow morning
at six o'clock. I am thankful enough that our stay is short at this
terrible place, where one feels there is danger of being murdered any
minute. Not one woman have I seen here, but there are men--any number
of dreadful-looking men--each one armed with big pistols, and leather
belts full of cartridges. But the houses we saw as we came from the
station were worse even than the men. They looked, in the moonlight,
like huge cakes of clay, where spooks and creepy things might be
found. The hotel is much like the houses, and appears to have been
made of dirt, and a few drygoods boxes. Even the low roof is of dirt.
The whole place is horrible, and dismal beyond description, and just
why anyone lives here I cannot understand.

I am all upset! Faye has just been in to say that only one of my
trunks can be taken on the stage with us, and of course I had to
select one that has all sorts of things in it, and consequently leave
my pretty dresses here, to be sent for--all but the Japanese silk
which happens to be in that trunk. But imagine my mortification in
having to go with Faye to his regiment, with only two dresses. And
then, to make my shortcomings the more vexatious, Faye will be simply
fine all the time, in his brand new uniform!

Perhaps I can send a long letter soon--if I live to reach that army
post that still seems so far away.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY,
October, 1871.

AFTER months of anticipation and days of weary travel we have at last
got to our army home! As you know, Fort Lyon is fifty miles from Kit
Carson, and we came all that distance in a funny looking stage coach
called a "jerkey," and a good name for it, too, for at times it
seesawed back and forth and then sideways, in an awful breakneck way.
The day was glorious, and the atmosphere so clear, we could see miles
and miles in every direction. But there was not one object to be seen
on the vast rolling plains--not a tree nor a house, except the
wretched ranch and stockade where we got fresh horses and a perfectly
uneatable dinner.

It was dark when we reached the post, so of course we could see
nothing that night. General and Mrs. Phillips gave us a most cordial
welcome--just as though they had known us always. Dinner was served
soon after we arrived, and the cheerful dining room, and the table
with its dainty china and bright silver, was such a surprise--so much
nicer than anything we had expected to find here, and all so different
from the terrible places we had seen since reaching the plains. It was
apparent at once that this was not a place for spooks! General
Phillips is not a real general--only so by brevet, for gallant service
during the war. I was so disappointed when I was told this, but Faye
says that he is very much afraid that I will have cause, sooner or
later, to think that the grade of captain is quite high enough. He
thinks this way because, having graduated at West Point this year, he
is only a second lieutenant just now, and General Phillips is his
captain and company commander.

It seems that in the Army, lieutenants are called "Mister" always, but
all other officers must be addressed by their rank. At least that is
what they tell me. But in Faye's company, the captain is called
general, and the first lieutenant is called major, and as this is most
confusing, I get things mixed sometimes. Most girls would. A soldier
in uniform waited upon us at dinner, and that seemed so funny. I
wanted to watch him all the time, which distracted me, I suppose, for
once I called General Phillips "Mister!" It so happened, too, that
just that instant there was not a sound in the room, so everyone heard
the blunder. General Phillips straightened back in his chair, and his
little son gave a smothered giggle--for which he should have been sent
to bed at once. But that was not all! That soldier, who had been so
dignified and stiff, put his hand over his mouth and fairly rushed
from the room so he could laugh outright. And how I longed to run some
place, too--but not to laugh, oh, no!

These soldiers are not nearly as nice as one would suppose them to be,
when one sees them dressed up in their blue uniforms with bright brass
buttons. And they can make mistakes, too, for yesterday, when I asked
that same man a question, he answered, "Yes, sorr!" Then I smiled, of
course, but he did not seem to have enough sense to see why. When I
told Faye about it, he looked vexed and said I must never laugh at an
enlisted man--that it was not dignified in the wife of an officer to
do so. And then I told him that an officer should teach an enlisted
man not to snicker at his wife, and not to call her "Sorr," which was
disrespectful. I wanted to say more, but Faye suddenly left the room.

