A funny thing occurred that evening. The captain and I were sitting in his tent talking when there was a scratch at the tent cloth and when the captain said, "Come!" the flap was thrown back and one of the sergeants saluted and said: "Report for duty, captain." The captain said: "Sergeant, have ye got any money?" "Yis, captain, a little." "Go and spend it, go and spend it." The sergeant saluted and dropped the tent flap and walked away and the captain turned to me and said: "No use trying to do anything with them until the money is spent, and the whiskey is out of them." Two or three hours afterwards the sergeant returned, scratched on the tent, threw the flap back as before and saluted, and again said in a rather husky voice: "Report for duty, captain." "Sergeant, have you got any money?" "Not a cint, captain." "Very well, report to the first sergeant for duty." The captain told me this was a fair illustration of his experience on every pay day. It is hardly necessary to say that the captain was not a West Point graduate, but he was a royal good fellow and a good soldier and I observed while in the service that officers promoted from the ranks were the most devoted to the interests and comforts of their men. The trip back to my post was east by rail to Junction City and thence on the M., K. and T. to its terminus in the territory. The railway was then under construction and the terminus was changed every month or so. From the railroad I went by stage to Fort Sill. Nothing of interest occurred on the way until we arrived at the last stage station east of the fort. We had breakfast there and were told we had better get in the stage as they were about ready to start. We found a bunch of men hitching up a pair of mules to a light stage-like vehicle, and were told that they were just breaking them in and that it was better to get in the stage first. The driver was already up in his seat and Mr. Stearns, a very large man and owner of the ranch where we had breakfast, was up beside the driver, and was going with us some three or four miles to where they had made a cut-off that took us by a large spring of water, the last we could get before reaching Cache creek, some eighteen miles away. When all was ready and the driver had the lines well in hand the word "Go" was given, and away we went at full speed, much like a horse race. The driver's efforts being wholly devoted to keeping the team in the road. They ran full speed most of the way to the springs but when we arrived there they were going in a quiet little trot, seemingly satisfied with the fun they had had on the way. Mr. Stearns got down and held their bits and the driver got down and we got out of the stage—another man and myself being the only passengers—and walked toward the springs. I do not know how it happened, but when one trace was unfastened the mules broke away from Mr. Stearns and struck out over the prairie. My first thought was that we would have to walk back and wait for some other means of conveyance, but the off mule having one trace unfastened had the advantage in the race and out over the prairie they went in a great circle, round and round at full speed, scattering luggage from the hind boot of the stage until they ran themselves down, the driver and Mr. Stearns cutting across and trying to catch them. At last they succeeded for the mules were pretty well winded by this time and ready to go slow. We found nothing broken and soon had our luggage gathered up and the mules watered and were on our way. We got into Fort Sill a little later than the usual stage time, nothing the worse for the wear.
I do not remember whether it was before or after my trip to Fort Harker that I was called to the Indian agency near Fort Sill to see Black Beaver, the chief of the Delawares, who was sick and had come there for treatment. I found him suffering from dysentery and was seriously ill, and as he was an old man I had serious doubts as to his recovery. He was neither able nor disposed to talk although he knew enough English to make himself understood, but after a few days he began to feel some interest in life and gradually improved until he was convalescent. I felt particularly interested in him because of a story I had read about him as interpreter in an early day for Colonel Marcey who was one of General Sherman's staff officers when they visited Fort Sill a short time before. When the colonel was a young officer in the service and had been sent out to make talks to the Indians, the story ran that the young officer had a pow-wow day appointed with the Kiowas and Comanches, and when they had assembled and gone through the preliminaries of such an occasion Captain Marcey told them of the great benefits the great father at Washington wished to confer on them, and wound up by saying: "We wish to put up poles across the country and string a wire on them and then you can talk over that wire to the Great Father in Washington and not have to wait until some of your people travel such a great way to see him." When he had finished he waited for Black Beaver to get up and tell it to the Indians, but Black Beaver did not move but hung his head and sat there. "Why don't you tell them," asked the captain. Black Beaver shook his head and said: "It's no use to tell them, I don't believe it myself." I was anxious to hear Black Beaver's report of that pow-wow, so when he was well enough I said to him one day: "General Sherman and staff were here a short time ago and Colonel Marcy was among them. I understand you knew Colonel Marcy a good many years ago." He brightened up and said: "Yes, I heard Captain Marcy was here and I wish I could have seen him." By careful questioning I got the story from him practically as Colonel Marcy had recorded it in his book. I said to him: "Well, do you believe it now?" He replied: "Oh, yes, I know it now, I know it can be done, but I don't know how." How much more ignorant was he than the most of us?
