There were
then no hateful laws forbidding soldiers to work in officers'
families; no dreaded inspectors, who put the flat question, "Do
you employ a soldier for menial labor?"
Captain Corliss gave me an old man by the name of Smith, and he
was glad to come and stay with us and do what simple cooking we
required. One of the laundresses let me have her daughter for
nurserymaid, and our small establishment at Camp MacDowell moved
on smoothly, if not with elegance.
The officers' quarters were a long, low line of adobe buildings
with no space between them; the houses were separated only by
thick walls. In front, the windows looked out over the parade
ground. In the rear, they opened out on a road which ran along
the whole length, and on the other side of which lay another row
of long, low buildings which were the kitchens, each set of
quarters having its own.
We occupied the quarters at the end of the row, and a large bay
window looked out over a rather desolate plain, and across to the
large and well-kept hospital. As all my draperies and pretty
cretonnes had been burnt up on the ill-fated ship, I had nothing
but bare white shades at the windows, and the rooms looked
desolate enough. But a long divan was soon built, and some coarse
yellow cotton bought at John Smith's (the cutler's) store, to
cover it. My pretty rugs and mats were also gone, and there was
only the old ingrain carpet from Fort Russell. The floors were
adobe, and some men from the company came and laid down old
canvas, then the carpet, and drove in great spikes around the
edge to hold it down. The floors of the bedroom and dining-room
were covered with canvas in the same manner. Our furnishings were
very scanty and I felt very mournful about the loss of the boxes.
We could not claim restitution as the steamship company had been
courteous enough to take the boxes down free of charge.
John Smith, the post trader (the name "sutler" fell into disuse
about now) kept a large store but, nothing that I could use to
beautify my quarters with - and our losses had been so heavy that
we really could not afford to send back East for more things. My
new white dresses came and were suitable enough for the winter
climate of MacDowell. But I missed the thousand and one
accessories of a woman's wardrobe, the accumulation of years, the
comfortable things which money could not buy especially at that
distance.
I had never learned how to make dresses or to fit garments and
although I knew how to sew, my accomplishments ran more in the
line of outdoor sports.
But Mrs. Kendall whose experience in frontier life had made her
self-reliant, lent me some patterns, and I bought some of John
Smith's calico and went to work to make gowns suited to the hot
weather. This was in 1877, and every one will remember that the
ready-made house-gowns were not to be had in those days in the
excellence and profusion in which they can to-day be found, in
all parts of the country.
Now Mrs. Kendall was a tall, fine woman, much larger than I, but
I used her patterns without alterations, and the result was
something like a bag. They were freshly laundried and cool,
however, and I did not place so much importance on the lines of
them, as the young women of the present time do. To-day, the
poorest farmer's wife in the wilds of Arkansas or Alaska can wear
better fitting gowns than I wore then. But my riding habits, of
which I had several kinds, to suit warm and cold countries, had
been left in Jack's care at Ehrenberg, and as long as these
fitted well, it did not so much matter about the gowns.
Captain Chaffee, who commanded the company of the Sixth Cavalry
stationed there, was away on leave, but Mr. Kendall, his first
lieutenant, consented for me to exercise "Cochise," Captain
Chaffee's Indian pony, and I had a royal time.
Cavalry officers usually hate riding: that is, riding for
pleasure; for they are in the saddle so much, for dead earnest
work; but a young officer, a second lieutenant, not long out from
the Academy, liked to ride, and we had many pleasant riding
parties. Mr. Dravo and I rode one day to the Mormon settlement,
seventeen miles away, on some business with the bishop, and a
Mormon woman gave us a lunch of fried salt pork, potatoes, bread,
and milk. How good it tasted, after our long ride! and how we
laughed about it all, and jollied, after the fashion of young
people, all the way back to the post! Mr Dravo had also lost all
his things on the "Montana," and we sympathized greatly with each
other. He, however, had sent an order home to Pennsylvania,
duplicating all the contents of his boxes. I told him I could not
duplicate mine, if I sent a thousand orders East.
When, after some months, his boxes came, he brought me in a
package, done up in tissue paper and tied with ribbon: "Mother
sends you these; she wrote that I was not to open them; I think
she felt sorry for you, when I wrote her you had lost all your
clothing. I suppose," he added, mustering his West Point French
to the front, and handing me the package, "it is what you ladies
call 'lingerie.' "
I hope I blushed, and I think I did, for I was not so very old,
and I was touched by this sweet remembrance from the dear mother
back in Pittsburgh. And so many lovely things happened all the
time; everybody was so kind to me.
