69 Below; 115 Above

Camp Poplar River, Montana, was the real, bona-fide, unmistakable “jumping off” place. It was on the Missouri River, about sixty miles west of its junction with the Yellowstone. The railroad was at Glendire, a hundred and forty miles away, with the only intervening white settlement at Fort Buford, another army outpost, about half way between.

Life at Poplar River, in the early 80s was quite as trying, I imagine, as would be successive service in Alaska and the Philippines. The dreadful extremes of temperature while we were stationed there cause me to fear the criticism of exaggeration in writing of them truthfully. My diary tells me it was 69 degrees F. below zero, as does also a newspaper clipping I have cut from some paper at the time. I have read somewhere that the official record is 67 degrees. But it makes but little difference to me which is correct, for it was too cold to care. There came a time, during the late fall of our first year at Poplar River, when the cold and an artificial heat met -- to the devastation of the little log house we called “home.” The day was clear and crisp, as I drove home from Fort Peck Agency, where my duties as secretary of our missionary society had called me. Sufficient snow covered the ground to make sleigh riding a real joy, and I was comfortably ensconced in my home-made box-sleigh, and deeply bundled in a regular wad of soft buffalo robes, which were then so plentiful and cheap. The air was invigorating; my heart was care-free, and the sleigh-bells jingled so merrily that a song arose to my lips in response to the rhythm of muffled hoofbeats and bells.

Upon approaching the post my song suddenly ceased at the sight of dense smoke issuing from a set of quarters I whipped up my pony, and meeting an India, who was riding away from the post, I greeted and questioned him about the smoke. He returned my salutation, the in a calm, matter-of-fact tone told me where the fire was: “Tipi notowa, cola” (“Your house, friend”).

Startled, yet scarcely believing, I stood up in my sleigh and urged my pony into a running gallop. Upon close approach I found he dreadful news to be only too true. My little home was enveloped in smoke, and flames were spitting through the windows and out between the logs.

The fire was quite an unusual spectacle to the Indians, and many of them stood about, stolid and inactive, silent and watching. The soldiers, however, were very active, and it appeared that as soon as the fire had been discovered they had begin their attempts to save as much as possible from the threatened destruction.

When the sleigh stopped, I managed to dismount, with tear-flooded eyes, and rushed toward my burning possessions. A young surgeon, newly appointed, came running toward me with his wife.

“Oh, dear Mrs. H!” they exclaimed in sympathetic tones. “Don’t cry! You come and lie down in our house.”

However, their warm-hearted solicitude was not calculated to appeal to me in the presence of the sights that greeted me. Men were dragging furniture and brac-abrac from the house,some working systematically and effectively; others had “lost their heads” in the excitement. One great, strapping, big soldier carried out very carefully a “tilter” one of those long “bustles,” or hoopskirts, of wire and tape that was then in vogue. With it he walked outside, and placing it safely on the ground, returned to the burning house. A minute later he reappeared bearing a very pretty gilt-framed looking-glass and without crossing the doorsill, he pitched his burden out on the ground, shattering it into a mass of splinters!

The sight gave increased impetus to my nervous energy. I rushed forward to direct the soldiers’ efforts to save my belongings and against their remonstrance went myself into the building to procure things of whose hiding places I alone knew.

The building was what is called a double set of quarters. Our quarters occupied one side of the building, the other was used for the Adjutant’s office, where the fire had started from a defective stovepipe. The entire structure was so completely destroyed that there was nothing left but a covering of ashes over the ground where it had stood.

A big German, who had worked very faithfully during the fire, and had been instrumental in saving my big square piano and a very pretty hand-carved set of furniture went over the ruins the following day, digging in the ashes and prospecting. In the still-smoking debris, where our sideboard had stood in the dining-room, he found a big lump of silver, melted into a shapeless mass. This he offered to the post trader for sale. When told he should return it to Lieut. H., as he had no right to it, he exclaimed: “No sir! That belongs to me I saved lots of things for the Lieutenant, and he will get it all back. I hear he has a couple thousand dollars insurance.”

So it was that we never recovered even the material that composed all of our wedding silver. It was this man whom I have mentioned in a previous story as having attempting to tune my piano, with such disastrous results.

