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.

An old Army Christmas

It is not always the comforts of our modern garrison life that contribute most largely to our happiness and contentment. There comes to me a delight in the memory of past pleasures experienced amid surroundings primitive indeed if compared with those of the present day army life.

As the holiday season approaches there comes vividly to my mind one of the most delightful recollections of Christmas cheer that I have in my gallery of reminiscences of the old frontier life.

News came to our station Fort Custer Montana that the Indians near the British border threatened an uprising. It was the old story we had heard so often. The agent and others at Fort Peck Agency, Poplar River became so alarmed that they hastily left the agency. With the news came orders for us to immediately proceed to the scene of trouble. Accordingly within a few days two companies of the Eleventh Infantry, “B” and “F” ere packed and ready to leave the post with all their household belongings and person effects. When we started on the march our faces were headed toward we knew not what, except that it was to be a new home which were to construct with such materials as the country afforded. How long or short would be our stay no one knew.

It was a typical wagon train that turned its back upon our late home which I am sure none of us ever saw again. The procession, I imagine, was not unlike those creaking caravans of the present day South Africa of which one reads so much.

The ambulance was occupied by three children, and my cook with her baby.

But two ladies accompanied the command, the wife of another officer and myself. When either of us was weary, we too jolted along in the ambulance, but we preferred riding at our husbands’ sides, on horses provided for us. Sometimes for days at a time I never left the saddle except for our meal stops and for evening camp. Our goods and the varied property of the officers and men, were all piled in the Army wagons. We might have been likened to the snail, in that our home went with us; though our pace decidedly saved us from the appellation.

I remember well the tiny maltese kitten that belonged to my husband that rode in the wagon with the children.

Down the Big Horn and Yellowstone valleys then across the buffalo ranges, thus we traveled, pushing on by day, stopping for meals, and camping at nights in our tents wherever the end of the day a march found us. We lived on the fresh meat of any game that came our way; and the canned goods that our commissary stores afforded; and drank from the different streams that crossed our path with their welcome refreshment. No thoughts of microbes or boiled water were associated with that uninhabited country.

If we were near an isolated ranch at the end of the day’s march, we made camp near it for the bit of extra company, and fresh eggs that it sometimes afforded. The recollection of one of these stops comes to me so vividly. It was called the “Dirty Woman’s Ranch” (and well named too) for its proprietress, who was otherwise known as Mrs. Burns. Nothing but the name was ever known of Mr. Burns. Where or when he existed, if ever, was the “Dirty Woman’s” secret. The ethics of the frontier forbade questions of a persona nature. Even without the restraints of frontier etiquette, it is doubtful if any one would have had the temerity or fool hardiness ever to question her actions or deeds in any way.

Her ranch was the regular overland stage station. The “dirty woman” prepared all the meals in the filthy costume she effected, and to which she owed the sobriquet which she seemed to enjoy.

When the meals were ready, invariably would she go to the only door of her little ranch, and in the strident, hoarse tones that everyone instantly recognized, shouted, “Grub pile” for the benefit of whomever it might concern. In answer to her call, the guests sat down to the table covered with a dirty red cloth, set with salt pork, or buffalo steak, or venison; black bread, and blacker coffee, flanked by brown sugar, and if the provision wagon afforded such a luxury, condensed milk. The summons was, to say the least, informal, and the meal was far from appetizing; but this was over looked for, when all was said and done, the fact remained that she was a woman and her sex was at a premium in that country in those early days.

My husband and I had for servants at that time a negro, named Cox, and Milley, his wife. Their only child was but a few months old when we took up the march to Fort Peck Agency. For several days the baby boy had been ailing. With all the care that the attending physician could give, he grew steadily worse, until one night, as the tents were pitched on the dreary waste, the little soul passed away.

It was near Glendive that the baby’s illness culminated in death and the next morning while the early sun was shining brightly, the tiny body was wrapped in a blanket, enclosed in a crack box, and interred at the foot of a cottonwood tree. My husband read the burial service while the bereaved couple stood by bowed with sorrow. Then the name “Allan Olan Cox” was carved on the tree trunk; and, the camp broken, the cavalcade moved away, leaving the lonely little grave which none of us were to ever see again, as an unraveled mystery to those who should follow in the coming years.

After crossing the Yellowstone River we came upon great herds of buffalo. There were countless thousands of them, so that the noise of their feeding at night kept many of us from sleep. They paid little heed to the party of soldiers and their caravan, these denizens of the prairie, not even deigning to resent their presence. So dense were the herds and so great the danger of a stampede that would sweep away our train, that it was found necessary to open fire on them with a piece of artillery in order to cut our way through the stupid mass. The result of this slaughter afforded us some steaks for our next few meals.

One of the soldiers also killed a badger on the way and out of curiosity we roasted it. The meat was found to be very tender and savory.

