Tenting on the Plains; or, General Custer in Kansas and Texas

by Elizabeth Bacon Custer

CHAPTER VII.

LIFE IN A TEXAS TOWN.

One day we heard shout upon shout from many a soldier's throat in camp. The headquarters guard and officers' servants, even the officers themselves, joined in the hallooing, and we ran out to see what could be the matter. It was our lordly Byron. Stately and superb as he usually was, he had another side to his character, and now he was racing up from camp, a huge piece of meat in his jaws, which he had stolen from the camp-kettle where it was boiling for the soldiers' dinner. His retreat was accompanied with every sort of missile—sticks, boots and rocks—but this dog, that made himself into a "greased streak of lightning," as a colored woman described him, bounded on, untouched by the flying hail of the soldiers' wrath. The General did not dare to shout and dance in sight of the men, over what he thought so cunning in this hateful dog, as he was not protected by the friendly walls of our tent; but he chuckled, and his eyes danced, for the brute dropped the hot meat when he had looked about to discover how close his pursuers were, and then, seeing the enemy nearing him, picked it up and distanced them all. The General went back to his tent, and called Eliza, to torment her with an account of what "her favorite" had done all by himself. She spared no words to express her opinion of the hated hound, for Byron was no respecter of persons when the sly side of his character was uppermost. He stole his master's dinner just as readily as the neighbors'. Eliza said no one could tell how many times he had made off with a part of her dinner, just dished up to be served, and then gone off on a prowl, "after he'd gorged hissel," as she expressed it, "hidin' from the other dogs, and burying it in jest such a stingy way you might 'spect from such a worthless, plunderin' old villain."

The march to Austin was varied by fording. All the streams and rivers were crossed in that manner, except one, where we used the pontoon bridge. The Colorado we found too high to ford, and so made a détour of some miles. The citizens were not unfriendly, while there was a total cessation of work on the part of the negroes until our column went by. They sat on the fences like a row of black crows, and with their usual politeness made an attempt to answer questions the troops put to them, which were unanswerable, even in the ingenious brain of the propounder. "Well, uncle, how far is it ten miles down the road from here?" If their feelings were hurt by such irrepressible fun, they were soon healed by the lively trade they kept up in chickens, eggs and butter.

The citizens sometimes answered the General's salute, and his interested questions about the horse they rode, by joining us for a short distance on the march. The horseflesh of Texas was a delight to him; but I could not be so interested in the fine points as to forget the disfiguring brands that were often upon the foreshoulder, as well as the flank. They spoke volumes for the country where a man has to sear a thoroughbred with a hot iron, to ensure his keeping possession. Father Custer used to say, "What sort of country is this, anyhow, when a man, in order to keep his property, has got to print the whole constitution of the United States on his horse?" The whole get-up of the Texans was rather cumbersome, it seemed to me, though they rode perfectly. They frequently had a Mexican saddle, heavily ornamented with silver on the high pommel, and everywhere else that it could be added. Even the design of the stamped leather, for which Mexico is famous, was embroidered with silver bullion. The stirrup had handsome leather covers, while a fringe of thongs fell almost to the ground, to aid in pushing their way through the tall prairie grass. Sometimes the saddle-cloth, extending to the crupper, was of fur. The bridle and bit were rich with silver also. On the massive silver pommel hung an incongruous coil of horse-hair rope, disfiguring and ugly. There was an iron picket-pin attached to the lariat, which we soon learned was of inestimable value in the long rides that the Texans took. If a man made a halt, he encircled himself with this prickly lariat and lay down securely, knowing that no snake could cross that barrier. In a land of venomous serpents, it behooved a man to carry his own abatis everywhere. The saddle was also secured by a cinch or girth of cow's-hair, which hard riders found a great help in keeping the saddle firm. The Texan himself, though not often wearing the high-crowned, silver-embroidered Mexican sombrero, wore usually a wide-brimmed felt hat, on which the General afterward doted, as the felt was of superior quality. If the term "dude" had been invented then, it would often have applied to a Texan horseman. The hair was frequently long, and they wore no waistcoat, I concluded because they could better display the vast expanse of shirt-front. While the General and his casual companion in our march talked horse, too absorbed to notice anything else, I used to lose myself in the contemplation of the maze of tucks, puffs and embroidery of this cambric finery, ornamented with three old-fashioned bosom-pins. The wearer seemed to me to represent two epochs: the fine linen, side-saddle and blooded horse belonged to "befo' the war;" while the ragged elbows of the coat-sleeves, and the worn boots, were decidedly "since the war." If the shirt-front was intricate in its workmanship, the boots were ignored by the placid owner.

