Chapter VI: Part 6

One young warrior in particular, riding furiously into our ranks, frenziedly declared that he would have the blood of a commissioner. Fortunately we reserved our fire.

A friendly Indian soldier showed him an innocent colt grazing about one hundred yards away and told him he could appease his anger by killing it. Strange to say, he consented, rode out and shot the colt dead, and the whole of the hostile Sioux retired to the main body at the place of our meeting. Thus ended the efforts of this commission to formulate a treaty.

Failure of both Crook's expedition and the efforts of the commission made it certain that hostilities would be resumed in the spring, so that General Terry, commanding the Department of Dakota, and General Crook, commanding the Department of the Platte, were instructed to organize large commands for the purpose of pursuing and punishing all Sioux found away from their reservations.

The Commissioner of Indian Affairs instructed his agents to warn the chiefs to call in all Indians away from the reservation, notifying that all found away would be punished. This only excited the war-like young bucks and caused them to move in the early spring as far west as they could go. At that time the buffalo were driven by encroaching settlements and the railroads from their southern grazing grounds into the country west and north of the Sioux reservation.

Crook first met the Indians in a slight engagement on Tongue River, Montana.

Terry, meanwhile, so separated from Crook by distance and hostile Indians as to prevent communication, had searched for the hostiles on the north. He discovered their trail on the Yellowstone at the mouth of the Rosebud, and organized an expedition under General Custer with the entire 7th Cavalry to pursue it.

General Crook's expedition is described in detail (Appendix, 400), save what occurred after his separation from General Terry's command.

The hostile Indians separated, some going to Canada and others turning eastward. General Crook determined to follow the latter, depending entirely on pack mules for transportation. With scanty rations, he undertook a long and distressing march through the dry and barren country, with little knowledge of its streams and trails. Both men and officers became restless and many of the horses were shot for want of sustenance.

When near the Missouri River, Crook turned southwest toward the Black Hills, crossing the North and South Cannonball rivers. Here many officers and men became dismounted, and it was feared they might perish for want of rations. There was no game, many ate horse flesh, and had no knowledge of woodcraft, course, or direction.

On the 8th of September, as I was bringing in the rear squadron of the command, having shot seventy horses that day, General Crook, in consultation with General Merritt, directed me to select one hundred and fifty of the best men and horses from my regiment, take Chief Packer Moore, with fifty pack mules, to Deadwood, in the Black Hills, and bring back supplies to the command. His last words were that should I encounter a village I should attack and hold it. It was nine o'clock before I could collect my command, and I left so hurriedly that no medical officer was sent with me. The night was very dark. I took with me Grouard, one of the best scouts we had, especially proficient in woodcraft.

Although there were no stars and insufficient light to see the surrounding land, somehow Grouard took us in the right direction. About midnight he lighted a match and showed me the fresh tracks of ponies on the banks of a little lake. We were close to the Indians. It began to rain as we lay down, holding the lariats of our horses, and it was with difficulty that we obtained a little sleep.

It was still raining at daylight, but we were early up and off, seeing by the mountain ranges we were going toward the Black Hills.

In the afternoon Grouard signaled a halt, saying we were near an Indian village. He had observed Indian hunters with their ponies packed with game. We were on the banks of a small stream, which Grouard said was near Slim Buttes. We hid under the banks and cottonwood trees, drenched with cold rain, until three in the morning, when I determined to attack. I did not know its strength, but was willing to take my chances in view of General Crook's positive orders.

Moving as close to the village as possible, I left the quartermaster, Lieutenant Bubb, with the pack mules and twenty-five soldiers. My plan was to dismount fifty men under Crawford and fifty under Von Luettwitz, retaining twenty-five mounted, under Schwatka, to charge through the village and drive the ponies away as soon as we were discovered, when Crawford would attack them on the right and Von Luettwitz on the left.

The Indian ponies near the village discovered us by smell and stampeded into the village. Schwatka charged through the village, driving the horses as far as he could, and Crawford and Von Luettwitz carried out their instructions and drove most of the Indians pell-mell from their tepees, which were laced on the side facing us. These lacings, being wet, were so hard to untie that the Indians cut their way through on the other side of the elkskin tepees and ran to the rocks on the opposite side of the stream, taking only their arms with them.

Von Luettwitz, standing near me on a slight elevation, was shot through the knee; I caught him as he fell. We found the village rich in fruit and game, and I despatched three couriers at intervals, to inform General Crook that we would hold the village until he came.

The Indian Chief, American Horse, was mortally wounded in the stomach. With some of his followers, mostly women and children, he took refuge in a cave in a ravine, where they entrenched themselves with the soft clay. There were fifty tepees in this village and probably two hundred and fifty Indians, mostly warriors. Grouard got into conversation with some and tried to persuade them to surrender, but they said that they had dispatched runners to the main body of the Sioux, less than eight miles distant, and would hold out until they were relieved.

The leading part of Crook's command, those with the best horses, arrived about 11.30. The rest of his command appeared soon after, at the same time the Indian forces arrived to relieve their distressed comrades. They came in great numbers, but when Crook deployed almost an equal number, the Indians retired and we held the village.

