The Meat Was So Hot It Burned His Mouth,
And He Howled From The Pain, But Drop It He Did Not Until He Was Far
From The Cook.
This I consider very plucky in so young a dog!
Findlay
ran after the little hound, yelling and swearing, and I ran after
Findlay to keep him from beating my dog. Of course we did not have
beefsteak that day, but, as I told Faye, it was entirely Findlay's
fault. He should have kept watch of things, and not made it possible
for Hal to kill himself by eating a whole big steak!
Yesterday, Lieutenant Golden came in to luncheon, and when we went in
the dining room I saw at once that things were wrong, very wrong. A
polished table is an unknown luxury down here, but fresh table linen
we do endeavor to have. But the cloth on the table yesterday was a
sight to behold, with big spots of dirt all along one side and dirt on
top. Findlay came in the room just as I reached the table, and I said,
"Findlay, what has happened here?" He gave one look at the cloth where
I pointed, and then striking his knuckles together, almost sobbed out,
"Dot tamn dog, mum!" Faye and Lieutenant Golden quickly left the room
to avoid hearing any more remarks of that kind, for it was really very
dreadful in Findlay to use such language. This left me alone, of
course, to pacify the cook, which I found no easy task. Old Findlay
had pickled a choice buffalo tongue with much care and secrecy, and
had served it for luncheon yesterday as a great surprise and treat.
There was the platter on the table, but there could be no doubt of its
having been licked clean. Not one tiny piece of tongue could be seen
any place.
The window was far up, and in vain did I try to convince everyone that
a strange dog had come in and stolen the meat, that Hal was quite too
small to have reached so far; but Findlay only looked cross and Faye
looked hungry, so I gave that up. Before night, however, there was
trouble and a very sick puppy in the house, and once again I thought
he would die. And every few minutes that disagreeable old cook would
come in and ask about the dog, and say he was afraid he could not get
well - always with a grin on his face that was exasperating. Finally, I
told him that if he had served only part of the tongue, as he should
have done, the dog would not have been so ill, and we could have had
some of it. That settled the matter - he did not come in again. Findlay
has served several enlistments, and is regarded as an old soldier, and
once upon a time he was cook for the colonel of the regiment,
therefore he sometimes forgets himself and becomes aggressive. I do
not wonder that Hal dislikes him.
And Hal dislikes Indians, too, and will often hear their low mumbling
and give little growls before I dream that one is near. They have a
disagreeable way of coming to the windows and staring in. Sometimes
before you have heard a sound you will be conscious of an
uncomfortable feeling, and looking around you will discover five or
six Indians, large and small, peering at you through the windows, each
ugly nose pressed flat against the glass! It is enough to drive one
mad. You never know when they are about, their tread is so stealthy
with their moccasined feet.
Faye is officer of the guard every third day now. This sounds rather
nice; but it means that every third day and night - exactly twenty-four
hours - he has to spend at the guard house, excepting when making the
rounds, that is, visiting sentries on post, and is permitted to come
to the house just long enough to eat three hurried meals. This is
doing duty, and would be all right if there were not a daily mingling
of white and colored troops which often brings a colored sergeant over
a white corporal and privates. But the most unpleasant part for the
officer of the guard is that the partition in between the officer's
room and guard room is of logs, unchinked, and very open, and the
weather is very hot! and the bugs, which keep us all in perpetual
warfare in our houses, have full sway there, going from one room to
the other.
The officers say that the negroes make good soldiers and fight like
fiends. They certainly manage to stick on their horses like monkeys.
The Indians call them "buffalo soldiers," because their woolly heads
are so much like the matted cushion that is between the horns of the
buffalo. We had letters from dear old Fort Lyon yesterday, and the
news about Lieutenant Baldwin is not encouraging. He is not improving
and Doctor Wilder is most anxious about him. But a man as big and
strong as he was must certainly get well in time.
CAMP SUPPLY, INDIAN TERRITORY,
June, 1872.
IT seems as if I had to write constantly of unpleasant occurrences,
but what else can I do since unpleasant occurrences are ever coming
along? This time I must tell you that Faye has been turned out of
quarters - "ranked out," as it is spoken of in the Army. But it all
amounts to the same thing, and means that we have been driven out of
our house and home, bag and baggage, because a captain wanted that one
set of quarters! Call it what one chooses, the experience was not
pleasant and will be long remembered. Being turned out was bad enough
in itself, but the manner in which it was done was humiliating in the
extreme. We had been in the house only three weeks and had worked so
hard during that time to make it at all comfortable.
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