Ristori, heard under any circumstances, was an event in a life; but to listen to her as we did, the only treat of the kind in our winter, and feeling almost certain it was the last of such privileges for years to come, was an occasion never to be forgotten.
I do not know whether Diana collected her senses enough to know, at any one time, that she was listening to the most gifted woman in histrionic art. A civilian lover had appeared on the scene, and between our young officers, already far advanced in the dazed and enraptured state, and the new addition to her retinue, she was never many moments without "airy nothings" poured into her ear. The citizen and the officers glowered on each other, and sought in vain to monopolize the inamorata. Even when the thoughtless girl put a military cap on the head of a civilian, and told him that an improvement in his appearance was instantly visible, he still remained, and held his ground valiantly. Finally the most desperate of them called me to one side, and implored my championship. He complained bitterly that he never began to say what trembled on his tongue but one of those interfering fellows appeared and interrupted him, and now, as the time was passing, there remained but one chance before he went home, where he would again be among a dozen other men who were sure to get in his way. He said he had thought over every plan, and if I would engage the interfering ones for a half hour, he would take Diana to the hotel cupola, ostensibly to see the view, and if, after they were up there, she saw anything but him, it would not be his fault; for say his say he must. No one could resist such a piteous appeal, so I engaged the supernumerary men in conversation as best I could, talking against time and eyeing the door as anxiously as they did. I knew, when the pair returned, that the pent-up avowal had found utterance; but the coquetting lass had left him in such a state of uncertainty that even "fleeing to the house-top" had not secured his future. So it went on, suspense and agitation increasing in the perturbed hearts, but the dallying of this coy and skillful strategist, wise beyond her years in some ways, seemed to prove that she believed what is often said, that a man is more blissful in uncertainty than in possession.
Our table was rarely without guests at that time. A great many of the strangers came with letters of introduction to us, and the General superintended the arrangements for buffalo-hunts, if they were to be in the vicinity of our post. Among the distinguished visitors was Prince Ourosoff, nephew of the Emperor of Russia. He was but a lad, and only knew that if he came west far enough, he was very likely to find what the atlas put down as the "Great American Desert." None of us could tell him much more of the Sahara of America than of his own steppes in Russia. As the years have advanced, the maps have shifted that imaginary desert from side to side. The pioneer does such wonders in cultivating what was then supposed to be a barren waste, that we bid fair in time not to have any Sahara at all. I hardly wonder now at the surprise this royal scion expressed at finding himself among men and women who kept up the amenities of refined life, even when living in that subterranean home which our Government provided for its defenders—the dug-out. It seems strange enough, that those of us who lived the rough life of Kansas's early days, did not entirely adopt the careless, unconventional existence of the pioneer, but military discipline is something not easily set aside.
Almost our first excursionists were such a success that we wished they might be duplicated in those who flocked out there in after years. Several of the party were old travelers, willing to undergo hardships and encounter dangers to see the country before it was overrun with tourists. They were our guests, and the manner in which they beguiled our time made their departure a real regret. They called themselves "Gideon's Band." The youngest of the party, a McCook, from the fighting Ohio family, was "Old Gid," while the oldest of all answered when they called "Young Gid." As they were witty, clever, conversant by actual experience with most things that we only read of in the papers, we found them a godsend.
When such people thanked us for what simple hospitality we could offer, it almost came as a surprise, for we felt ourselves their debtors. After having written to this point in my narrative of our gay visit from Gideon's Band, a letter in response to one that I had sent to Mr. Charles G. Leland arrived from London. I asked him about his poem, and after twenty years, in which we never saw him, he recalls with enthusiasm his short stay with us. I have only eliminated some descriptions that he gives in the extract of the private letter sent then from Fort Riley—descriptions of the wife of the commanding officer and the pretty Diana. Women being in the minority, it was natural that we were never undervalued. Grateful as I am that he should so highly appreciate officers' wives, and much as I prize what he says regarding "the influences that made a man, and kept him what he was," I must reserve for Mr. Leland's correspondent of twenty years back, and for myself, his opinion of frontier women.
"Langham Hotel, Portland Place,
"London, W., June 14, 1887.
"Dear Mrs. Custer:—It is a thousand times more likely that you should forget me than that I should ever forget you, though it were at an interval of twice twenty years; the more so since I have read your admirable book, which has revived in me the memory of one of the strangest incidents and some of the most agreeable impressions of a somewhat varied and eventful life. I was with a party of gentlemen who had gone out to what was then the most advanced surveyor's camp for the Pacific Railway, in western Kansas. On returning, we found ourselves one evening about a mile from Fort Riley, where we were to be the guests of yourself and your husband. We had been all day in a so-called ambulance or wagon. The one that I shared with my friend, J. R. G. Hassard, of the New York Tribune, was driven by a very intelligent and amusing frontiersman, deeply experienced in Indian and Mexican life, named Brigham. Brigham thought, by mistake, that we had all gone to Fort Riley by some other conveyance, and he was thirty or forty yards in advance, driving on rapidly. We, encumbered with blankets, packs and arms, had no mind to walk when we could 'wagon.' One man whistled, and all roared aloud. Then one discharged his rifle. But the wind was blowing away from Brigham towards us, and he heard nothing. The devil put an idea in my head, for which I have had many a regret since then. Infandum regina jubes renovare dolorem. ('Thou, my queen, dost command me to revive a wretched sorrow.') For it occurred that I could send a rifle-ball so near to Brigham's head that he could hear the whistle, and that this would very naturally cause him to stop. If I could only know all, I would sooner have aimed between my own eyes.
"'Give me a gun,' I said to Colonel Lambourn.
"'You won't shoot at him!' said the Colonel.