The post is not at all as you and I had imagined it to be. There is no
high wall around it as there is at Fort Trumbull. It reminds one of a
prim little village built around a square, in the center of which is a
high flagstaff and a big cannon. The buildings are very low and broad
and are made of adobe--a kind of clay and mud mixed together--and the
walls are very thick. At every window are heavy wooden shutters, that
can be closed during severe sand and wind storms. A little ditch--they
call it acequia--runs all around the post, and brings water to the
trees and lawns, but water for use in the houses is brought up in
wagons from the Arkansas River, and is kept in barrels.

Yesterday morning--our first here--we were awakened by the sounds of
fife and drum that became louder and louder, until finally I thought
the whole Army must be marching to the house. I stumbled over
everything in the room in my haste to get to one of the little dormer
windows, but there was nothing to be seen, as it was still quite dark.
The drumming became less loud, and then ceased altogether, when a big
gun was fired that must have wasted any amount of powder, for it shook
the house and made all the windows rattle. Then three or four bugles
played a little air, which it was impossible to hear because of the
horrible howling and crying of dogs--such howls of misery you never
heard--they made me shiver. This all suddenly ceased, and immediately
there were lights flashing some distance away, and dozens of men
seemed to be talking all at the same time, some of them shouting,
"Here!" "Here!" I began to think that perhaps Indians had come upon
us, and called to Faye, who informed me in a sleepy voice that it was
only reveille roll-call, and that each man was answering to his name.
There was the same performance this morning, and at breakfast I asked
General Phillips why soldiers required such a beating of drums, and
deafening racket generally, to awaken them in the morning. But he did
not tell me--said it was an old army custom to have the drums beaten
along the officers' walk at reveille.

Yesterday morning, directly after guard-mounting, Faye put on his
full-dress uniform--epaulets, beautiful scarlet sash, and sword--and
went over to the office of the commanding officer to report
officially. The officer in command of the post is lieutenant colonel
of the regiment, but he, also, is a general by brevet, and one can see
by his very walk that he expects this to be remembered always. So it
is apparent to me that the safest thing to do is to call everyone
general--there seem to be so many here. If I make a mistake, it will
be on the right side, at least.

Much of the furniture in this house was made by soldier carpenters
here at the post, and is not only very nice, but cost General Phillips
almost nothing, and, as we have to buy everything, I said at dinner
last evening that we must have some precisely like it, supposing, of
course, that General Phillips would feel highly gratified because his
taste was admired. But instead of the smile and gracious acquiescence
I had expected, there was another straightening back in the chair, and
a silence that was ominous and chilling. Finally, he recovered
sufficient breath to tell me that at present, there were no good
carpenters in the company. Later on, however, I learned that only
captains and officers of higher rank can have such things. The
captains seem to have the best of everything, and the lieutenants are
expected to get along with smaller houses, much less pay, and much
less everything else, and at the same time perform all of the
disagreeable duties.

Faye is wonderfully amiable about it, and assures me that when he gets
to be a captain I will see that it is just and fair. But I happen to
remember that he told me not long ago that he might not get his
captaincy for twenty years. Just think of it--a whole long
lifetime--and always a Mister, too--and perhaps by that time it will
be "just and fair" for the lieutenants to have everything!

We saw our house yesterday--quarters I must learn to say--and it is
ever so much nicer than we had expected it to be. All of the officers'
quarters are new, and this set has never been occupied. It has a hall
with a pretty stairway, three rooms and a large shed downstairs, and
two rooms and a very large hall closet on the second floor. A soldier
is cleaning the windows and floors, and making things tidy generally.
Many of the men like to cook, and do things for officers of their
company, thereby adding to their pay, and these men are called
strikers.

