"Aunt
Hepsey's Muffins," "Sarah's Indian Pudding," and on another page,
"Hasty's Lemon Tarts," "Aunt Susan's Method of Cooking a Leg of
Mutton," and "Josie Well's Pressed Calf Liver." Here were my own,
my very own family recipes, copied into Bowen's ledger, in large
illiterate characters; and on the fly-leaf, "Charles Bowen's
Receipt Book." I burst into a good hearty laugh, almost the first
one I had enjoyed since I arrived at Camp Apache.
The long-expected promotion to a first lieutenancy came at about
this time. Jack was assigned to a company which was stationed at
Camp MacDowell, but his departure for the new post was delayed
until the spring should be more advanced and I should be able to
undertake the long, rough trip with our young child.
The second week in April, my baby just nine weeks old, we began
to pack up. I had gained a little in experience, to be sure, but
I had lost my health and strength. I knew nothing of the care of
a young infant, and depended entirely upon the advice of the Post
Surgeon, who happened at that time to be a young man, much better
versed in the sawing off of soldiers' legs than in the treatment
of young mothers and babies.
The packing up was done under difficulties, and with much help
from our faithful Bowen.
