Vanished Arizona Part 21

But I must say that his demeanor was gentle and dignified, and, after recovering from the superficial impressions which his startling costume had at first made upon my mind, I could well believe that he had once been the war-leader, as he was now the political head of his once-powerful tribe.

Winnemucca did not disdain to accept some little sugar-cakes from me, and would sit down on our veranda and munch them.

He always showed me the pasteboard medal which hung around his neck, and which bore General Howard's signature; and he always said: "General Howard tell me, me good Injun, me go up--up--up"--pointing dramatically towards Heaven. On one occasion, feeling desperate for amus.e.m.e.nt, I said to him: "General Howard very good man, but he make a mistake; where you go, is not up--up--up, but," pointing solemnly to the earth below us, "down--down--down." He looked incredulous, but I a.s.sured him it was a nice place down there.

Some of the scattered bands of the tribe, however, were restless and unsubdued, and gave us much trouble, and it was these bands that necessitated the scouts.

My little son, Harry, four years old, was my constant and only companion, during that long, cold, and anxious winter.

My mother sent me an appealing invitation to come home for a year. I accepted gladly, and one afternoon in May, Jack put us aboard the Silver City stage, which pa.s.sed daily through the post.

Our excellent Chinese servant promised to stay with the "Captain" and take care of him, and as I said "Good-bye, Hoo Chack," I noticed an expression of real regret on his usually stolid features.

Occupied with my thoughts, on entering the stage, I did not notice the pa.s.sengers or the man sitting next me on the back seat. Darkness soon closed around us, and I suppose we fell asleep. Between naps, I heard a queer clanking sound, but supposed it was the chains of the harness or the stage-coach gear. The next morning, as we got out at a relay station for breakfast, I saw the handcuffs on the man next to whom I had sat all the night long. The sheriff was on the box outside. He very obligingly changed seats with me for the rest of the way, and evening found us on the overland train speeding on our journey East. Camp MacDermit with its dreary a.s.sociations and surroundings faded gradually from my mind, like a dream.

The year of 1879 brought us several changes. My little daughter was born in mid-summer at our old home in Nantucket. As I lay watching the curtains move gently to and fro in the soft sea-breezes, and saw my mother and sister moving about the room, and a good old nurse rocking my baby in her arms, I could but think of those other days at Camp Apache, when I lay through the long hours, with my new-born baby by my side, watching, listening for some one to come in. There was no one, no woman to come, except the poor hard-working laundress of the cavalry, who did come once a day to care for the baby.

Ah! what a contrast! and I had to shut my eyes for fear I should cry, at the mere thought of those other days.

Jack took a year's leave of absence and joined me in the autumn at Nantucket, and the winter was spent in New York, enjoying the theatres and various amus.e.m.e.nts we had so long been deprived of. Here we met again Captain Porter and Carrie Wilkins, who was now Mrs. Porter. They were stationed at David's Island, one of the harbor posts, and we went over to see them. "Yes," he said, "as Jacob waited seven years for Rachel, so I waited for Carrie."

The following summer brought us the good news that Captain Corliss'

company was ordered to Angel Island, in the bay of San Francisco. "Thank goodness," said Jack, "C company has got some good luck, at last!"

Joyfully we started back on the overland trip to California, which took about nine days at that time. Now, travelling with a year-old baby and a five-year-old boy was quite troublesome, and we were very glad when the train had crossed the bleak Sierras and swept down into the lovely valley of the Sacramento.

Arriving in San Francisco, we went to the old Occidental Hotel, and as we were going in to dinner, a card was handed to us. "Hoo Chack" was the name on the card. "That Chinaman!" I cried to Jack. "How do you suppose he knew we were here?"

We soon made arrangements for him to accompany us to Angel Island, and in a few days this "heathen Chinee" had unpacked all our boxes and made our quarters very comfortable. He was rather a high-caste man, and as true and loyal as a Christian. He never broke his word, and he staid with us as long as we remained in California.

And now we began to live, to truly live; for we felt that the years spent at those desert posts under the scorching suns of Arizona had cheated us out of all but a bare existence upon earth.

The flowers ran riot in our garden, fresh fruits and vegetables, fresh fish, and all the luxuries of that marvellous climate, were brought to our door.

A comfortable Government steamboat plied between San Francisco and its harbor posts, and the distance was not great--only three quarters of an hour. So we had a taste of the social life of that fascinating city, and could enjoy the theatres also.

On the Island, we had music and dancing, as it was the headquarters of the regiment. Mrs. Kautz, so brilliant and gay, held grand court here--receptions, military functions, lawn tennis, bright uniforms, were the order of the day. And that incomparable climate! How I revelled in it! When the fog rolled in from the Golden Gate, and enveloped the great city of Saint Francis in its cold vapors, the Island of the Angels lay warm and bright in the sunshine.

The old Spaniards named it well, and the old Nantucket whalers who sailed around Cape Horn on their way to the Ar'tic, away back in the eighteen twenties, used to put in near there for water, and were well familiar with its bright sh.o.r.es, before it was touched by man's handiwork.