There are four companies here--three of infantry and one troop of
cavalry. You must always remember that Faye is in the infantry. With
the cavalry he has a classmate, and a friend, also, which will make it
pleasant for both of us. In my letters to you I will disregard army
etiquette, and call the lieutenants by their rank, otherwise you would
not know of whom I was writing--an officer or civilian. Lieutenant
Baldwin has been on the frontier many years, and is an experienced
hunter of buffalo and antelope. He says that I must commence riding
horseback at once, and has generously offered me the use of one of his
horses. Mrs. Phillips insists upon my using her saddle until I can get
one from the East, so I can ride as soon as our trunks come. And I am
to learn to shoot pistols and guns, and do all sorts of things.

We are to remain with General and Mrs. Phillips several days, while
our own house is being made habitable, and in the meantime our trunks
and boxes will come, also the colored cook. I have not missed my
dresses very much--there has been so much else to think about. There
is a little store just outside the post that is named "Post Trader's,"
where many useful things are kept, and we have just been there to
purchase some really nice furniture that an officer left to be sold
when he was retired last spring. We got only enough to make ourselves
comfortable during the winter, for it seems to be the general belief
here that these companies of infantry will be ordered to Camp Supply,
Indian Territory, in the spring. It must be a most dreadful
place--with old log houses built in the hot sand hills, and surrounded
by almost every tribe of hostile Indians.

It may not be possible for me to write again for several days, as I
will be very busy getting settled in the house. I must get things
arranged just as soon as I can, so I will be able to go out on
horseback with Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY,
October, 1871.

WHEN a very small girl, I was told many wonderful tales about a grand
Indian chief called Red Jacket, by my great-grandmother, who, you will
remember, saw him a number of times when she, also, was a small girl.
And since then--almost all my life--I have wanted to see with my very
own eyes an Indian--a real noble red man--dressed in beautiful skins
embroidered with beads, and on his head long, waving feathers.

Well, I have seen an Indian--a number of Indians--but they were not
Red Jackets, neither were they noble red men. They were simply, and
only, painted, dirty, and nauseous-smelling savages! Mrs. Phillips
says that Indians are all alike--that when you have seen one you have
seen all. And she must know, for she has lived on the frontier a long
time, and has seen many Indians of many tribes.

We went to Las Animas yesterday, Mrs. Phillips, Mrs. Cole, and I, to
do a little shopping. There are several small stores in the
half-Mexican village, where curious little things from Mexico can
often be found, if one does not mind poking about underneath the trash
and dirt that is everywhere. While we were in the largest of these
shops, ten or twelve Indians dashed up to the door on their ponies,
and four of them, slipping down, came in the store and passed on
quickly to the counter farthest back, where the ammunition is kept. As
they came toward us in their imperious way, never once looking to the
right or to the left, they seemed like giants, and to increase in size
and numbers with every step.

Their coming was so sudden we did not have a chance to get out of
their way, and it so happened that Mrs. Phillips and I were in their
line of march, and when the one in the lead got to us, we were pushed
aside with such impatient force that we both fell over on the counter.
The others passed on just the same, however, and if we had fallen to
the floor, I presume they would have stepped over us, and otherwise
been oblivious to our existence. This was my introduction to an
Indian--the noble red man!

As soon as they got to the counter they demanded powder, balls, and
percussion caps, and as these things were given them, they were
stuffed down their muzzle-loading rifles, and what could not be rammed
down the barrels was put in greasy skin bags and hidden under their
blankets. I saw one test the sharp edge of a long, wicked-looking
knife, and then it, also, disappeared under his blanket. All this time
the other Indians were on their ponies in front, watching every move
that was being made around them.

There was only the one small door to the little adobe shop, and into
this an Indian had ridden his piebald pony; its forefeet were up a
step on the sill and its head and shoulders were in the room, which
made it quite impossible for us three frightened women to run out in
the street. So we got back of a counter, and, as Mrs. Phillips
expressed it, "midway between the devil and the deep sea." There
certainly could be no mistake about the "devil" side of it!

It was an awful situation to be in, and one to terrify anybody. We
were actually prisoners--penned in with all those savages, who were
evidently in an ugly mood, with quantities of ammunition within their
reach, and only two white men to protect us. Even the few small
windows had iron bars across. They could have killed every one of us,
and ridden far away before anyone in the sleepy town found it out.