Some of my men, entering the village, discovered a little girl three or four years old, who sprang up and ran away like a young partridge. The soldiers caught her and brought her to me. She was in great distress until I assured her, by petting her and giving her food, that she was in no danger, when she became somewhat contented.

After General Crook's men had persuaded the Indians hidden in the cave to surrender, there being many killed and wounded among them, I and my orderly took this little girl down to see the captives and the dead. Among others, the soldiers had dragged out the bodies of two fine looking half-breed squaws, only partly dressed, bloody and mangled with many wounds. The little girl began to scream and fought the orderly until he placed her on the ground, when she ran and embraced one of these squaws, who was her mother.

On returning to my station on the hill, I told Adjutant Lemly I intended to adopt this little girl, as I had slain her mother.

The Indian chief was taken to one of the tepees and the surgeon told him he would die before midnight. He accepted his doom without a blanch or shudder, and soon died.

Crook told me to take the same command and at daylight proceed to the Black Hills and execute my mission. Before starting, Adjutant Lemly asked me if I really intended to take the little girl. I told him I did, when he remarked, "Well, how do you think Mrs. Mills will like it?" It was the first time I had given that side of the matter a thought, and I decided to leave the child where I found her.

We arrived at Deadwood at nine the next night. Everyone was in great excitement, because communication with the outer world was shut off by the surrounding Indians. All readily assisted me in collecting supplies sufficient to load the fifty pack mules. With fifty head of cattle, we met Crook's command, the second morning, forty miles distant. They were in practically a starving condition, having subsisted on the ponies I captured at Slim Buttes.

Some time in June, 1914, the historian of South Dakota, Mr. Doane Robinson, sent me a volume in which he published the reports of the Battle of Slim Buttes, and also a map of the battle-ground by the State engineer, which purported to give in detail the topography in Section 27, Township 17 north, Range 8 east. On examining it, I could not recognize it as representing the location.

Meanwhile, Mr. W. M. Camp, editor of the Railway Review, had called on me to get some details of this fight, stating that he was writing a history of the Indian War of 1876. Showing him Mr. Robinson's book, I told him that, having no faith that he had made the proper location, I had invited General Charles Morton, who was present at the fight, to go with me in July and try to find the true location, and asked him to go with us, which he readily consented to do.

We invited Mr. Robinson to accompany us to the battleground in order that the question of location might be definitely settled. He agreed to join us on the train at Pierre at midnight on July 14th. Mr. Robinson failed to keep his engagement, but, at Belle Fourche, his son, a boy of about twenty years old, reported to us, stating his father had asked him to go with us. He was of no assistance, however, as he knew nothing about the matter, and did not seem interested in it.

After several days' search, we found the location described in Mr. Robinson's history in the map before referred to, but neither General Morton nor I could reconcile the topography represented on the map with the location as we remembered it. There were no evidences of a fight, no rifle pits, which we remembered well to have made, and which could not have been obliterated. We spent several days trying to find the true location, but were eventually compelled to abandon the search, the conditions being exceedingly unfavorable to the investigation because of poor roads, rains, and excessively hot weather.

Mr. Camp and I both corresponded with General Charles King, also present at this battle, and who Mr. Robinson claimed had furnished him with the map from which he made the location. General King replied that he had never furnished Mr. Robinson with a map sufficient to make the location and, after examining the map in his book, said it was not the correct location.

I am now in receipt of a letter from Mr. Camp, dated June 21, 1917, in which he informs me that he went on another expedition and, after considerable search, found the true location on June 19th, in Section 10, Township 18 north, Range 8 east, which is on Gap Creek, one of the main branches of Rabbit Creek, about three miles from Reva Gap, three-quarters of a mile from Mr. W. W. Mitchell's house, and nine miles north of Robinson's location. Mr. Camp found the rifle pits and many other convincing evidences of the fight, including numerous empty shells, much broken pottery and other Indian utensils, all of which corresponded to my own and other reports of the battle.

Crook stayed in the Black Hills recuperating for several weeks, when, the campaign being closed, the whole command proceeded to Fort Robinson, where it was disbanded and the various organizations sent to their proper posts. I was transferred to Camp Sheridan, where Nannie joined me and where Chief "Touch the Clouds," of the Minneconjous, came in and surrendered (Appendix, 412).

During our second stay at Sheridan, many interesting incidents occurred. Spotted Tail gave a dog feast in Nannie's honor, which she gladly attended and danced freely with the squaws, to their great delight. They boiled many dogs in large kettles, but Nannie did not have the courage to partake of the feast, which she ever afterwards regretted.

One afternoon a Sister of Charity from a Kansas City convent drove to my quarters with a novice, stating that she had been sent to me by General Mackenzie, then commanding Fort Robinson. She was on a mission to procure subscriptions for the erection of a hospital at Kansas City.

Sister Mary remained with us for several days. A very intelligent and entertaining woman, she was a welcome guest to both Nannie and me. Expressing a desire to see Spotted Tail, we prepared a little entertainment and invited him to the house, together with a few ladies and officers, Lieutenant Schwatka, who afterwards became famous, being one. The refreshments consisted of cider, cakes and apples.

