Ten years in the ranks, U.S. Army

by Augustus Meyers

There was a young soldier in my company, who became so infatuated with the Indian life that he spent every spare minute in their camp. He made great progress in learning their language, and never missed a dog feast. He was a black haired, dark-complexioned man, who tried to make himself look as much like an Indian as possible by plucking out all the hair that grew on his face. In the spring, when the Indians broke camp and departed, he was missed a day or two later. We learned that he had joined the tribe, but no effort was then made to recapture him.

During the long, cold winter we got a mail from the "States" about once in three weeks. It went to Fort Pierre and was sent to us from there.

There was no sutler at Cantonment Miller. When we wanted anything from the store, we had to go five miles to Fort Pierre for it or have it brought by a comrade who made the trip.

One calm sunny morning—we had a few such days—when the thermometer was but a few degrees below zero, another boy and I got a pass to go to the fort. Not anticipating any change in the weather, we did not dress ourselves quite so warmly as we should have done, for zero was considered a comfortable temperature if the wind was not blowing, and we discarded some of our heaviest furs when the temperature was at that point or higher. We two boys crossed the Missouri on the ice and walked down to the fort on the opposite side, which was less hilly than the east bank. We made a few purchases at the sutler's store, visited our friends and had dinner with them. It became much colder early in the afternoon, and the wind began to blow. We were admonished to return early, which we did; but by the time we had come about half way the wind was blowing a gale and the cold was increasing. We tried to cross the river and gain the woods on the other side, but the bare ice was as slippery as glass. The fierce wind knocked us over, and blew us like corks along on the ice. With great exertion we crawled on shore and got into a ravine where we were partly sheltered from the wind. Here we kept in motion. There was no wood to make a fire and to sit down meant freezing to death. We had our mittens and our fur caps protected our ears, but our noses and cheeks turned white with frost, and we rubbed them with snow several times. I think we both feared that we would perish in that ravine, when suddenly, as daylight began to fade, the wind died down and we were able to proceed. We arrived at our quarters half frozen, and it took some days to recover.

There was an officer at Cantonment Miller named James Curtis who was the First Lieutenant of Company B. He singled me out from among the boys and was most kind to me.

While stationed at Fort Pierre I had bought a flute from a member of the band, and took lessons from him. As I understood something about music and played on the fife, I made rapid progress on the flute and had become a fair player when Lieutenant Curtis asked me to come to his lonely cabin and play duets with him. He was an excellent player, and had a lot of music books, also works on history, science, etc. In fact, he owned quite a little library, for he was a great student and did not spend his time drinking whiskey and playing cards like some of the other officers did. He loaned me books to read and gave me lessons to study, which I recited to him and he corrected my exercises. After these lessons we played music until tattoo. This went on for three or four nights a week, while we were at the cantonment. I learned more during that time than during all my previous schooling.

Lieutenant Curtis was a graduate of West Point. Very much to my regret he resigned his commission in the spring to enter civil life. He rejoined the army in 1861, and served in the West during the Civil War. I never met him again, and do not know whether he is still living, but I remember him as a man who befriended me when I was a boy, and I shall always entertain the most profound feeling of gratitude toward him.

A contrast to Lieut. Curtis was the officer who commanded the company which wintered on the island below Fort Pierre. He was always more or less under the influence of liquor and abused the men in his command. In one of his drunken fits he shot a private of his company, wounding him so severely the man died a few days after. A pretense of an investigation was made. It was called an accident and hushed up, though the man was deliberately shot while lying in his tent after he had had some words with the officer. Two years later his slayer died wretchedly of delirium tremens at another military post.

In the early part of April we were startled one night by loud reports like the firing of a heavy cannon. This was caused by the cracking of the thick ice, which began to break up and move in a day or two and afforded an interesting spectacle. Some time later the river began to rise until it overflowed its banks, and was miles wide in the low lands. Then there came drift wood in enormous quantities. For several days at a time the river would be covered with it from shore to shore at the narrower places. It seemed as though a man could walk across on the floating logs. The high water continued for a long time. It fell very slowly and some time in May it seemed stationary for a while as the snows melted much further north. We were cut off from all communication with Fort Pierre for a time, until boats could cross the river after the flood subsided.

The Indians began to make preparations for departure. The squaws were busy dressing such skins as they had not tanned before cold weather. This they did by stretching them on an upright framework made of poles lashed together. Then they scraped them thin with a steel scraper and treated them with a preparation that made them soft and pliable.