They usually had the Mexican serape strapped to the back of the saddle, or, if it was cold, as it was in our late November march, they put their head through the opening in the middle, so woven for that purpose, and flung the end across their breast and over one shoulder in a picturesque manner. The bright hues of the blanket, dyed by the Indians from the juice of the prickly pear, its soft, flexible folds having been woven in a hand-loom, made a graceful and attractive bit of color, which was not at all out of place in that country. These blankets were valuable possessions. They were so pliable and perfectly water-proof, that they protected one from every storm. We had a pair, which we used through every subsequent campaign, and when the cold in Kansas and Dakota became almost unbearable, sometimes, after the long trial of a journey in the wagon, my husband used to say, "We will resort to extreme measures, Libbie, and wrap you in the Mexican blankets." They were the warmest of all our wraps. Nothing seemed to fade them, and even when burnt with Tom's cigarette ashes, or stuck through with the General's spurs, they did not ravel, as do other fabrics. They have hung as portières in my little home, and the design and coloring are so like the Persian rug on the floor, that it seems to be an argument to prove that Mr. Ignatius Donnelly, in his theory of Atlantis, is right, and that we once had a land highway between the East and Mexico, and that the reason the Aztec now uses the designs on his pottery and in his weaving is, that his ancestors brought over the first sketches on papyrus.[E]

A Texan travels for comfort and safety rather than for style. If a norther overtakes him, he dismounts and drives the picket-pin into the ground, thus tethering his horse, which turns his back, the better to withstand the oncoming wind. The master throws himself, face down, in the long grass, buried in his blanket, and thus awaits the termination of the fury with which the storm sweeps a Texas prairie.

Sometimes one of the planters, after riding a distance with us, talking the county over, and taking in every point of our horses as he rode, made his adieus and said he was now at his own place, where he turned in. The General followed his fine thoroughbred with longing eyes, and was more than astonished to find in what stables they kept these valuable and delicate animals. No matter if the house was habitable, the stable was usually in a state of careless dilapidation. Doors swung on one hinge, and clapboards were torn off here and there, while the warped roof was far from weather-proof. Even though Texas is in the "Sunny South," the first sharp norther awakens one to the knowledge that it is not always summer. Sometimes these storms are quickly over, but frequently they last three days. This carelessness about stabling stock was not owing to the depredations of an invading army. We were the first "Yankees" they had seen. It was the general shiftlessness that creeps into one's veins. We were not long there ourselves before climatic influence had its effect on even the most active among us.

Before we reached Austin, several citizens sent out invitations for us to come to their houses; but I knew the General would not accept, and, cold as the nights were, I felt unwilling to lose a day of camp life. We pitched our tents on rolling ground in the vicinity of Austin, where we overlooked a pretty town of stuccoed houses that appeared summery in the midst of the live-oak's perennial green. The State House, Land Office, and governor's mansion looked regal to us so long bivouacking in the forest and on uncultivated prairies. The governor offered for our headquarters the Blind Asylum, which had been closed during the war. This possessed one advantage that we were glad to improve: there was room enough for all the staff, and a long saloon parlor and dining-room for our hops during the winter. By this time two pretty, agreeable women, wives of staff-officers, were added to our circle. Still, I went into the building with regret. The wagon in which the wind had rocked me to sleep so often, and which had proved such a stronghold against the crawling foes of the country, was consigned to the stable with a sigh. Camp life had more pleasures than hardships.