Spotted Tail appeared in full Indian dress, accompanied by one of his wives and his daughter, Shonkoo, an interesting girl of seventeen. Sister Mary, dressed in the conventional robes of her order, conversed with Spotted Tail through the interpreter for some time before we passed the refreshments.

After all present had been provided with a glass of cider, Sister Mary danced gaily to the center of the room and announced that she would like to clink glasses with the great chief Spotted Tail. Upon hearing her request, Spotted Tail, quite as gracefully and gaily, danced up to her. This wild country could hardly show a stranger spectacle than a Sister of Charity, in her peaceful robes, and a savage warrior, in his war-like paraphernalia, clinking glasses!

The conversation lasted for some hours, the squaw and her daughter saying little. Finally it occurred to me that it might be interesting to Sister Mary to take this young girl back with her to the convent, and I made the suggestion to her. Her eyes sparkled with delight as she said that it would be a feather in her cap. "Is it possible that we can arrange it?" she asked.

On making the suggestion to Spotted Tail, his face also beamed. He would like nothing better than that his daughter should live among the white people and learn their ways and customs, and he had great confidence in the Sisters of Charity. While the matter was thoroughly discussed by Sister Mary and Spotted Tail, I watched Shonkoo and her mother.

The mother appeared delighted, but Shonkoo was expressionless. I suggested to the interpreter that it might be well to see what the daughter had to say, but when this was communicated to Spotted Tail, he said, "That is all right. She will go."

I arranged to furnish the transportation to the railroad, a distance of about one hundred miles. They would be ready to depart in three days, Spotted Tail stating that he would bring his daughter then to my quarters and place her in charge of the sister.

The morning the start was to be made, everything was ready but Shonkoo. In her place came a message from Spotted Tail to Sister Mary and me to the effect that Shonkoo had eloped the night before with a young Indian by the name of Lone Elk, and Sister Mary returned to her convent despondent, empty handed, and minus the feather in her cap, so far as her efforts to civilize Shonkoo were concerned.

DETAIL TO PARIS EXPOSITION

In 1876, being senior captain of cavalry and expecting promotion, I obtained six months' leave of absence, but, on organization of General Crook's expedition to the Powder River I surrendered my leave until the Sioux trouble should be ended. When I returned to Camp Sheridan, the six months' leave was renewed, and we started for Washington. I met General Crook at Fort Laramie. We stopped a day or two before proceeding in our ambulance toward the railroad at Cheyenne. We were twelve miles from Laramie when the Adjutant General, Nickerson, overtook us, with a message from General Crook, who had not known of our departure, stating his appreciation of my services during the campaign, adding that he felt under more obligations to me than to any other officer in the campaign, and that if there was any official favor possible for him to obtain, I had only to ask. Sure of my majority in a short time, I could see nothing to ask that he might procure for me, but, after Nickerson departed, Nannie assured me that she could find something, and jokingly referred to her remark while in Arizona that she was going to Europe with me some day. So, when we arrived in Washington, she said, "There is to be an international exposition in Paris next May, 1878. Why don't you ask the General to recommend you for a detail there?" I took her advice and made application to be so detailed, to the Secretary of War.

Colonel Reynolds, of my regiment, had been retired, and Colonel Devin, whom I had never met, joined the headquarters at Fort D. A. Russell.

I sent my application to the Secretary of War through the adjutant, Johnson, who knew my history, supposing that General Crook would endorse it favorably. But, in spite of the fact that everybody in the regiment knew I would be promoted before my leave expired, the papers were endorsed by the Colonel, "Respectfully forwarded disapproved. This officer's services are needed with his company." It was successively endorsed by General Crook at Omaha, General Sheridan at Chicago, and General Sherman at Washington, "Respectfully forwarded disapproved."

These advices to the Secretary seemed to me unfair. I was introduced to him, and told him I had been unfairly treated. He encouraged me to explain, which I did, adding that I had served in my proper command more constantly since I entered the service than any officer in the army. I knew little of the record of my colonel, but I asked to have our records examined, and that if he had not been absent from his command two days to my one I would withdraw my application; but that if I were correct I asked to have the colonel's unfavorable endorsement and those influenced by it ignored. A day or two afterward the Secretary sent for me. "I am more surprised at the result than by your statement," he said. "It is short of the facts, and I shall consider the endorsements valueless; but," he added, "why do you suppose the President will send an attaché to that exposition?"

"Mr. Secretary," I replied, "because he ought to. The President sent McClellan and other attachés to previous expositions, such as the Crystal Palace Exposition in London. Officers who have served in the Civil and Indian Wars are as much entitled to such benefits as General McClellan." The next day a note from him stated the President had decided to appoint three attachés, one from each arm of the service. This announcement in the press immediately prompted numerous applications, but Secretary McCrary assured me my appointment would issue shortly.

Nannie and I sat at a table at the Ebbitt House next to that of General Sherman. As we went in to dinner that day, General Sherman stretched out his hand to Nannie, saying, "Mrs. Mills, I want to congratulate you." Nannie diplomatically replied, "What for?" though she knew well. "Why, you are going to Paris. The President detailed your husband as military attaché to the Paris Exposition today." Nannie replied, "I thank you, General Sherman." General Sherman then stated in his frank and noble way, "Don't thank me, Mrs. Mills; I had nothing to do with it."