Was there ever such an emerald green as adorned those hills which sloped down to the bay? Could anything equal the fields of golden escholzchia which lay there in the sunshine? Or the blue ma.s.ses of "baby-eye," which opened in the mornings and held up their pretty cups to catch the dew?

Was this a real Paradise?

It surely seemed so to us; and, as if Nature had not done enough, the Fates stepped in and sent all the agreeable young officers of the regiment there, to help us enjoy the heavenly spot.

There was Terrett, the handsome and aristocratic young Baltimorean, one of the finest men I ever saw in uniform; and Richardson, the stalwart Texan, and many others, with whom we danced and played tennis, and altogether there was so much to do and to enjoy that Time rushed by and we knew only that we were happy, and enchanted with Life.

Did any uniform ever equal that of the infantry in those days? The dark blue, heavily braided "blouse," the white stripe on the light blue trousers, the jaunty cap? And then, the straight backs and the slim lines of those youthful figures! It seems to me any woman who was not an Egyptian mummy would feel her heart thrill and her blood tingle at the sight of them.

Indians and deserts and Ehrenberg did not exist for me any more. My girlhood seemed to have returned, and I enjoyed everything with the keenest zest.

My old friend Charley Bailey, who had married for his second wife a most accomplished young San Francisco girl, lived next door to us.

General and Mrs. Kautz entertained so hospitably, and were so beloved by all. Together Mrs. Kautz and I read the German cla.s.sics, and went to the German theatre; and by and by a very celebrated player, Friedrich Haase, from the Royal Theatre of Berlin, came to San Francisco. We never missed a performance, and when his tour was over, Mrs. Kautz gave a lawn party at Angel Island for him and a few of the members of his company. It was charming. I well remember how the sun shone that day, and, as we strolled up from the boat with them, Frau Haase stopped, looked at the blue sky, the lovely clouds, the green slopes of the Island and said: "Mein Gott! Frau Summerhayes, was ist das fur ein Paradies! Warum haben Sie uns nicht gesagt, Sie wohnten im Paradies!"

So, with music and German speech, and strolls to the North and to the South Batteries, that wonderful and never to-be-forgotten day with the great Friedrich Haase came to an end.

The months flew by, and the second winter found us still there; we heard rumors of Indian troubles in Arizona, and at last the orders came. The officers packed away their evening clothes in camphor and had their campaign clothes put out to air, and got their mess-chests in order, and the post was alive with preparations for the field. All the families were to stay behind. The most famous Indian renegade was to be hunted down, and serious fighting was looked for.

At last all was ready, and the day was fixed for the departure of the troops.

The winter rains had set in, and the skies were grey, as the command marched down to the boat.

The officers and soldiers were in their campaign clothes; the latter had their blanket-rolls and haversacks slung over their shoulders, and their tin cups, which hung from the haversacks, rattled and jingled as they marched down in even columns of four, over the wet and gra.s.sy slopes of the parade ground, where so short a time before all had been glitter and sunshine.

I realized then perhaps for the first time what the uniform really stood for; that every man who wore it, was going out to fight--that they held their lives as nothing. The glitter was all gone; nothing but sad reality remained.

The officers' wives and the soldiers' wives followed the troops to the dock. The soldiers marched single file over the gang-plank of the boat, the officers said good-bye, the shrill whistle of the "General McPherson" sounded--and they were off. We leaned back against the coal-sheds, and soldiers' and officers' wives alike all wept together.

And now a season of gloom came upon us. The skies were dull and murky and the rain poured down.

Our old friend Bailey, who was left behind on account of illness, grew worse and finally his case was p.r.o.nounced hopeless. His death added to the deep gloom and sadness which enveloped us all.

A few of the soldiers who had staid on the Island to take care of the post, carried poor Bailey to the boat, his casket wrapped in the flag and followed by a little procession of women. I thought I had never seen anything so sad.

The campaign lengthened out into months, but the California winters are never very long, and before the troops came back the hills looked their brightest green again. The campaign had ended with no very serious losses to our troops and all was joyous again, until another order took us from the sea-coast to the interior once more.

CHAPTER XXIX. CHANGING STATION

It was the custom to change the stations of the different companies of a regiment about every two years. So the autumn of '82 found us on the way to Fort Halleck, a post in Nevada, but differing vastly from the desolate MacDermit station. Fort Halleck was only thirteen miles south of the Overland Railroad, and lay near a spur of the Humboldt range.

There were miles of sage-brush between the railroad and the post, but the mountains which rose abruptly five thousand feet on the far side, made a magnificent background for the officers' quarters, which lay nestled at the bottom of the foot-hills.

"Oh! what a lovely post!" I cried, as we drove in.

Major Sanford of the First Cavalry, with Captain Carr and Lieutenant Oscar Brown, received us. "Dear me," I thought, "if the First Cavalry is made up of such gallant men as these, the old Eighth Infantry will have to look out for its laurels."