CHAPTER XV.

Fort Bayard, surrounded by high mountains, is pleasantly situated in a very hilly region. The officers’ quarters face the Santa Rita Mountains, which rise to an abrupt point directly opposite the post, a few miles distant, forming a landmark which is not soon forgotten, especially if constantly in view for three years, during which time we had the good fortune to remain there.

On the brow of that sharp decline, which rises almost at right angles with the hill beneath, a large, irregularly shaped rock had fallen, which bears a perfect resemblance to a kneeling figure, and faces the higher point. It was called the kneeling nun, and, of course, invested with the natives by a suggestive history! The suppliant posture is perfect, and the figure conveyed to me a world of deep meaning.

That little corner of South-western New Mexico, in which we remained three years, a length of sojourn so unusual and unexpected that every spring I looked for an order to move, has an unwritten history which would cover many pages. It is the mining region of New Mexico, and has the most perfect climate of any in the United States, neither extremely warm in summer, nor severely cold in winter; and the sun shines at least three hundred days in each year with a warmth and brightness which render life perfectly enjoyable, if spent out of doors as it should be.

The only real storms are in summer, when during the rainy season clouds suddenly gather in the afternoon, and are followed by such a downpour of rain, with perhaps thunder and lightning, that it seems as if everything would be washed away. After the full force and fury of the elements have been spent, every cloud disappears, and the day ends with a perfect sunset, which is followed by a night still, calm, and wonderfully beautiful.

Occasionally, but not often, snow falls in winter; altogether, the climate is perfect, and I have often since wondered why that locality is not popular as a health resort, for a more bracing and invigorating air is never breathed anywhere.

On account of the infrequency of rain, vegetation is not very green, but neither is it shriveled and parched. Cattle never fail to find succulent pasturage in the bunch grass, which even when perfectly dry is nutritious. But for the constant Indian depredations from which that region has suffered for twenty years, it would be the garden spot of the West. The climate is much milder in winter than that of Colorado.

Mines of every description have been found in New Mexico, from the famous Santa Rita copper mines, which bear traces of having been worked centuries ago, to more recently discovered ones of silver and gold. These latter have caused the building of the only American town, known there, Silver City, which, with its one hundred beautiful red brick houses, is a wonderful place, considering the locality and surroundings. All this is, however, more recent, although the town had a number of fine residences when we were there nearly a score of years ago. It is only an hour’s drive from Fort Bayard, over the most lovely rolling mountain road, and the visits to Silver City were a very pleasant feature of our life when at that fort.

The Fort Bayard which first greeted our eyes was, except for climate and scenery, a sorry place. It boasted a large garrison, but we were shown into a perfectly miserable hut that was our shelter for months. The cabins or huts in which the officers lived were directly back of the new quarters, stone foundations for which had already been laid.

The houses were to be built of adobe bricks, that were made by simply mixing to a proper consistency with water the earth obtained from excavating in front of our dwellings, shaping in primitive wooden molds, and drying in the hot sun.

All the workmen were slow-moving Mexicans, who built houses in the same way as had their forefathers for generations. They knew no meaning for the word “hurry,” so it took months to erect those simple homes; and meantime we not only lived in wretched huts, but could not venture out after dark for fear of falling into some one of the many pits.

Our experience was dreadful for one long year, then the houses were finally completed. The ground had been so torn up that the least gust of wind seemed sufficient to start all the loose earth in motion, when we would be almost buried in clouds of dust; but our worst trouble was during the rainy season.

Our houses were situated on the brow of a hill, and when sudden summer storms arose they washed right through the house. We preferred to give them the right of way rather than have the buildings, wretched as they were, entirely disappear, so the back doors would be opened, and the storms permitted to sweep through before finding egress at the front doors. The houses, so-called by courtesy, were merely log cabins without floors; it was therefore necessary, at such times, to mount on chairs or tables if we desired to escape mud baths. The roofs, thatched with straw and overlaid with mud, had a way of leaking that was apt to result in huge mud-puddles being spread in all directions. The ladies always took refuge under umbrellas until after the storms subsided.

None could envy others, for all were in the same boat, with no comforts whatever. Sometimes the whole roof fell in, but no one was ever hurt, and on the two occasions which I recall, bachelor officers were the sufferers.

The lieutenant-colonel who commanded our post, having no family, had kindly given his house to a little bride, whose husband was a recent graduate of West Point. She, like myself, had started out expecting to find all military stations like that lovely place, and had brought from New York the most luxurious outfit ever seen on the frontier. Magnificent carpets and curtains from Sloan’s, fit for any New York palace, had been shipped all that long distance, and she proceeded to lay the former directly over the mud floor in her house, and to hang the latter at her little windows.

The house was in every respect like all the rest, with three rooms in a row, and one or two forming an ell; yet she had decked the interior to look like a perfect fairy bower. The front room, that opened directly out of doors, was the sitting-room; back of that was a sleeping apartment, and then the kitchen.

When the first severe storm arose and swept right through that house, the rain coming in at the back and going out at the front door, I never saw a more dismayed and discouraged woman than was our little bride, and no wonder. Her fairy bower had been transformed into a mud-bank; the pretty white curtains were streaked and discolored beyond recognition, the carpets covered with mud, while the pictures and ornaments were unrecognizable.

That lady was like many I have met, both before and since. She expected ordinary modes of life to prevail at the frontier, and had carried with her at least a dozen large trunks, for which she was glad to find simply storage, and whose pretty contents never saw the light.