New quarters were at once started and while they were in course of construction we moved into another set during the cold season. It was intensely cold; every precaution had to be taken to protect ourselves against freezing. Snow was constantly on the ground, but except when the furious blizzards swept over the prairie the cold was still, penetrating, and dry. At night the sky would be inky blue, and it seems to me one could see twice as many stars as are visible near the sea-level, and stars bright here seemed out there almost near enough to touch, so clear is the atmosphere of that high prairie land. We had become accustomed to it bu the time winter was in full sway that we though nothing of wrapping up and going for a horseback ride when the thermometer registered far below zero.

Many delightful rides we had, returning on our frost-covered mounts, our hands and fingers stiff with cold, but our lungs full of as fresh air as man has ever breathed outside of Eden.

Our cheeks held the glow of perfect health, though sometimes the red was eclipsed by white, waxy spots that appeared suddenly and spread without feeling or warning. Often a gay conversation was interrupted by the words, “Your face is freezing!” The one so unconsciously affected would nonchalantly reach for a handful of snow, and rub it upon the white spot until the cold application and friction brought back healthy circulation, then continue a conversation scarcely broken.

Once in a while none were at hand to give warning, and more than one solder, in the cold winter of ‘80-’81, suffered from frozen ears, noses, fingers or toes. In the extreme case, when members froze, the fleshy parts withered and sloughed off; such such cases were surprisingly rare when one takes into consideration the exposure to which everyone was subjected.

In our quarters we kept the stove fires going every minute of the twenty-four hour days. During the coldest weather, in order that the heat might be retained, and the fires not die, the servants went to bed early in the evening in order to arise before daybreak and tend them. We ourselves carefully watched them until late into the night, and they were our last care before retiring. This a fairly equitable temperature was maintained during the sleeping hours.

My sister, from the Far East, visited us one winter, and we had a great time keeping her warm. At night she wrapped her legs in newspaper, and wore heavy “German socks,” a sort of woolen boot, very thick and warm, with long, fleecy loops o the inside. On the beds we used buffalo robes, over as many heavy Army blankets as we could hold up. Nevertheless, many a morning we have awakened to find my eyebrows and bangs and my husband’s mustache frozen to the buffalo fur in ice formed from the moisture of our exhalations!

The mercury in the thermometer kept dropping until it could shrink no further, and then froze; and once I saw the unique performance of the post blacksmith flattening the frozen mercury bulb by gently tapping on the anvil with his hammer. The spirit thermometer was the only instrument with which the lowest temperature could be measured.

Despite their constant exposure to this cold, sleeping on the ground, and living practically in the open, the Indians fared better than we had hoped. Perhaps their comparative comfort, in some cases, was due to the precautions they had taken when the cold weather had set in. Many of them in that vicinity had greased themselves from head to toe with tallow, then rubbed on a coating of earth. Thus they formed a closer fitting garment of protection and warmth than any to which we had recourse.

In the summer time they dispensed with this earthy garment, and well they might! During one hot summer I well remember six successive days of the intensest heat I have ever had to endure in our seasons of service all over this country and in the Philippines. The days were a succession of scorching, blistering, maddening days, for the temperature dropped so imperceptibly that in our exhausted condition we could feel little relief, even after the setting sun.

My same little diary records that it was 115 degrees F. in the shade for several days. Every one suffered from the heat, more than the cold, against which there was some protection. The animals, as well as their owners, sought relief in quietness, and rested every possible moment. All life seemed swathed in lethargy, and nothing but the most necessary duties inspired energy in anyone or anything to stir. Our appetites dwindled, and our only craving was for ice-water, with which to saturate the parching tissues. To relieve our cook, as far as possible, from work, and to spare her the awful torture of bending over a heated stove, we subsisted during the worst heat upon cold meals, principally cold canned bouillon, cold canned meats, salads and ices. All our rugs were, of course, taken up, but the floors of our quarters were far from being cool. We had tubs of ice water kept in the rooms, and in these we dipped big army blankets and hung them, dripping before the windows. In this way the ardor of the incoming heat waves was somewhat dampened ere they reached the recesses of our quarters.

The big old Army blankets are forever associated in my mind with both extremes of weather in the unprotected Western posts. Their utility was established beyond question when they so ably protected us from the insidious frosts of the winters and the all-pervading heat of the summers.