ONCE again we have our trunks packed for the long trip to Montana, and this time I think we will go, as the special train that is to take us is now at the station, and baggage of the regiment is being hurriedly loaded. Word came this morning that the regiment would start to-night, so it seems that at last General Sherman has gained his point. For three long weeks we have been kept here in suspense—packing and then unpacking—one day we were to go, the next we were not to go, while the commanding general and the division commander were playing "tug of war" with us.
The trip will be long and very expensive, and we go from a hot climate to a cold one at a season when the immediate purchase of warm clothing is imperative, and with all this unexpected expense we have been forced to pay big hotel bills for weeks, just because of a disagreement between two generals that should have been settled in one day. Money is very precious to the poor Army at present, too, for not one dollar has been paid to officers or enlisted men for over three months! How officers with large families can possibly manage this move I do not see—sell their pay accounts I expect, and then be court martialed for having done so.
Congress failed to pass the army appropriation bill before it adjourned, consequently no money can be paid to the Army until the next session! Yet the Army is expected to go along just the same, promptly pay Uncle Sam himself all commissary and quartermaster bills at the end of each month, and without one little grumble do his bidding, no matter what the extra expense may be. I wonder what the wise men of Congress, who were too weary to take up the bill before going to their comfortable homes—I wonder what they would do if the Army as a body would say, "We are tired. Uncle, dear, and are going home for the summer to rest. You will have to get along without us and manage the Indians and strikers the best way you can." This would be about as sensible as forcing the Army to be paupers for months, and then ordering regiments from East to West and South to North. Of course many families will be compelled to remain back, that might otherwise have gone.
We are taking out a young colored man we brought up with us from Holly Springs. He has been at the arsenal since we have been here, and Hal has been with him. It is over one year since the dog saw me, and I am almost afraid he will not know me tonight at the station. Before we left Pass Christian Faye telegraphed the sergeant to bring Hal with the company and purchase necessary food for him on the way up. So, when the company got here, bills were presented by several of the men, who claimed to have bought meat for the dog, the sum total of which was nine dollars for the two days! We were so pleased to know that Hal had been so well cared for. But the soldiers were welcome to the money and more with it, for we were so glad to have the dog with us again, safe and well.
We have quite a Rae family now—Faye and I—a darky, a greyhound, and one small gray squirrel! It will be a hard trip for Billie, but I have made for him a little ribbon collar and sewed securely to it a long tape which makes a fine "picket rope" that can be tied to various things in various places, and in this way he can be picketed and yet receive exercise and air.
We are to go almost straight north from the railroad for a distance of over four hundred miles, and of course this will take several weeks under the most favorable conditions. But you must not mind our going so far away—it will be no farther than the Indian Territory, and the climate of Montana must be very much better than it was at Camp Supply, and the houses must certainly be more comfortable, as the winters are so long and severe. I shall be so glad to have a home of my own again, and have a horse to ride also.
Faye has just come from the station and says that almost everything has been loaded, and that we are really to start to-night at eight o'clock. This is cheering news, for I think that everyone is anxious to get to Montana, except the poor officers who cannot afford to take their families with them.
CORINNE, UTAH TERRITORY, September, 1877.
WE were almost one week coming out, but finally got here yesterday morning. Our train was a special, and having no schedule, we were often sidetracked for hours at a time, to make way for the regular trains. As soon as possible after we arrived, the tents were unpacked and put up, and it was amazing to see how soon there was order out of chaos. This morning the camp looks like a little white city—streets and all. There is great activity everywhere, as preparations have already commenced for the march north. Our camp "mess" has been started, and we will be very comfortable, I think, with a good soldier cook and Cagey to take care of the tents. I am making covers for the bed, trunk, and folding table, of dark-blue cretonne with white figures, which carries out the color scheme of the folding chairs and will give a little air of cheeriness to the tent, and of the same material I am making pockets that can be pinned on the side walls of the tent, in which various things can be tucked at night. These covers and big pockets will be folded and put in the roll of bedding every morning.
There are not enough ambulances to go around, so I had my choice between being crowded in with other people, or going in a big army wagon by myself, and having had one experience in crowding, I chose the wagon without hesitation. Faye is having the rear half padded with straw and canvas on the sides and bottom, and the high top will be of canvas drawn over "bows," in true emigrant fashion. Our tent will be folded to form a seat and placed in the back, upon which I can sit and look out through the round opening and gossip with the mules that will be attached to the wagon back of me. In the front half will be packed all of our camp furniture and things, the knockdown bed, mess-chest, two little stoves (one for cooking), the bedding which will be tightly rolled in canvas and strapped, and so on. Cagey will sit by the driver. There is not one spring in the wagon, but even without, I will be more comfortable than with Mrs. Hayden and three small children. They can have the ambulance to themselves perhaps, and will have all the room. I thought of Billie, too. He can be picketed all the time in the wagon, but imagine the little fellow's misery in an ambulance with three restless children for six or eight hours each day!