Her experience was pitiable. Having an abundance of money, she naturally supposed it would purchase some comforts; but money was of no use to her there, and, indeed, seemed only an aggravation. The little woman used to send East for articles, which for economy’s sake the rest of us went without, and disappointments invariably followed. Whatever was received—which would be only after almost incredible waiting—was never what she had expected; and if garments had been ordered, alterations which none but a skilled hand could make were always needed.

I remember being once consulted about a Christmas present designed for her husband. She had decided upon a beautiful picture, which, although ordered in ample time, did not arrive until long after the holidays, and the express charges alone were fifty dollars. Her disappointments were well-nigh endless, and led me to believe that money was not so much a promoter of happiness in frontier life as it, would usually be considered elsewhere; for no matter how much people were able to spend they could not buy luxuries, and to send East for them meant only tantalization and weary waiting.

Perhaps some of my own experiences in the matter of express charges may not prove uninteresting. Every woman is said to love a new bonnet; but army women show the greatest unconcern regarding fashions, probably because their lives are so different from those of their city sisters.

When some head covering became a positive necessity, we usually sent East for a plain little hat, dark and useful, as it was needed mainly for wear when driving around the country. I had quite worn out my Eastern supply after a two years’ residence at Bayard, so ordered a quiet little hat or bonnet from New York. Instead, I received a very gaudy, dashing piece of millinery that would have been suitable for the opera, but was altogether out of place on the frontier. The bonnet cost twenty dollars, and the express charges were twenty-two. For that entirely useless arrangement, therefore, I had to pay forty-two dollars, and then had no bonnet, for I never wore it.

That little lady had all the ambition and pride in a refined way of living that naturally arose from having spent her early life amid luxurious surroundings. She had passed several years in the gayest capitals of Europe, had imbibed most extravagant ideas from fond and indulgent parents, had scarcely ever known an ungratified wish, and was therefore less prepared for the actual realities of life, as developed at Fort Bayard, than any one else I have ever known. The desire and attempt to live in accordance with her means resulted in constant disappointments and trials. I have never seen any one who worked so hard to accomplish what were considered simply necessities, and yet whose labor was so entirely unrewarded.

She wanted to entertain lavishly; and having beautiful table appointments it was really a treat to dine at her house; but when she told of the labor involved, by reason of incompetent help, the task seemed too great to include any pleasure. Her utter ignorance of household duties made her an easy prey to servants’ wiles, and the very fact that she could so lavishly supply materials only made them more ready to take advantage.

She tried the same experiment we had—taking a servant from New York—but fared even worse, as her maid left when Santa Fé was reached, saying she did “not care to go any farther from civilization.” The officer’s wife had no redress, although she had spent quite a large sum both on the girl’s fare and baggage, as they had traveled by stage.

When, a year later, this same lady had a dear little girl born, she offered, but in vain, fifty dollars a week to any one who would care for herself and child. It was really pitiful to see the beautiful young woman lying neglected, deprived of the most common care, when if money could have availed she would have been enveloped in luxury. Of course, attentions were received from other ladies, but hers was one of the many cases I have known where Dame Nature alone was at hand to assist.

My pen glides lovingly over the paper when I begin to describe army ladies, and fain would linger to fill page after page with loving reminiscences of their sweet goodness and devotion to husbands and the cause they represented. Surely in no other life can women be found who are at once so brave and true.

At each post I formed devoted attachments to some woman, and were the love experienced for them all and their perfections to be described, this book could contain little else; for one story after another of their wifely devotion and absolute self-abnegation, carried to such an extent as to be actually heroic, is recalled.

No murmur was ever heard at the order to move, if women were to be included; for no matter how hard, long, or wearisome the journey, they were content if permitted to accompany their husbands. But when the officers were sent away on the many expeditions cavalry service demanded, where their wives could not go with them, then were they indeed wretched; hours and days seemed endless until the return of loved ones.

This intense devotion was the cause of incessant hardships being borne; for in many instances, if the ladies would have returned to their Eastern homes, care and attention would have been bestowed which can never be expected on the frontier.

The difficulty of obtaining competent help in household cares could never be surmounted. Even when near Mexican settlements we would find that a long line of idle ancestry, together with every tendency of climate, surroundings, and viciousness, had so developed indolence in the natives as to utterly incapacitate them for any serious employment. They were capable only of such tasks as allowed them to bask in the sun and smoke cigarettes all day long. As they made admirable nurses, and we liked to have our children live out of doors, they could be utilized in that way; but heavier household tasks were left for more energetic hands.

When I think of that delicious sun and air, and recall those happy days, I wonder how any thing can be remembered except the absolute content experienced when we finally moved into our new quarters, and regularly settled down into sweet home life. The children throve and bloomed like flowers, and were never ill.

In the South-western climate ordinary diseases do not prevail, and if any of the epidemics which mothers usually dread break out, the absolute pureness of the air renders them innocuous; and with even ordinary care children speedily recover. Army doctors, in the double capacity of physician and family friend, also give most extraordinary care, so sickness is rarely fatal. Except from teething and its attendant ills, babies are almost exempt from maladies, and children live so secluded from outside influences that mine never even had measles or any other childish disease.

One beautiful babe died from teething, and during its illness every lady in the post passed her entire time at its bedside when allowed to do so. But that may be instanced as only one proof of the sincere interest felt in each other by people who are isolated from all the rest of the world.