I find I have not made my sketch of the events at Fort Sill in order of their occurrence and must now refer back to the winter of 1870 and '71 and we were still under canvas in the camp. It was an unusually cold winter. The thermometer fell to fourteen degrees below zero and the snow was a foot or more deep on the ground. I mention this incident both for the purpose of showing some of the hardships that officers and their wives underwent and also to show the self-sacrifice and loyalty and devotion of the enlisted men in an emergency. Doctor Brown and his young wife were on their way to Fort Sill where he was to become post surgeon, a position I had held since Doctor Forward had been transferred to another post, and they were at the half-way camp between Fort Arbuckle and Fort Sill when the storm broke. The doctor's wife was confined there and the escort accompanying them devoted themselves night and day to making the camp as comfortable as possible, getting water, bringing wood, building fires and cooking, and this they kept up until the weather moderated and Mrs. Brown was sufficiently recovered to make it safe for her to travel. As the result of such heroism and devotion some of them were badly frost bitten, and all suffered more or less. I removed all the toes except one from one man's feet—only one of the large toes being left—and others lost a finger or two or parts of fingers and were otherwise frost bitten. In these cases nature sets up the line between the healthy and dead tissue and the amputation is made in the healthy part and far enough back to get a flap sufficient to cover the bone if possible.
Mrs. Brown and her beautiful baby came with us when we left the post, intending to quit the service. She to visit with friends and relatives in the east.
Another interesting occurrence took place when we were still in camp at Fort Sill. This was the loss of the quartermaster's mules, which occurred the latter part of the winter. The Indians—supposed to be—by some means got the gate of the corral open and with the leader on horseback rushed into the corral and set up the usual yells and shouts and soon had the whole bunch of 140 mules under way before the alarm could be given and the cavalry mounted for pursuit. They had such a start that they could not be followed in the night, it being very dark. Different commands of cavalry were sent out in pursuit but returned in a few days empty-handed. There was one young officer by the name of Harmon, a second lieutenant in the Tenth cavalry, a tall, rather good looking young fellow who had said to some officers that if they would give him a chance he would like to show what he could do. I think he finally went to General Grierson and expressed a wish to try. The general promptly gave him a detachment of cavalry, some thirty or more men, and told him to stay as long as he liked, but to bring back the mules if possible. Nothing was heard of him for some time but finally word came from Fort Arbuckle that Mr. Harmon had reported there with a bunch of horsethieves and that most of the mules were then on their way back to Fort Sill. I heard Mr. Harmon himself tell some of the details of the scout. He had got on the trail of the thieves—not Indians at all—somewhere south of Red river and found two of them in a house he went to at night for information, believing he was close to their camp. He took these two prisoners and waited until morning to attack the camp. The ranchmen where they had stopped and where they had already captured two of the thieves, knew the country well and acted as guides. Mr. Harmon and he had exchanged firearms on the way, he taking Mr. Harmon's pistol and Mr. Harmon his shotgun. They rode along the bed of a little stream until quite near their camp. Most of the thieves were still in bed but the negro cook was busy about the fire. Mr. Harmon's horse being much superior to anything in the command, he was among the thieves practically alone. He shot and wounded one of the men with the second barrel of his shotgun, and commanded them all to throw up their hands or he would kill the last one of them. He dropped the shotgun and reached for his pistols but of course they were gone. However, the thieves stood there with their hands up until the command came and they were hand-cuffed and were soon ready for the march to Fort Arbuckle, the nearest military post. Not more than a half dozen mules had been disposed of.
The sequel to this story was interesting to me for it caused me a trip to Fort Arbuckle and back. The guardhouse at Fort Arbuckle was not considered safe and it was thought best to send the thieves to the new guardhouse at Fort Sill until the law could take its course. They were sent under a guard of colored troops commanded by a sergeant with instructions to kill them if they tried to escape. The guard claimed that one man made a break for the brush, but the prisoners claimed that he did nothing of the kind, anyway one of them was badly wounded and was taken back to Fort Arbuckle, and as Doctor Brewer, the post surgeon was sick at that time a request for a medical officer come to Fort Arbuckle and cut a man's leg off was received at Fort Sill and I was ordered on that duty. Before I arrived at Fort Arbuckle, Doctor Brewer considered it too urgent a case to be delayed any longer, and although hardly able to handle the knife, he had amputated the leg before I got there. I remained a few days until the doctor was sufficiently recovered to attend to the medical duties of the post, and then returned to Fort Sill.
I now come to the last record I shall make of service at this post and have hesitated about mentioning it at all, and do so now in as few words as possible, not only because "there are sorrows too sacred to be babbled to the world" but also because they pull so hard on the heart strings. Our little boy was scalded to death at this camp. The negro servant had set a large kettle of boiling water off the stove, and some way in his play he fell into it. We laid him away in the cemetery on the hillside and had a stone covering placed over his grave, to mark the place where his little scalded body lay.