The heat has been almost unbearable to us from the mountains, and one morning I nearly collapsed while having things "fitted" in the stuffy rooms of a dressmaker. Many of these nouveaux riches dress elegantly, and their jewels are splendid. All the women here have such white skins, and by comparison I must look like a Mexican, my face is so brown from years of exposure to dry, burning winds. Of course there has been much shopping to do, and for a time it was so confusing—to have to select things from a counter, with a shop girl staring at me, or perhaps insisting upon my purchasing articles I did not want. For years we had shopped from catalogues, and it was a nice quiet way, too. Parasols have bothered me. I would forget to open them in the street, and would invariably leave them in the stores when shopping, and then have to go about looking them up. But this is the first summer I have been East in nine years, and it is not surprising that parasols and things mix me up at times.
Faye has a beautiful saddle horse—his gait a natural single foot—and I sometimes ride him, but most of my outings are on the electric cars. I might as well be on them, since I have to hear their buzz and clang both day and night from our rooms here in the hotel. The other morning, as I was returning from a ride across the river to Council Bluffs, I heard the shrill notes of a calliope that reminded me that Forepaugh's circus was to be in town that day, and that I had promised to go to the afternoon performance with a party of friends. But soon there were other sounds and other thoughts. Above the noise of the car I heard a brass band—and there could be no mistake—it was playing strong and full one of Sousa's marches, "The March Past of the Rifle Regiment"—a march that was written for Faye while he was adjutant of the regiment, and "Dedicated to the officers and enlisted men" of the regiment. For almost three years that one particular march had been the review march of the regiment—that is, it had been played always whenever the regiment had passed in review before the colonel, inspector general of the department, or any official of sufficient rank and authority to review the troops.
The car seemed to go miles before it came to a place where I could get off. Every second was most precious and I jumped down while it was still in motion, receiving a scathing rebuke from the conductor for doing so. I almost ran until I got to the walk nearest the band, where I tagged along with boys, both big and small. The march was played for some time, and no one could possibly imagine, how those familiar strains thrilled me. But there was an ever-increasing feeling of indignation that a tawdry coated circus band, sitting in a gilded wagon, should presume to play that march, which seemed to belong exclusively to the regiment, and to be associated only with scenes of ceremony and great dignity.
The circus men played the piece remarkably well, however, and when it was stopped I came back to the hotel to think matters over and have a heart-to-heart talk with myself. Of course I am more than proud that Faye is an aide-de-camp, and would not have things different from what they are, but the detail is for four years, and the thought of living in this unattractive place that length of time is crushing. But Faye will undoubtedly have his captaincy by the expiration of the four years, and the anticipation of that is comforting. It is the feeling of loneliness I mind here—of being lost and no one to search for me. I miss the cheery garrison life—the delightful rides, and it may sound funny, but I miss also the little church choir that finally became a joy to me. Sergeant Graves is now leader of the regimental band at Fort Snelling, and Matijicek is in New York, a member of the Damrosch orchestra. It is still something to wonder over that I should have been on a street car that carried me to a circus parade at the precise time the Review March was being played! It seems quite as marvelous as my having been seated at a supper table in a far-away ranch in Montana, the very night a number of horse breakers were there, also at the table, and one of them "put up" Rollo and me to his friends. I shall never forget how queer I felt when I heard myself discussed by perfect strangers in my very presence—not one of whom knew in the least who I was. It made me think that perhaps I was shadowy—invisible—although to myself I did not feel at all that way.
Faye wrote to Mr. Ames about Rollo, thinking that possibly he might buy him back, but Mr. Ames wrote in reply that Rollo had already been sold, because Mrs. Ames had found it impossible to manage him. Also that he was owned by the post trader at Fort Maginnis, who was making a pet of him. So, as the horse had a good home and gentle treatment, it was once more decided to leave him up in his native mountains. It might have been cruel to have brought him here to suffer from the heat, and to be frightened and ever fretted by the many strange sights and sounds. But I am not satisfied, for the horse had an awful fear of men when ridden or driven by them, and I know that he is so unhappy and wonders why I no longer come to him, and why I do not take him from the strange people who do not understand him. He was a wonderfully playful animal, and sometimes when Miller would be leading the two horses from our yard to the corral, he would turn Rollo loose for a run. That always brought out a number of soldiers to see him rear, lunge, and snort; his turns so quick, his beautiful tawny mane would be tossed from side to side and over his face until he looked like a wild horse. The more the men laughed the wilder he seemed to get. He never forgot Miller, however, but would be at the corral by the time he got there, and would go to his own stall quietly and without guidance. Poor Rollo!
CAMP NEAR UINTAH MOUNTAINS, WYOMING TERRITORY, August, 1888.
TO be back in the mountains and in camp is simply glorious! And to see soldiers walking around, wearing the dear old uniform, just as we used to see them, makes one feel as though old days had returned. The two colored men—chef and butler—rather destroy the technique of a military camp, but they seem to be necessary adjuncts; and besides, we are not striving for harmony and effect, but for a fine outing, each day to be complete with its own pleasures. It was a novel experience to come to the mountains in a private car! The camp is very complete, as the camp of a department commander should be, and we have everything for our comfort. We are fourteen miles from the Union Pacific Railroad and six from Fort Bridger, from which post our tents and supplies came. Our ice is sent from there, also, and of course the enlisted men are from that garrison.
The party consists of General and Mrs. Bourke, Mrs. Hall, Mrs. Bourke's sister, Mrs. Ord of Omaha, General Stanley, paymaster, Captain Rives, judge advocate—both of the department staff—Lieutenant Travis, junior aide-de-camp, Faye, and myself. Mrs. Ord is a pretty woman, always wears dainty gowns, and is a favorite with Omaha society people. I know her very well, still I hesitated about wearing my short-skirted outing suit, fearing it would shock her. But a day or two after we got here she said to me, "What are we to do about those fish, Mrs. Rae? I always catch the most fish wherever I go, but I hear that you are successful also!"
So with high spirits we started out by ourselves that very morning, everyone laughing and betting on our number of fish as we left camp. I wore the short skirt, but Mrs. Ord had her skirts pinned so high I felt that a tuck or two should be taken in mine, to save her from embarrassment. The fishing is excellent here and each one had every confidence in her own good luck, for the morning was perfect for trout fishing. Once I missed Mrs. Ord, and pushing some bushes back where I thought she might be, I saw a most comical sight. Lying flat on the ground, hat pushed back, and eyes peering over the bank of the stream, was Mrs. Ord, the society woman! I could not help laughing—she was so ridiculous in that position, which the pinned-up dress made even more funny—but she did not like it, and looking at me most reproachfully said, "You have frightened him away, and I almost had him." She had been in that position a long time, she said, waiting for a large trout to take her hook. The race for honors was about even that day, and there was no cause for envy on either side, for neither Mrs. Ord nor I caught one fish!
Our camp is near Smith's fork of Snake River, and not far from the camp is another fork that never has fish in it—so everyone tells us. That seemed so strange, for both streams have the same water from the stream above, and the same rocky beds. One day I thought I would try the stream, as Smith's fork was so muddy we could not fish in that. There had been a storm up in the mountains that had caused both streams to rise, so I caught some grasshoppers to bait with, as it would be useless, of course, to try flies. I walked along the banks of the swollen stream until I saw a place where I thought there should be a trout, and to that little place the grasshopper was cast, when snap! went my leader. I put on another hook and another grasshopper, but the result was precisely the same, so I concluded there must be a snag there, although I had supposed that I knew a fish from a snag! I tried one or two other places, but there was no variation—and each time I lost a leader and hook.