Well, when those inside had been given, or had helped themselves to,
whatever they wanted, out they all marched again, quickly and
silently, just as they had come in. They instantly mounted their
ponies, and all rode down the street and out of sight at race speed,
some leaning so far over on their little beasts that one could hardly
see the Indian at all. The pony that was ridden into the store door
was without a bridle, and was guided by a long strip of buffalo skin
which was fastened around his lower jaw by a slipknot. It is amazing
to see how tractable the Indians can make their ponies with only that
one rein.

The storekeeper told us that those Indians were Utes, and were greatly
excited because they had just heard there was a small party of
Cheyennes down the river two or three miles. The Utes and Cheyennes
are bitter enemies. He said that the Utes were very cross--ready for
the blood of Indian or white man--therefore he had permitted them to
do about as they pleased while in the store, particularly as we were
there, and he saw that we were frightened. That young man did not know
that his own swarthy face was a greenish white all the time those
Indians were in the store! Not one penny did they pay for the things
they carried off. Only two years ago the entire Ute nation was on the
warpath, killing every white person they came across, and one must
have much faith in Indians to believe that their "change of heart"
has been so complete that these Utes have learned to love the white
man in so short a time.

No! There was hatred in their eyes as they approached us in that
store, and there was restrained murder in the hand that pushed Mrs.
Phillips and me over. They were all hideous--with streaks of red or
green paint on their faces that made them look like fiends. Their hair
was roped with strips of bright-colored stuff, and hung down on each
side of their shoulders in front, and on the crown of each black head
was a small, tightly plaited lock, ornamented at the top with a
feather, a piece of tin, or something fantastic. These were their
scalp locks. They wore blankets over dirty old shirts, and of course
had on long, trouserlike leggings of skin and moccasins. They were not
tall, but rather short and stocky. The odor of those skins, and of the
Indians themselves, in that stuffy little shop, I expect to smell the
rest of my life!

We heard this morning that those very savages rode out on the plains
in a roundabout way, so as to get in advance of the Cheyennes, and
then had hidden themselves on the top of a bluff overlooking the trail
they knew the Cheyennes to be following, and had fired upon them as
they passed below, killing two and wounding a number of others. You
can see how treacherous these Indians are, and how very far from noble
is their method of warfare! They are so disappointing, too--so wholly
unlike Cooper's red men.

We were glad enough to get in the ambulance and start on our way to
the post, but alas! our troubles were not over. The mules must have
felt the excitement in the air, for as soon as their heads were turned
toward home they proceeded to run away with us. We had the four little
mules that are the special pets of the quartermaster, and are known
throughout the garrison as the "shaved-tails," because the hair on
their tails is kept closely cut down to the very tips, where it is
left in a square brush of three or four inches. They are perfectly
matched--coal-black all over, except their little noses, and are quite
small. They are full of mischief, and full of wisdom, too, even for
government mules, and when one says, "Let's take a sprint," the others
always agree--about that there is never the slightest hesitation.

Therefore, when we first heard the scraping of the brake, and saw that
the driver was pulling and sawing at the tough mouths with all his
strength, no one was surprised, but we said that we wished they had
waited until after we had crossed the Arkansas River. But we got over
the narrow bridge without meeting more than one man, who climbed over
the railing and seemed less anxious to meet us than we were to meet
him. As soon as we got on the road again, those mules, with
preliminary kicks and shakes of their big heads, began to demonstrate
how fast they could go. We had the best driver at the post, and the
road was good and without sharp turns, but the ambulance was high and
swayed, and the pace was too fast for comfort.

The little mules ran and ran, and we held ourselves on our seats the
best we could, expecting to be tipped over any minute. When we reached
the post they made a wonderful turn and took us safely to the
government corral, where they stopped, just when they got ready. One
leader looked around at us and commenced to bray, but the driver was
in no mood for such insolence, and jerked the poor thing almost down.