These details show Nannie was my inspiration. She approved of every move made in the matter and was more elated than I at the result.

We sailed in March, 1878, on a Cunard steamer. My insurance policy required that I obtain permission to visit a foreign country, but at the offices of the Knickerbocker I was told that the company would issue such a permit only if I agreed to forfeit my policy should I enter any city in which there was an epidemic. I told them to "go to," that I would live longer than their company, and surrendered my policy, on which I had paid eleven assessments.

Within three years their company went into bankruptcy, and I am still living!

We had an uneventful passage, although very distressing to Nannie on account of sea-sickness. During a two weeks' stop in London we visited Nannie's relatives, Mrs. Langworthy, at Guys House, Maidenhead, near Windsor Castle. The Langworthys were delightful people and our acquaintance a very agreeable experience, although it began in a rather embarrassing way.

Neither of us had much experience in "high society," or had the money to flourish in it. We carried to Guys House no other clothing than that in our traveling bags. At the depot, a great retinue of lackeys clad in knee breeches, and coach and baggage wagon apparently waited for some great personage. But Mr. Edward Langworthy, the son, introduced himself, and asked for our luggage, when we rather shamefacedly confessed that we had only our two valises.

We were dressed simply, like most Americans, but we had America's courage, and met the situation without much chagrin. The Langworthys dressed for dinner, but we had to make the best of what we had. We had a bedroom lit by candles and without fire, although it was March and the weather very cold.

In the ante-room the next morning I saw a large washtub in the middle of the bare floor, two-thirds full of water, and a chair containing some towels and soap. I remarked, "Nannie, look at that. Do they expect us to bathe in that cold room in that cold water? I will not do it."

Nannie replied, "Well, I am too proud to have them think we do not wash," and, seizing the soap, she made a lot of lather and sprinkled water on the floor to leave conclusive evidence that we really were civilized.

Mrs. Langworthy asked me, "How do you get about in London?" I replied that we used the omnibus, as Nannie thought the "Hansom cabs" unsafe, and refused to ride in them. Mrs. Langworthy said, "You shouldn't do that. Only tradespeople and banker's clerks ride in omnibuses."

Before going to Paris my commission as major in the 10th Cavalry arrived. A military tailor made me a uniform, which, with the gay attire Nannie bought in both London and Paris, satisfied Mrs. Langworthy on our second visit, made after returning from Paris, that we Americans could do right after all! We enjoyed our visits in their beautiful house, a fine English estate, and always recalled our acquaintance with our delightful English relatives with much pleasure.

We were in Paris at the opening of the exposition, where we met the other attachés. Among the Americans we met Lucien Young, a very interesting naval officer, in whose carriage Nannie and I rode to the opening. Our uniforms conformed much with the Prussian style, especially my helmet. Leaving the exposition immediately behind the Prince of Wales' entourage, the French took us for Germans, and looked upon us very coldly. Some bright Frenchman, discovering on my helmet the words, "E Pluribus Unum," called out to his countrymen that we were Americans, when we received almost as many cheers as the Prince of Wales himself.

Invited by President McMahon to a review of thirty thousand cavalry, I was informed that a French captain would have a mount for me in the Bois de Boulogne. There were eight American officers in Paris, most of them in official capacity, and when I arrived they were all there. As the senior, they insisted I approach the French officer. Speaking little French, I was somewhat embarrassed. But with the assurance of an American, I called out to the dapper young French artillery officer, "Good morning, captain; do you speak English?" "No, I do not," he replied, "but I speak American, which is much better. I spent four years as military attaché in Washington, the most beautiful city in the world."

It is needless to say that his diplomacy made us all his friends.

As Nannie had anticipated, this year's service at the Paris Exposition was the greatest practical and instructive education of my life. A practical skilled mechanic, I understood the intricacies of mechanics, and here in one building was assembled all the latest and most novel machinery of the world. The sewing machine was then in the height of its progressive construction. England, hitherto the foremost nation in machinery construction, was fast losing its place to America and France. The English machine was distinguished by its clumsy, angular and heavy parts and the difficulty of keeping it in order. The French machines were better, but the American machine stood first in all that made it handy, graceful, symmetrical and useful. And so it was with all the other machinery. Electric light and power was in its infancy, but here, as in all else, the best appliances for its use were American.

I started out in the hope of learning a great deal from the foreign nations in my conceived invention and construction of a woven cartridge belt and other web equipment, which I felt sure could be made as strong and of as firm consistency as leather, and much better than leather because it was lighter, more flexible, did not require oiling, and was less likely to break in the process of wetting and drying when exposed to the weather. However, after visiting factories in France, England and Germany, I found that they knew less about weaving such fabrics than we did in America.

Nannie and I traveled much during our stay abroad.

France had been humiliated by Germany's conquest and exaction of the then unheard of indemnity, but she was not despondent. In the dining room of our boarding house, 44 Rue de Clichy, were two female figures on pedestals representing Alsace and Lorraine, tears streaming down their cheeks; and when the proprietress, Madame Thierry, would speak of them the tears would roll down her cheeks, too. The sympathy of Americans was generally with France.

