Service Is Held In A Long, Large Hall, At The Rear End Of Which Is A Smaller Room That Can Be Made A Part Of The Hall By Folding Back Large Doors.

We were just inside this small room and the doors were opened wide.

On a long bench sat the four singers, two each side of a very unhappy woman, and back of the bench in a half circle were the six musicians. Those musicians depended entirely upon me to indicate to them when to play and the vocalists when to sing, therefore certain signals had been arranged so that there would be no mistake or confusion. There I sat, on a hot summer morning, almost surrounded by expert musicians who were conscious of my every movement, and then, those men were soldiers accustomed to military precision, and the fear of making a mistake and leading them wrong was agonizing. At the farther end of the hall the Rev. Mr. Clark was standing, reading along in an easy, self-assured way that was positively irritating. And again, there was the congregation, each one on the alert, ready to criticise, probably condemn, the unheard-of innovation! Every man, woman, and child was at church that morning, too - many from curiosity, I expect - and every time we sang one half of them turned around and stared at us.

During the reading of the service I could not change my position, turn my head, or brush the flies that got upon my face, without those six hands back of me pouncing down for their instruments. It was impossible to sing the chants, as the string instruments could not hold the tones, so anthems were used instead - mostly Millard's - and they were very beautiful. Not one mistake has ever been made by anyone, but Sergeant Moore has vexed me much. He is our soprano, and has a clear, high-tenor voice and often sings solos in public, but for some unexplainable reason he would not sing a note in church unless I sang with him, so I had to hum along for the man's ear alone. Why he has been so frightened' I do not know, unless it was the unusual condition of things, which have been quite enough to scare anyone.

Well, I lived through the three services, and suppose I can live through more. The men are not compelled to do this church work, although not one would think of refusing. There is much rehearsing to be done, and Sergeant Graves has to transpose the hymns and write out the notes for each instrument, and this requires much work. To show my appreciation of their obedience to my slightest request, a large cake and dozens of eggs have been sent to them after each service. It is funny how nice things to eat often make it easy for a man to do things that otherwise would be impossible!

FORT SHAW, MONTANA TERRITORY, July, 1886.

MY trip to Helena was made alone, after all!

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