One morning not long after that we awoke to a curious spectacle. As we emerged from our tents we were confronted with great white peering faces, wide-eyed and curious, topped with snowy long ears cocked quizzically at us. It was at first startling, but, upon investigation, we discovered that the familiar dark bodies of our mules were still attached to spectral heads.

It then transpired that, in a restless inquisitive mood, the faithful mules had broken into our flour supply during the night and in wasting it all had stamped themselves as the culprits by the white coating with which their investigations had branded them. Had they stopped to reason out the situation, I do not think they would have given away to their impulse, for in view of our need of flour they were urged forward at an even quicker pace than they had been traveling; and for the next eight miles they at least partially made up for their misdemeanor.

Flour was a necessary article and yeast, had it been attainable, would have been as precious as gold. As it was, for six long weeks were obliged to live on bread raised by baking power. The experience was not so pleasant as to cause any of us to ever repeat the experiment, when yeast was within several miles in any direction.

October had already half passed when we reached our destination. The situation was all that it had been pictured, and even worse. The Indians received us sullenly, and watched our every move with jealous suspicion. As there was no shelter save the tents in which we had been living while on the march, our first need was protection, not only from the approaching winter, but also from the threatening Indians.

So it was that the soldiers immediately began work on the cantonment. Suitable logs were searched for along the river bottom and brought to the site that had been selected; while constant vigilance was the price we paid for sufficient freedom to permit effective work. Had conditions been better known beforehand, we ladies would never have been allowed o accompany the command; but once there, it was impossible for us to leave until navigation opened up in the Spring.

The nights were horrors for the most timid ones for there we lived in the heart of hostile Indian country – a couple of thousand sullen savages at our doors and only a handful of devoted men to protect us from the dreadful possibilities our position held.

By the sixteenth of December we were installed in our cabins. They were built of rough logs chinked with mid. Canvas was spread over the board roofs to give a little greater protection. The officers’ quarters had two rooms of about thirteen by seventeen and one-half feet, lighted by two windows each. The floors were loose rough boards laid on the ground; but makeshifts as they were, we ladies used every art to make them attractive with the very limited means at our command. The soldiers had little huts, each of which could shelter about a dozen men.

It was high time for more protection than the tents afforded, as the Indians were daily growing more aggressive, until we were forced to live behind rifle pits; even the officers not daring to leave the little fort without arms or an escort. It became almost a nightly occurrence for bullets whistling through the darkness to disturb our evening’s social converse or our night’s rest.

At last our situation made known to headquarters, nine troops of mounted Infantry and two troops of Cavalry from Fort Keogh; and a troop of Cavalry and detachment of Infantry from Fort Buford, were sent to our relief. I shall never forget the sight they presented on their arrival just at dusk on Christmas eve.

The air was clear with the great still cold when the weary riders made their appearance. The sweat on the faces, shoulders and flanks of the ponies had frozen, until from the uniform white of their appearance they seemed all to be of one color as they strung out in the early twilight. The cheer of hearty welcome with which we greeted the new comers must have warmed their hearts almost as much as their appearance cheered us.

All the available dry wood to be had was turned over to them; and soon the bright glow of fires lessened the gloom of the bitter winter night. The mercury was actually frozen, yet the relieving troops had no shelter but the tents they had brought with them on the march.

It was the beautiful army custom in those days for the officers already at the station to call the first evening upon the new arrivals. Accordingly, our officers visited the tents that were put up in military precision close as convenient to our little shacks. Afterward all the new officers, most of whom I had already met, called to pay their respects to the two ladies in this little beleaguered post they had endured so much to relieve.

It was not much like a holiday gathering that Christmas Eve. They came dressed as best that their limited kits afforded. (Winter campaigns in Montana were far from being pleasure trips.) Several of them were suffering from frozen noses, ears, cheeks or fingers, from the terrible exposure of the past week’s ride. The painful peeling process was exceedingly annoying; but not a word of complaint was heard.

Realizing how hard it was for them to be away from their wives and families under such trying circumstances, and especially at this time of year that stands for family reunions, I invited ten of them for Christmas dinner the next day. It was my pleasure to take all possible pains to make my dinner attractive, and the subsequent delight of the home-hungry men fully repaid me.

When we entered our quarters, I had personally superintended the lining of both rooms with heavy brown paper such as is used between partitions and floors to keep houses warm.

In one room stood the bed hidden by a large screen. It had proved my good fortune to have ordered my piano to be shipped to Fort Custer too late in the season for it to arrive before we left for Poplar River. It had come up to Fort Buford on the last boat before navigation closed for the winter; and from there it had been forwarded to Poplar River sixty miles up the Missouri. So, delightfully incongruous as it was, we had the piano in the combination bed and sitting room, flanked by my guitar and banjo. Near it, suspended from the ceiling was a hanging lamp. At each window hung lace curtains and wine colored red lambrequins; and with the floor made warm with buffalo robes the little room was voted delightfully cozy by all who entered.

