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

by Elizabeth Bacon Custer

The tinge of green that had begun to appear was now gone, and the charred, smoke-stained earth spread as far as we could see, making more desolate the arid, treeless country upon which we looked. It was indeed a blackened and dismal desert that encircled us, and we knew that we were deprived of the delight of the tender green of early spring, which carpets the Plains for a brief time before the sun parches and turns to russet and brown the turf of our Western prairies.

As we sat on the gallery, grieving over this ruin of spring, Mrs. Gibbs gathered her two boys closer to her, as she shuddered over another experience with prairie fire, where her children were in peril. The little fellows, in charge of a soldier, were left temporarily on the bank of a creek. Imagine the horror of a mother who finds, as she did, the grass on fire and a broad strip of flame separating her from her children! Before the little ones could follow their first instinct, and thereby encounter certain death by attempting to run through the fire to their mother, the devoted soldier, who had left them but a moment, realizing that they would instantly seek their mother, ran like an antelope to where the fire-band narrowed, leaped the flame, seized the little men, and plunged with mad strides to the bank of the creek, where, God be praised! nature provides a refuge from the relentless foe of our Western plains.

In our Western prairie fires the flame is often a mile long, perhaps not rising over a foot high, but, sweeping from six to ten miles an hour, it requires the greatest exertion of the ranchmen, with all kinds of improvised flails, to beat out the fire. The final resort of a frontiersman, if the flames are too much for him to overcome, is to take refuge with his family, cattle, horses, etc., in the garden, where the growing vegetables make an effectual protection. Alas, when he finds it safe to venture from the green oasis, the crops are not only gone, but the roots are burned, and the ground valueless from the parching of the terrible heat. When a prairie fire is raging at ten miles an hour, the hurricane lifts the tufts of loosened bunch grass, which in occasional clumps is longer than the rest, carrying it far beyond the main fire, and thus starting a new flame. No matter how weary the pioneer may be after a day's march, he neglects no precautions that can secure him from fire. He twists into wisp the longest of the bunch grass, trailing it around the camp; the fire thus started is whipped out by the teamsters, after it has burned over a sufficient area for safety. They follow the torch of the leader with branches of the green willow or twigs of cottonwood bound together.

WHIPPING HORSES TO KEEP THEM FROM FREEZING.

The first letters, sent back from the expedition by scouts, made red-letter days for us. The official envelope, stained with rain and mud, bursting open with the many pages crowded in, sometimes even tied with a string by some messenger through whose hands the parcel passed, told stories of the vicissitudes of the missive in the difficult journey to our post. These letters gave accounts of the march to Fort Larned, where a great camp was established, to await the arrival of the chiefs with whom the council was to be held. While the runners were absent on their messages to the tribes, some effort was made to protect the troops against the still sharp winds of early spring. The halt and partly permanent camp was most fortunate; for had the troops been on the march, a terrible snow-storm that ensued would have wrought havoc, for the cold became so intense, and the snow so blinding, it was only through great precautions that loss of life was prevented. The animals were given an extra ration of oats, while the guards were obliged to take whips and strike at the horses on the picket-line, to keep them in motion and prevent them from freezing. The snow was eight inches deep, a remarkable fall for Kansas at that time of the year. As we read over these accounts, which all the letters contained, though mine touched lightly on the subject, owing to my husband's fixed determination to write of the bright side, we felt that we had hardly a right to our fires and comfortable quarters. There were officers on the expedition who could not keep warm. A number were then enduring their first exposure to the elements, and I remember that several, who afterward became stalwart, healthy men, were then partial invalids, owing to sedentary life in the States, delicate lungs or climatic influences.

In my husband's letters there was a laughable description of his lending his dog to keep a friend warm. The officer came into his tent after dark, declaring that no amount of bedding had any effect in keeping out the cold, and he had come to borrow a dog, to see if he could have one night's uninterrupted rest. Our old hound was offered, because he could cover such a surface, for he was a big brute, and when he once located himself he rarely moved until morning. My husband forgot, in giving Rover his recommendation, to mention a habit he had of sleeping audibly, besides a little fashion of twitching his legs and thumping his cumbrous tail, in dreams that were evidently of the chase, or of battles he was living over, in which "Turk," the bull-dog, was being vanquished. He was taken into the neighbor's tent, and induced to settle for the night, after the General's coaxing and pretense of going to sleep beside him. Later, when he went back to see how Rover worked as a portable furnace, he found the officer sound asleep on his back, emitting such nasal notes as only a stout man is equal to, while Rover lay sprawled over the broad chest of his host, where he had crept after he was asleep, snoring with an occasional interlude of a long-drawn snort, introduced in a manner peculiar to foxhounds. The next morning my husband was not in the least surprised, after what he had seen the night before, to receive a call from the officer, who presented a request to exchange dogs. He said that when he made the proposal, he did not expect to have a bedfellow that would climb up over his lungs and crush all the breath out of his body. Instead of showing proper sympathy, the General threw himself on his pallet and roared with laughter.

All these camp incidents brightened up the long letters, and kept me from realizing, as I read, what were the realities of that march, undertaken so early in the season. But as the day advanced, and the garrison exchanged the news contained in all the letters that had arrived from the expedition, I could not deceive myself into the belief that the way of our regiment had thus far been easy.

With all my endeavors to divide the day methodically, and enforce certain duties upon myself, knowing well that it was my only refuge from settled melancholy, I found time a laggard. It is true, my clothes were in a deplorable state, for while our own officers were with us they looked to us to fill up their leisure hours. The General, always devoted to his books, could read in the midst of our noisy circle; but I was never permitted much opportunity, and managed to keep up with the times by my husband's account of the important news, and by the agreeable method of listening to the discussions of the men upon topics of the hour. If, while our circle was intact, I tried to sew, a ride, a walk or a game of parlor croquet was proposed, to prevent my even mending our clothing. Now that we were alone, it was necessary to make the needle fly. Eliza was set up with a supply of blue-checked gowns and aprons, while my own dresses were reconstructed, the riding-habit was fortified with patches, and any amount of stout linen thread disappeared in strengthening the seams; for between the hard riding and the gales of wind we encountered, the destruction of a habit was rapid.