In Germany we found a remarkable condition. In one sense unspoiled by her great victories, so cheaply bought, and the acquisition of so much wealth in indemnity, the nation was just starting two propagandas. One was to organize productive industry and encourage the sciences and arts, with the object of making their nation foremost as a commercial producer. At the same time, Germany planned to carry her products to the four corners of the earth, in which, for forty years, she was entirely successful.

The second, as unholy and unrighteous as the first, was praiseworthy, was militarism, in which the rulers of the nation sought to make the profession of the soldier universal, with the deliberate and cold-blooded purpose of conquering the rest of the world, as Alexander, Hannibal, Cæsar and Napoleon had planned before. Germany had in view also the creation of a navy which could overcome England's, so she might rule the world on both land and sea. But for the heroism and self-sacrifice of the little kingdom of Belgium, with only eight millions of people, they would have succeeded.

We saw many idle soldiers lying on the grassy parapets of their forts smoking, while near them women dressed in rags carried dirt in wheelbarrows to form additional parapets. Nannie instinctively foresaw the future. She even then denounced those people as barbarous and inhuman, and for the rest of her life she hated bitterly German militarism.

In England we found the people divided into numerous classes, royalty, nobility, gentlemen, tradespeople, and common people. Many of these latter, for want of the ambition and self-reliance necessary to bring about success, had become sordid and drunken.

There were hundreds of street cars in Paris and its environs broad-mindedly labeled "American Railway," but hardly one in England.

In Manchester (then a larger city than New York), an apparently intelligent Scotch policeman, recognizing me as an American, proudly pointed to a brand new street car with one horse, and remarked, "I suppose you don't have anything like that in America?" When I replied that every city in the United States having twenty thousand population had a street car system, he evidently regarded me as a sort of American Baron Munchausen.

The upper classes relied upon their control of the sea by the largest navy in the world, indirectly to extort taxes from their millions of subjects in their vast possessions, governed without their consent. Suppressing ambition for democracy and restraining maritime commerce of other nations, is perhaps not as cruel and barbarous as the intended control of the world by Germany, but is quite as unrighteous and has been and still is detrimental to the progress and advancement of weaker peoples.

Of all countries we visited, Switzerland seemed to possess the best free democratic government and the people were the happiest. They looked you in the face with a cheerful smile wherever you met them and were content with their condition, as they have been for over three hundred years.

The difference between Europeans and Americans we found to be marked. For instance, on one of the Lake Geneva passenger steamers from Vevey to Geneva we found a thousand passengers, composed about equally of Americans, English, French, Germans, Spaniards, and Italians. While talking to a well-dressed American of perhaps twenty-five years of age, a band of about thirty Italians appeared on the upper deck, where most of the passengers were assembled.

Most of the passengers, especially the English, would not speak to each other without a formal introduction, so social greetings were few. When the band had played a few minutes, this American took off his hat and placed a handkerchief over it and carried it through the crowd, remarking, "Something for the band, please." He approached every passenger on deck. Europeans stared, astonished at the action of this man from the "Woolly West," but Americans smiled encouragement. He obtained probably the largest contribution the leader had ever received. He proceeded to the band and every man and woman was gazing at him in perfect silence when he turned over the handkerchief to the leader, until some American clapped and every American joined in. We were all proud of our countryman.

At 44 Rue de Clichy our son, Anson Cassel, was born on November 19, 1878. He was our joy for the next fifteen years. His birth delayed our return until March, 1879, when we took passage on a Cunarder. In Washington I received orders to proceed to the headquarters of the 10th Cavalry.

INHERITED FROM HANNAH HIPPISLY MARTIN.

TRANSLATED AND IN MODERN HANDWRITING, IT READS AS BELOW:

Ellis Crooker: his book; if
any man chance to find it;
let him restore it home again
and he shall be rewarded for his pains,
God Save the King!
]

OUT WEST AGAIN

We traveled to Fort Concho, Texas, an uncomfortable and unprepossessing post, by ambulance from San Antonio, arriving April 11, 1879, and I served with the 10th Cavalry (colored) for twelve years, and was executive officer for Colonel B. H. Grierson, commanding the post, regiment and district under General Ord, department commander.

A big-hearted man, the only experience Grierson had in military affairs was as a general of volunteers, with which he was successful. With no experience in the regular army, even the best intentions did not fit him for the required discipline. He left the details of the post and regiment entirely to me, signing only papers which went to his superiors. He was too prone to forgive offenses and trust to promises for reform, which rendered the discipline and reputation of the regiment poor.

In May, 1881, Indian troubles took me with a squadron of four companies to Fort Sill. Nannie accompanied me the 225 miles, and there, on October 22d, our daughter, Constance Lydia, a joy and comfort to us both, was born. She was only eight days old when we were ordered back to Concho, making that trip, as we had the previous one, by wagon transportation, Nannie with her baby and little Anson riding in the ambulance.

In July, '82, the headquarters of the regiment was transferred to Fort Davis, when we again made a 225 miles journey with wagon and ambulance transportation.

Fort Davis was dry and cool, a most pleasant climate, but as hostile Indians occasionally made raids on the citizens, as at Fort Concho, we were kept busy. Fort Davis is near El Paso. My interests took us frequently to that city. Among other activities, jointly with Judge Crosby I built the largest hotel then in Texas.