In the dining room stood our dresser which was utilized as a side-board; my big “Saratoga” trunk, and the smaller traveling trunks, all covered and curtained and made into seats. A door in the rear of the room communicated with our cooking-tent, which was put up like a lean-to on a frame, with loose boards for flooring. Two great stoves which burned green cottonwood kept the little two-roomed house warm. For the Christmas dinner, several tables were put together in the small dining room, almost filling it.

Despite their unpleasant and decidedly uncomfortable situation, all the guests appeared with the bright holiday faces that their beautiful optimism and gentle courtesy prompted.

Covers were laid for twelve, and as we entered the dining-room the guests stood still with appreciation at the sight of the table. I had procured from the trader, who had cared fort hem until we had entered our shacks, several geranium plants; and by Christmas their buds had opened into warm red flowers. They were at that bleak season a delight.

When the officers saw that the dinner preparations were more elaborate than they could have hoped for in that out-of-the-way place, their faces brightened still more, and as the evening progressed my heart warmed to see the spirit of Christmas was assisting my anxious hospitality in causing them to forget themselves and enjoy the present as much as possible.

Our first course was raw oysters, which were canned and frozen before shipment. For it I had made careful preparation. My man had cut for me a large square block of ice and twelve small ones. With hammer and chisel and the aid of a dishpan and a baking-powder can filled with boiling water, these were transformed into receptacles for the sea food. A hot flat-iron made for them all beveled edges, and the large block was further decorated with our monogram. The whole gave a beautiful crystal effect. The novelty delighted the guests and immediately dispelled the traces of sadness that threatened. In fact, the ice dishes most effectually broke the social ice, and started a warmth of approbation and comfort in the little dinner.

The diary I have kept all my life brings back to me even the menu of that night. After the oysters came soup, homemade, and not the canned variety with which we had become so familiar as diners on the frontier. Then followed salmon croquette with egg sauce and potatoes. The butcher had provided me with sweet-breads, and these were served in patties with peas fresh – from the can.

Too isolated for Christmas turkey, we had a big roast of beef, and I really do not believe the guests gave one passing thought to the holiday bird. Potatoes and cabbage a la cauliflower completed that course. Prairie chickens and currant jelly tarts melted from view before the canned asparagus salad made its appearance, and no hostess ever had more reason to be gratified by the enthusiasm with which each dish was received, than I had upon that occasion. Cheese and crackers preceded the sherbet, home-made cake, and the candies I had made with hurried zeal.

Before coffee had entirely disappeared, the room was comfortably perfumed with cigar smoke, and the party was launched upon after-dinner stories. We had been three hours and a half at table, and were now quite in the humor for music and lively conversation.

One of the officers was an accomplished musician, and of course delighted with the presence of the piano. Solo, duet, chorus, story and instrumental duet followed each other in happy succession for a couple of hours after.

But the time for good-nights abruptly reminded us that this was the last social gathering before the impending fight with the Indians, which their insolent and threatening. Dispositions made inevitable. The idea entered every mind that the coming week might find us beyond earthly pleasures, and, as we were separated from all those we held dear in this world, it was impossible to escape a little depression. Since there are no sorrowful incidents to remember in connection with the fight, however, the recollection of our momentary depression does not dim that of the Christmas cheer.

One of the officers came to me just before they returned to their cheerless tents and the look upon his face wrung my heart. He had been unusually quiet for some time; but with true soul bravery and unselfishness, had tried to hide his feelings for fear of casting gloom up on the party. Now he came to me and said in low tones:

“I want to ask a favor of your, Mrs. H. If – if I should not get back again, and you see my wife and babies, will you tell them that I thought of them last night?” Then, as though ashamed of the tears that hung heavy in his eyes, and the fear in his heart for those he left behind, he squared his shoulders and added in a voice that vainly tried to express optimism:

“But I’ll be back, I’ll be back.”

Two other guests quietly asked me to take care of their wills, for of course we two ladies with the children would be protected to the last, and our goods would be safer than the guarded effects of the officers. And so my big trunk received more into its safekeeping two wills; and I was charged with more than one last message.

Then with courageous hearts and bravely smiling faces, the Christmas guests took leave. It was an unusual holiday feast in every way, and the possibilities that the future held did not tend to make it less so; but I am glad to add that the dinner was not the last we enjoyed together. The Indians were overcome with greater dispatch than expected, and without any fatalities on our side; had it been otherwise my memory would have been of sorrow. Every one of that evening’s party was spared to gather among their own for many subsequent “Merry Christmases,” and to partake of “Peace on earth; good-will toward men.”