Three tired, disheveled women walked from the corral to their homes;
and very glad one of them was to get home, too! Hereafter I shall
confine myself to horseback riding--for, even if John is frisky at
times, I prefer to take my chances with the one horse, to four little
long-eared government mules! But I have learned to ride very well, and
have a secure seat now. My teachers, Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin, have
been most exacting, but that I wanted. Of course I ride the army way,
tight in the saddle, which is more difficult to learn. Any attempt to
"rise" when on a trot is ridiculed at once here, and it does look
absurd after seeing the splendid and graceful riding of the officers.
I am learning to jump the cavalry hurdles and ditches, too. I must
confess, however, that taking a ditch the first time was more exciting
than enjoyable. John seemed to like it better than I did.

FORT LYON, COLORADO TERRITORY,
November, 1871.

IN many of my letters I have written about learning to ride and to
shoot, and have told you, also, of having followed the greyhounds
after coyotes and rabbits with Faye and Lieutenant Baldwin. These
hunts exact the very best of riding and a fast horse, for coyotes are
very swift, and so are jack-rabbits, too, and one look at a greyhound
will tell anyone that he can run--and about twice as fast as the
big-eared foxhounds in the East. But I started to write you about
something quite different from all this--to tell you of a really grand
hunt I have been on--a splendid chase after buffalo!

A week or so ago it was decided that a party of enlisted men should be
sent out to get buffalo meat for Thanksgiving dinner for
everybody--officers and enlisted men--and that Lieutenant Baldwin, who
is an experienced hunter, should command the detail. You can imagine
how proud and delighted I was when asked to go with them. Lieutenant
Baldwin saying that the hunt would be worth seeing, and well repay one
for the fatigue of the hard ride.

So, one morning after an early breakfast, the horses were led up from
the stables, each one having on a strong halter, and a coiled picket
rope with an iron pin fastened to the saddle. These were carried so
that if it should be found necessary to secure the horses on the
plains, they could be picketed out. The bachelors' set of quarters is
next to ours, so we all got ready together, and I must say that the
deliberate way in which each girth was examined, bridles fixed, rifles
fastened to saddles, and other things done, was most exasperating. But
we finally started, about seven o'clock, Lieutenant Baldwin and I
taking the lead, and Faye and Lieutenant Alden following.

The day was very cold, with a strong wind blowing, so I wore one of
Faye's citizen caps, with tabs tied down over my ears, and a large
silk handkerchief around my neck, all of which did not improve my
looks in the least, but it was quite in keeping with the dressing of
the officers, who had on buckskin shirts, with handkerchiefs,
leggings, and moccasins. Two large army wagons followed us, each drawn
by four mules, and carrying several enlisted men. Mounted orderlies
led extra horses that officers and men were to ride when they struck
the herd.

Well, we rode twelve miles without seeing one living thing, and then
we came to a little adobe ranch where we dismounted to rest a while.
By this time our feet and hands were almost frozen, and Faye suggested
that I should remain at the ranch until they returned; but that I
refused to do--to give up the hunt was not to be thought of,
particularly as a ranchman had just told us that a small herd of
buffalo had been seen that very morning only two miles farther on. So,
when the horses were a little rested, we started, and, after riding a
mile or more, we came to a small ravine, where we found one poor
buffalo, too old and emaciated to keep up with his companions, and
who, therefore, had been abandoned by them, to die alone. He had eaten
the grass as far as he could reach, and had turned around and around
until the ground looked as though it had been spaded.

He got up on his old legs as we approached him, and tried to show
fight by dropping his head and throwing his horns to the front, but a
child could have pushed him over. One of the officers tried to
persuade me to shoot him, saying it would be a humane act, and at the
same time give me the prestige of having killed a buffalo! But the
very thought of pointing a pistol at anything so weak and utterly
helpless was revolting in the extreme. He was such an object of pity,
too, left there all alone to die of starvation, when perhaps at one
time he may have been leader of his herd. He was very tall, had a fine
head, with an uncommonly long beard, and showed every indication of
having been a grand specimen of his kind.

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