April 1, 1885, the regiment exchanged stations with the Third Cavalry in Arizona. We made that long and distressing march also with wagon and ambulance transportation. Arriving at El Paso in a terrible sand-storm, we found the Rio Grande unfordable. The only bridge crossed into Mexico three miles below the New Mexican line. According to international law, we could not pass over Mexican territory without the consent of the two governments, so we were delayed a week most uncomfortably, awaiting the tedious international interchanges to enable us to cross. We finally arrived at Deming (in a terrible sand-storm), meeting most of the troops of the 3d Cavalry there.

I was ordered to Fort Thomas on the Gila River, next to Yuma, the hottest post in the republic and the most sickly, excepting none. It was one of the most desolate posts in which we ever served. The valley was very low and hot. The mountains on each side of the river were some six or seven thousand feet higher than the valley and only about six or eight miles apart, so what little rain there was fell on these mountains.

I have often seen a heavy storm pass across the river from mountain to mountain, and watched almost a cloudburst of rain falling from the immense height only to be absorbed by the arid atmosphere before it reached the valley. Here many of our soldiers died in an epidemic of a very malignant, burning fever, which the post surgeon, Dr. Edward Carter, was unable to check. Informed that if we had ice the doctor could save many lives, I made requisition for an ice machine to cost three thousand dollars. It was twice returned by the War Department disapproved, the principal reason being that the Quartermaster General and the Surgeon General could not agree which department should pay for the wood to run the engine!

Exasperated, I appealed to General Sheridan personally. General Sheridan gave the two chieftains his opinion of them in such strong language that the appropriation for the machine was soon furnished, the first authorized in the army.

Our little daughter Constance was taken with the disease, and Dr. Carter told us that she might not recover without ice. I wired Colonel Shafter, commanding Fort Grant, half way to the railroad seventy miles away, and he supplied me with two hundred pounds, rolled in blankets, within twelve hours. The day after the doctor reduced my daughter's temperature and she recovered.

While at Thomas the Northern Apaches went on the warpath, Geronimo and his wild followers devastating the settlements and killing many men, women and children, whom we buried in the post cemetery. This war lasted two years before our troops drove the Apaches into Mexico and, by agreement with the Mexican Government, followed them there, capturing Geronimo.

Contract Surgeon Dr. Leonard Wood, now the senior major general in the United States Army (who at one time attended my family), volunteered to act as surgeon in the expedition into Mexico, carrying his kit on his back while commanding a company of friendly Indians, which he did excellently. For this General Miles, commanding the department, became much attached to him.

To carry water into the post I had set the men to work building ditches, and also planted several hundred trees, which began to grow well. General Miles, visiting the camp on inspection, told me I deserved a better post. He relieved General Grierson from Fort Grant and placed me in command of that seven-company post. General Grierson recommended its abandonment for want of water, but General Miles said he knew I could get water from the mountains and make Grant one of the best posts. He supported me in requisitions for all the material and money I needed.

At a cost of sixteen thousand dollars I put in a most excellent water and sewage system, with a cement-walled lake in the middle of the parade ground, sixty by two hundred feet. Heretofore the parade ground and the officers' yards were bare of grass because of the extreme drought and the millions of ants which ate the grass. We put fountains all over the post, capable of throwing water one hundred feet high, as the reservoirs had four hundred feet pressure. I established a small water motor which sawed all the wood and ran all the machines in the carpenter shop.

General Miles visited the post after my work was completed and issued a very complimentary order which gave me a standing throughout the army as one capable of meeting unusual difficulties in my line.

Grant was in a most beautiful climate, about four thousand feet above the sea, with Mount Graham six thousand feet higher, three miles away. The climate, trees, foliage, flowers and rapid streams of this mountain were much like the Adirondacks, so we built a small log hut camp there for the ladies and children.

Nannie's description of a visit to this camp is better than any I can write.

IN CAMP, NEAR FORT GRANT,
July 18, 1888.
MY DEAR MOTHER:

We left the post at a little after two on Saturday afternoon.
Anson had a big mule to ride, little Anson had a horse led by
an orderly, I had a pony with Constance on behind me. I was
astride. We soon had to ascend and of all the trails you could
imagine! I could not have undertaken it if I had seen it. I
would just as lief ride a pony upstairs, indeed _rather_, for
if he fell I should not have so far to go, but on the trail
if the pony had made a misstep in some places we should have
gone helter-skelter down a long way. I thought it was quite
dangerous, but Anson would not let me dismount for he said if
I walked once I would not want to ride, and indeed I could not
have walked far, for we began to rise so rapidly that one gets
out of breath soon. We zigzagged up the steepest places and at
last reached the top, where it is perfectly lovely, the ground
is covered with grass and some of the most beautiful flowers I
have ever seen, and such quantities. There are loads of trees,
principally pines. When we go back we shall have to walk about
three miles, for it is very dangerous to ride down such steep
places. We are all good walkers, however, and can do it nicely.
I would not have missed coming up for anything, for the ride was
an _entirely_ new experience and one that I shall never have
again. It is perfectly lovely in the camp, and though this is
the rainy season and we have rains every day, it only lasts a
short time and the sun soon dries things up. Yesterday it hailed.

