Two things have particularly impressed me, in looking back over the nearly half century since I entered the service—one is the amazing development of the west, and the other is the wonderful evolution in the practice of medicine and surgery. As an example of the first, take Kansas—not because it is Kansas, but because it is typical of the great west. Population in 1870, 364,399; in 1914, 1,677,106. Wheat crop in 1871, 4,614,924 bushels; in 1914, 180,925,885 bushels. And other crops in proportion. The western half of the state was then practically uninhabited. Today it is the great wheat belt of the country.
When I entered the service people died wholesale from diphtheria, typhoid fever and inflammation of the bowels. Bacteriology, the great searchlight of medicine, as we have it today, was then practically unknown. Today we innoculate against typhoid fever and are immune. Today we operate for appendicitis and inflammation of the bowels practically disappears from our list of diseases. Today we give antitoxin and the child's life is saved. We used to expect pus after a surgical operation and were disappointed if we did not get a so-called "healthy pus." Today the surgeon would be ashamed of it.
Both before leaving the army and since, I have had people refer to our army officers and their families, with some degree of aspersion, saying they were too proud and would not speak to common folk; that they were aristocrats, and much other nonsense. Possibly their isolated condition when I was in the service, gave some color to such accusations, but as far as I can estimate them, if they are an aristocracy, it is an aristocracy of merit; of intellect; of honor; of integrity; of loyalty; of a strong sense of duty and many other worthy qualities that mark them as distinguished from any other kind of aristocracy we have in this country, and I think particularly from our so-called aristocracy of wealth, so often associated with snobbery, and whose daughters so often present the nauseating spectacle, of trading themselves off to some degenerate and profligate descendant of inherited title and giving a million to boot.
Just now, 1918, we hear a great deal about the army and the necessity of increasing its numbers, and much about its officers, but do we ever hear anything about the officers' wives? They may not be of great importance now, but how was it forty or fifty years ago? At that time the great western half of our country was practically unsettled. There were few railroads, and no transcontinental line until 1869. Denver and Santa Fe were considered mere trading posts. There were only two overland stage lines and no settlements of consequence. The military posts were scattered over this vast region, separated from each other by many miles of distance and the ever present danger of attack from Indians. How about the wives of the army officers of that day, who shared with their husbands the dangers and hardships of frontier life? I wish here to pay my tribute to one who shared with me all of the sorrows, and most of the hardships herein related, and many others not considered of sufficient importance to mention. One who seldom complained; whose courage never faltered; whose abiding faith often prompted her to say, "It will all come out for the best in the end."
Thus, we have traveled along life's pathway, with its joys and sorrows, until now we realize that we have crossed the divide, and are going down the western slope. The shadows are growing longer, the valley is not far distant, night is coming on, it will soon be taps and the lights will go out.
Transcriber's Note:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
A Table of Contents has been added.