But This Is The First
Summer I Have Been East In Nine Years, And It Is Not Surprising That
Parasols And Things Mix Me Up At Times.
Faye has a beautiful saddle horse - his gait a natural single foot - and
I sometimes ride him, but most
Of my outings are on the electric cars.
I might as well be on them, since I have to hear their buzz and clang
both day and night from our rooms here in the hotel. The other
morning, as I was returning from a ride across the river to Council
Bluffs, I heard the shrill notes of a calliope that reminded me that
Forepaugh's circus was to be in town that day, and that I had promised
to go to the afternoon performance with a party of friends. But soon
there were other sounds and other thoughts. Above the noise of the car
I heard a brass band - and there could be no mistake - it was playing
strong and full one of Sousa's marches, "The March Past of the Rifle
Regiment" - a march that was written for Faye while he was adjutant of
the regiment, and "Dedicated to the officers and enlisted men" of the
regiment. For almost three years that one particular march had been
the review march of the regiment - that is, it had been played always
whenever the regiment had passed in review before the colonel,
inspector general of the department, or any official of sufficient
rank and authority to review the troops.
The car seemed to go miles before it came to a place where I could get
off. Every second was most precious and I jumped down while it was
still in motion, receiving a scathing rebuke from the conductor for
doing so. I almost ran until I got to the walk nearest the band, where
I tagged along with boys, both big and small. The march was played for
some time, and no one could possibly imagine, how those familiar
strains thrilled me. But there was an ever-increasing feeling of
indignation that a tawdry coated circus band, sitting in a gilded
wagon, should presume to play that march, which seemed to belong
exclusively to the regiment, and to be associated only with scenes of
ceremony and great dignity.
The circus men played the piece remarkably well, however, and when it
was stopped I came back to the hotel to think matters over and have a
heart-to-heart talk with myself. Of course I am more than proud that
Faye is an aide-de-camp, and would not have things different from what
they are, but the detail is for four years, and the thought of living
in this unattractive place that length of time is crushing. But Faye
will undoubtedly have his captaincy by the expiration of the four
years, and the anticipation of that is comforting. It is the feeling
of loneliness I mind here - of being lost and no one to search for me.
I miss the cheery garrison life - the delightful rides, and it may
sound funny, but I miss also the little church choir that finally
became a joy to me. Sergeant Graves is now leader of the regimental
band at Fort Snelling, and Matijicek is in New York, a member of the
Damrosch orchestra. It is still something to wonder over that I should
have been on a street car that carried me to a circus parade at the
precise time the Review March was being played! It seems quite as
marvelous as my having been seated at a supper table in a far-away
ranch in Montana, the very night a number of horse breakers were
there, also at the table, and one of them "put up" Rollo and me to his
friends. I shall never forget how queer I felt when I heard myself
discussed by perfect strangers in my very presence - not one of whom
knew in the least who I was. It made me think that perhaps I was
shadowy - invisible - although to myself I did not feel at all that way.
Faye wrote to Mr. Ames about Rollo, thinking that possibly he might
buy him back, but Mr. Ames wrote in reply that Rollo had already been
sold, because Mrs. Ames had found it impossible to manage him. Also
that he was owned by the post trader at Fort Maginnis, who was making
a pet of him. So, as the horse had a good home and gentle treatment,
it was once more decided to leave him up in his native mountains. It
might have been cruel to have brought him here to suffer from the
heat, and to be frightened and ever fretted by the many strange sights
and sounds. But I am not satisfied, for the horse had an awful fear of
men when ridden or driven by them, and I know that he is so unhappy
and wonders why I no longer come to him, and why I do not take him
from the strange people who do not understand him. He was a
wonderfully playful animal, and sometimes when Miller would be leading
the two horses from our yard to the corral, he would turn Rollo loose
for a run. That always brought out a number of soldiers to see him
rear, lunge, and snort; his turns so quick, his beautiful tawny mane
would be tossed from side to side and over his face until he looked
like a wild horse. The more the men laughed the wilder he seemed to
get. He never forgot Miller, however, but would be at the corral by
the time he got there, and would go to his own stall quietly and
without guidance. Poor Rollo!
CAMP NEAR UINTAH MOUNTAINS, WYOMING TERRITORY,
August, 1888.
TO be back in the mountains and in camp is simply glorious! And to see
soldiers walking around, wearing the dear old uniform, just as we used
to see them, makes one feel as though old days had returned.
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