When we reached the top of the steep road, we were about 8,000
feet above the sea, but we then began to descend in order to
camp near water, so we are only about 7,000 feet or a little
more above the sea. Graham peak, which is 10,600 feet elevation,
is six miles from here and easily reached, that is, it is a
perfectly good and safe road, but steep, and on account of the
altitude the air of course is rarified and one so soon gets out
of breath. We are going there in a few days, after we get used
to the altitude. We all have immense appetites, and though our
feet are wet sometimes for hours, take no cold.

I am so sorry Anson had to go down to Tucson, for it is
extremely hot there. I think we shall soon know where we are
going, and when. I forgot to say that Anson came up with us
Saturday and went down Monday. Our camp is about six miles from
the post, and it takes three or four hours to come, so you may
know how steep it is. We are all in tents, as the log cabin that
Anson had commenced is not yet finished. Our party consists of
Mrs. Corbusier, her five boys, Mrs. Viele and her sister (a
young lady), myself and two children and the chaplain. Across
the pretty little brook which runs through the camp are four
more tents occupied by several sergeants' families, and lower
down the creek are the soldiers, who are felling trees and
building the cabin. I forgot to say we have two cooks in our
party, very necessary adjuncts when one considers the numerous
and healthy appetites.
Your loving daughter,
NANNIE.

Anson
Constance
Willie Corbusier
]

CAMP ON THE MOUNTAINS,
July 22, 1888.
MY DEAR MOTHER:

We have been here a week yesterday, and notwithstanding it has
rained every day, we have had a good time. The rains do not last
long and it soon dries up. There are the greatest quantity of
beautiful flowers here. I have a large bouquet in my tent about
fifteen inches in diameter and taller than it is wide. We have
had bear meat, a young fawn and wild strawberries. The nights
are if anything too cold. We have taken several tramps, one of
them to an old hunter's camp. He comes over to see us often and
enjoys the break in his loneliness. He is alone in his camp
except for a dog, which is almost as dear to him as a child, and
two or three ponies. He is going to show us the way to the top
of the mountains. He came over to see us last night and sat by
the big log camp fire, and while we popped corn regaled us with
numerous tales, all of which I took with a grain of salt.

You would be surprised to see how comfortable we can be in camp
with a very little. I have turned a box on one side for a book
case, put another on top where I keep my writing materials,
over it all I have thrown a large towel, and with the bunch of
flowers I spoke of on top, it looks very well. I have another
box for washstand, another for clothes, and with nails driven
in the tent poles to hang clothes, medicine bag, little looking
glass, canteen, etc., things are quite shipshape.
Your loving daughter,
NANNIE.

FORT GRANT, A. T.,
August 4, 1888.
MY DEAR MOTHER:

We were up in the mountains when I last wrote you. Anson came
back from the court he was on and he and the doctor came up on
the mountain. We went the next day on horses and burros to the
summit of Mt. Graham. It was about four miles from our camp,
and is ten thousand six hundred feet above the level of the
sea. We wrote our names and put them in the tin can left by the
surveyors. Anson and Constance Lydia both wrote their own names.
It was a very pleasant trip. I rode a burro, astride, of course,
as I shall never ride any other way. Anson is going to take my
picture as I appeared. Anson came up to the camp on Friday. On
Saturday we went to the summit. That same evening, in a pouring
rain, a courier came in bringing a copy of dispatches from San
Carlos saying six Indians had gotten away and the troops were
after them. Of course we could not tell but it was the beginning
of another big outbreak. The commanding officer of Fort Grant
said he had already sent out some pack mules and might have to
send out all the rest, but if we wished to come down to the
post next day he would send us what animals he could spare. We
immediately decided to come down to the post, for in case of an
outbreak, the Indians could easily take our camp. We left the
camp about two o'clock Sunday afternoon. Anson was mounted on
a horse with Constance behind him. I had a big white mule with
little Anson behind me. We rode about a mile and reached the
steep part of the trail where I was afraid to ride down. Indeed
the whole party, about thirteen of us, dismounted and walked
down the steepest part. We could in places look down on the post
which looked so green, like an oasis in the desert. Mrs. Viele,
Constance and I walked for about two miles, as we did not care
to ride over places steeper than a pair of stairs, but the rest
mounted before we did. We reached the post about six o'clock,
pretty tired. The next day, Monday, I was stiff and tired, but
everything in the house needed straightening up.

Tuesday Anson told me that General Miles would be here on
Thursday. As the new commanding officer very kindly said we
could keep this house till his wife came, thus saving us the
trouble of a move, we had to entertain General Miles. We
straightened up the house and expected him about eleven o'clock
Thursday morning, when lo! he drove in at _seven_ in the
morning, before we were out of bed. We hurried to dress, and
as he expected to go right on to San Carlos immediately after
breakfast, I told Sallie to cook the chickens for breakfast
that we had intended giving him for dinner. Breakfast was late,
of course, as General Miles took a nap and a bath, and it was
ten o'clock when we were through. I hurried to fix him a box
of luncheon to take with him, and they would have started
immediately but some telegram came which decided him to wait for
further news. We sent to the butcher's for a roast of beef, as
we had eaten up the chickens intended for dinner. He had no meat
fit to roast, so Sallie chopped it up and made a meat roll. We
had dinner at five o'clock, General Miles, Colonel Pearson and
Mr. Jerome taking dinner with us. The latter is a cousin of Lady
Randolph Churchill. We had soup, fish, claret, meat, vegetables,
olives, champagne, pudding and coffee, a dish of flowers in the
center of the table and flowers in the finger bowls. I should
have had a salad, but there was no oil in the commissary. After
dinner I rearranged the lunch, and they got off. I told General
Miles he was like a flea, no one ever knew where to put one's
finger on him.

