CHAPTER IX.

Our little daughter was just eleven months old when the regiment was ordered to move. We started on our long journey in mid-winter. The troops from Prescott were to cross directly into New Mexico, and we had hoped to accompany them, but were instead sent to join others from the southern posts. That made our journey much longer, as after going in a southerly, then easterly direction, our line lay north to Fort Stanton, New Mexico.

Eve could hardly have felt more reluctant to leave the Garden of Eden than I did when we bade farewell to the camp, which though indeed desolate, never had seemed so to me, but, rather, the most delightful imaginable spot. I cried bitterly for days. My packing was accomplished with a heavy heart, I was so miserable at the thought of leaving that which had been my first real home.

We were to have no company for some days but that of the troop and our dear old captain, who was really like one of ourselves. His true and loving nature had greatly endeared him to us, and he formed a firm link in the family chain.

Unaccustomed to any comfort on former journeys, I was not inclined to exact much on that, so soon learned instinctively to fall into the regular routine and discipline, and expected no consideration on account of my sex. I had never before traveled with troops; and though I did not like to rise long before the first peep of day, and after a hurried and scanty breakfast climb into an ambulance and drive for hours, I soon learned to do so without a murmur. My reward came in the praise our captain bestowed, when he declared that during the entire march of six long, weary weeks, I had never caused one moment’s delay or trouble.

I have often since questioned whether some plan might not have been devised to prevent the officers’ wives from being subjected to the stringent rules that must be enforced among soldiers. I suppose that just as a woman whose husband is in business regulates her household according to the needs or conveniences of its head, so, with the same spirit, the wife of an army officer endures the hardships her husband’s position imposes.

Our beloved commanding officer had been in the army so many years that the possibility of deviating in any degree from the routine which had become second nature doubtless never occurred to him. Probably no question of expediency—simply that of duty—ever suggested itself.

Though a sufferer all my life from army discipline, which has continually controlled my movements, yet, when chafing most against its restraints, I have admired the grand soldierly spirit which made nearly every officer uncomplainingly forego all personal comfort for the sake of duty. No one outside the army can realize what the true soldier relinquishes when he forsakes home and family for the noble cause.

Every one has read or heard of the mad courage displayed in times of war, and my knowledge of the soldier is in times of peace; yet I have then seen exhibited what to me is by far the truer heroism. It is easy to be brave when war trumps sound and the spirit is roused to great hopes of personal achievements, when love for a cause deepens the ardor which sustains men even in death; but tame submission to petty and altogether unnecessary hardships, because in the line of duty and part of a soldier’s inevitable fate, is, in my opinion, far more praiseworthy.

Our captain was a hero in the truest sense of the word. Like many others, he had served for years during our civil war as a private before being promoted to the rank of an officer. But after promotion the possession and exercise of rare soldierly qualities soon enabled him to reach a position of influence. He was intrusted with the command of a company, which after a desperate resistance was captured. Having been severely wounded, he was released on parole, and remained in a little town of Southern New Mexico, where he was well taken care of, and during that season of forced inactivity recovered his health.

Almost anyone would have considered him fairly entitled to pay; but such was his idea of rectitude that he refused to accept a dollar, not considering that it had been fairly earned; and to this day the five months’ pay due him while a prisoner remains in the coffers of our government. The subsequent life of this honorable man has been one of duty and devotion to country. His health is ruined by the almost incredible hardships a cavalry soldier’s duties entail.

We journeyed south through Arizona to Tucson, then turned east. Our outfit consisted of a wall tent, which on encamping at night was placed on as smooth ground as could be found, and a mess chest filled with supplies. By placing a support under the raised cover of the latter, and filling the open space with a board that fitted nicely, it could be utilized as a table. The interior contained plates and dishes in addition to supplies, and the moment we reached camp our cook, a soldier, would begin preparations for a meal, which though ever so plain was always done full justice to by appetites the long ride had sharpened.

In accordance with my usual habit, I made all necessary preparations in advance for supplying our wants; and it soon became more a question of quantity than of quality, for the generous hearts of Mr. Boyd and the captain always forgot that our supplies were limited. An instance of their thoughtlessness in such matters was on one occasion evinced by the arrival, unexpectedly to me, of four guests whom they had invited to remain with us for a few days. To supply food for a week—as it happened in that case—to those extra people, blessed with unusually good appetites, taxed my ingenuity.

We had by that time reached the celebrated Indian villages of the Pimas and Maricopas. Those two tribes had been at peace with the pale faces for a century. They cultivated land, and were industrious and prosperous. Their villages stretched along the highway for many miles, so we spent six days among them. They watched our progress in the well-known, somewhat indifferent Indian fashion, though evincing real interest when we encamped at night, and swarming about us with various wares for sale, such as pottery and baskets, both unique in pattern and very serviceable. The latter were made so fine in texture and quality as to hold water. The various designs in which those useful articles were woven displayed much taste.

We felt that a land flowing with milk and honey had indeed been reached. Not only could eggs and chickens be bought, but so cheaply we could indulge in them to our hearts’ content.

The Pima and Maricopa Indians, like all others, were unprepossessing in appearance; but aware that after leaving them we would be once more among the murderous Apaches, I, for one at least, enjoyed their society because of the protection it afforded.

Every night when we pitched our tents the women would crowd about and indulge in ecstasies over the little white baby whose ablutions were a source of constant and serious wonderment. This can be well understood when one remembers that Indians rarely, if ever, use water other than for drinking purposes. I never permitted any of them to touch baby, being afraid to do so.

Our little Chinaman, with his long pigtail, also caused much amazement and no doubt speculation as to what he really was. As no attempt was made to disguise this, he evidently became at once disgusted with notoriety. It was, I believe, the cause of his one day appearing minus that appendage so revered by all Chinese—his cue. When I inquired what had become of it, and told him he could never return to China, he replied:

“Me no care. Me want to be ’Melican man.”

Our baby was singularly fair and white; and in all our travels, both among Indians and Mexicans, all went into raptures over the children, who with their sunny heads were such utter contrasts to the swarthy races among which we moved.

A few days of travel after leaving the Indian villages brought us to Tucson, then an insignificant town of flat mud houses, so unprepossessing that we were glad to drive through without stopping, and encamp beside a beautiful stream two miles beyond. The town was then being decimated by smallpox, which raged among the Mexicans. We were obliged to flee from contact with it, especially as our soldiers were always ready to explore any new place, regardless of consequences.

We spent one day in sight seeing, though the only point of special interest was a noted church nine miles from Tucson. I cannot express the astonishment excited by the sight of that house of worship built in those vast wilds, hundreds of miles from all civilization. The edifice, of noble proportions, was of red brick and whitish stucco. Both belfry and tower were complete. The interior decorations were profuse, and covered the walls. The floor, once hard and smooth, had been worn into hollows by the footsteps of countless devotees, whose race even was unknown, though surmised to be that of the ancient Aztecs, or followers of Montezuma.

I doubt if even in Europe, with its mystic shrines dating back countless ages, I could have experienced a more profound sense of awe than when standing in that absolutely desert spot, and realizing that skilled hands had once erected there such a monument.

In that old church were marriage records dating back hundreds of years; but the structure was to me the all absorbing wonder.

The Mexicans living near worshiped most devoutly at its shrines; and they were not the only frequenters of that house of prayer, for the Spanish priests had a large following of Indians who had intermarried with the Spaniards and settled there.

I could hardly tear myself from the spot, and returned again and again to ascend the belfry stairs and wonder and speculate upon the strange mystery called “San Xavier del Bac.”