I have beside me an old "Order Book," open at a page on which is this sad record:
"The Major Commanding has the painful duty to announce to the command, the death of Major Nathan Clark; he will be buried to-morrow afternoon at 2 o'clock, with the honors of war, where all present, except those persons who may be expressly excused, will appear under arms in full uniform; the Commanding Officer directs that the escort be composed of four companies, which, in accordance with his own feelings as well as what is due to the deceased, he will command in person. All officers of this command will wear black crape attached to the hilts of their swords, and as testimony of respect for the deceased, this badge will be worn for the period of thirty days. The Surgeon of the Post will act as Chaplain.
By order of Major Green.
Feb. 18th, 1836.
Signed J. T. Collingsworth, Act. Adj."
And at the time appointed, a detail of soldiers from his own "Company C," reverently place upon the bier the encoffined form of their beloved commander, having for a pall the "Stars and Stripes", on which are laid the sword and accoutrements now no longer needed.
Memory brings back to me that mournful afternoon, and I see the bearers with their burden; the long procession of soldiers with trailed arms; the commissioned officers each in his appropriate place, all keeping time and step to the muffled drum as it rolls out its requiem on the wintry air, in the strains of Pleyel's heart-melting hymn; the weeping wife and children in the large sleigh,—all passing out the great gate to the lone graveyard. And the precious burden is lowered, and at its head stands Surgeon Lyman Foote, our father's life-long friend, and in a voice trembling with emotion, reads the wonderful words: "I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord." After the burial service comes the last salute, and, leaving there that which is so dear to us, we go back to the empty quarters, bowed down heavily, as those who mourn for one inexpressibly dear.
During those weeks of pain and languishing, my father, knowing what the end must be, and realizing the change his death would make in all our plans, left full directions for our future course; and in accordance with his last wishes, my marriage with Lieutenant H. P. Van Cleve was solemnized, in the presence of a few friends, March 22d, 1836. Rev. Henry Gregory, of the Episcopal Church, at that time laboring as a missionary among the Stockbridge Indians, performed the ceremony. His station was between the Forts Winnebago and Howard, and he had a serious time making the journey on horseback to the fort, the snow being very deep and the weather severe. Besides using up his horse he became snow-blind, and reached us pretty well worn out, but we can never forget his cheerful endurance of his trials, and his genial, affable manner, which made warm friends of all who came in contact with him. He was one who lived the gospel which he preached, and unconsciously diffused a beneficial influence all about him. Notwithstanding his temporary blindness, he was so perfectly familiar with the marriage service that there was no delay in consequence, and after resting with us a few days, till his eyesight was restored, he left us on a new horse to return to his home among the Indians, where he labored faithfully and effectively for some years longer.
As soon as navigation opened, my mother went to Connecticut with two children, leaving the youngest, a dear little three year old girl, in our care. We spent the first summer of our married life very quietly and happily at the old fort, and enjoyed exceedingly a visit from two companies of the First Regiment, from Prairie du Chien, who had been ordered up there, to strengthen our post, on account of a rumor of an Indian outbreak which had reached Washington. Col. Zachary Taylor commanded the detachment personally, and encamping just outside the fort, made a beautiful display. Old General Brady was with them also, and we were proud and happy to entertain our dear father's old friends at our own table. To add to the pleasure of this visit, there was not and had not been the slightest foundation for alarm. It was said that not only were the Indians perfectly peaceable, but that they had not enough ammunition to kill what game they needed for food. Colonel Taylor knew all this, but was obliged to obey orders; so we had a grand picnic of a few weeks, just when the prairies were covered with delicious strawberries, and the cows were yielding abundance of milk and cream. That was in the old time, when mails were monthly, and telegraphing was a thing of the future.
In the following September, my husband having resigned his commission, we bade a long "good bye" to the army and its many tender associations. This step was taken after much thought and deliberation, and in accordance with the advice of our dear father. But the army had always been my home; I loved it as such. I love it still, and it is a comfort to me in my old age to know that I am not far away from a fort, that I can almost see the beautiful flag, as it sways in the breeze, can almost hear the drum and fife, the music of my childhood, and can feel that they are near me, in dear old Fort Snelling, my earliest home.