He laughed and said, "About as disagreeable as one, also." He
told lots of funny stories and was very pleasant. He praised the
post which Anson has improved so much and which certainly looked
at its best, all beautifully green, the lake full of clear
water, the fine fountains playing and the sun shining through
them. General Miles showed Anson an endorsement he had made on
an official paper regarding him (Anson) which was extremely
complimentary. In fact, he could not have said more, as he
praised him to the skies.

I hope the Indian business will be settled soon. I was so sorry
to leave the mountains. It was delightful up there, and we
intended to stay three weeks longer. We were there only two
weeks. It was so cool at nights we had to have a big fire and
sleep under several blankets, indeed one or two nights I slept
under four blankets and a buffalo robe.
Your loving daughter,

NANNIE.

At this time, anticipating promotion, I took leave and, selling most of our belongings, we went to Boston. Here we bought a carload of household goods, shipping it by the Santa Fe. The car was burned at Deming, but the railroad company had insured it and we recovered the full value of our new goods. But among the losses which could not be valued was Nannie's diary, which she had kept in detail for eighteen years and from which she expected to write a book. That was one of the discouragements we faced in planning mutually to write our reminiscences.

In May, 1889, I was assigned to duty at Fort Bliss, Texas, as supervising engineer under Colonel Nettleton of the Geological Survey. I remained until April, 1890, when as lieutenant colonel of the 4th Cavalry, with three companies of that regiment, I was stationed at the Presidio, San Francisco, as executive officer under Col. W. M. Graham of the 5th Artillery.

This large post, adjacent to a very large and interesting city, was the most enjoyable station we ever had. The children enjoyed it, Anson going to school and Constance having a good teacher at home.

Numerous balls, dances and other amusements in addition to strenuous duties, kept us all busy and healthy. Here, again, we had the good fortune to have Dr. Leonard Wood, then a regular army doctor, as our family physician.

Col. W. R. Shafter commanded Angel Island in San Francisco Harbor and he, Colonel Graham and I constituted the first board under the new law for examination of officers for promotion. It was a _very lively_, and, I think, an efficient board. We examined some thirty-three officers.

When some members of the 4th Cavalry murdered a citizen, at regimental headquarters, Walla Walla, I was sent to command the regiment, the colonel being suspended for neglect. We liked Presidio, so this move was a disappointment. To our surprise we found Walla Walla among the most pleasant, agreeable and efficient posts at which we had ever been stationed. The officers and ladies were unanimously harmonious and the regiment, notwithstanding the bad reputation it had for this murder, was in every way the best disciplined and efficient I had ever served in.

Nannie, as usual, was one of the leaders in all the entertainments, which were patronized not only by the ladies and officers of the post, but by an equal number of citizens from the beautiful city of Walla Walla, at that time the wealthiest town in proportion to its population in the country.

The command was an interesting one because of the great number of semi-civilized Indians in the vicinity who were trying hard to make an honest living under great disadvantages. The citizens did not credit them with good intentions because of their inability to make a living out of the soil. They were driven from pillar to post, but always came to the army for relief, trusting, as all our North American Indians have always trusted, in the officers.

In July, 1892, with our two children, we made a most enjoyable tour of Alaska, by way of Seattle and the steamship "Queen," through the inner deep water channels with their still water and surrounding mountains covered with inexhaustible cedar. We visited dense forests of timber near Sitka, where the warm Chinook winds carry sufficient moisture to keep them damp through the entire year, so that no forest fires ever occur. The moss accumulated over fallen trees, which did not decay. Huge trees several hundred years old grow upon others, as large and as ancient, though dead. Fallen logs preserve so well that many are as available as the standing trees for lumber. Cattle live the year around on this constantly growing moss.

We stopped at Wrangell and Juneau, and spent some time at Sitka, visiting Treadwell, the great silver mine. We stopped a couple of days to see the wonderful Muir glacier, traveling several miles over the surface of the solid ice mass. Twenty-seven miles long and several miles wide, it moves gradually downward to the sea by force of gravity, averaging seventy feet per day. As it moves, this great mass tears from the solid granite below huge masses of rocks, and pedestrians can hear the crushing of the rocks. On reaching the salt water, which is very deep, the ice begins to soften and disintegrate, and periodically falls in great shales, sometimes two miles in length and nine hundred feet deep, into the water, only two hundred feet being above the water line.

The captain stood off two miles from the glacier for us to see a berg break off, which happened in the afternoon. We could plainly see this immense body of ice fall into the water. It careened, disappeared, broke into many parts and finally appeared on the surface as bergs moving out to sea. The waves caused by this immense movement of ice rocked the ship as if we were in a storm.