Tenting on the Plains (Illustrated Edition) - Elizabeth Bacon Custer

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constantly mystified as I considered how our officers, coming from all the wild enthusiasm of their Virginia life, could, as they expressed it, "buckle down" to the dull, exhausting days of a monotonous march.

      Young as I then was, I thought that to endure, to fight for and inflexibly pursue a purpose or general principle like patriotism, seemed to require far more patience and courage than when it is individualized. I did not venture to put my thoughts into words, for two reasons: I was too wary to let them think I acknowledged there were hardships, lest they might think I repented having come; for I knew then, as I know now, but feared they did not, that I would go through it all a hundred times over, if inspired by the reasons that actuated me. In the second place, I had already found what a habit it is to ridicule and make light of misfortune or vicissitude. It cut me to the quick at first, and I thought the officers and soldiers lacking in sympathy. But I learned to know what splendid, loyal friends they really were, if misfortune came and help was needed; how they denied themselves to loan money, if it is the financial difficulty of a friend; how they nursed one another in illness or accident; how they quietly fought the battles of the absent; and one occasion I remember, that an officer, being ill, was unable to help himself when a soldier behaved in a most insolent manner, and his brother officer knocked him down, but immediately apologized to the captain for taking the matter out of his hands. A hundred ways of showing the most unswerving fidelity taught me, as years went on, to submit to what I still think the deplorable habit, if not of ridicule, of suppressed sympathy. I used to think that even if a misfortune was not serious, it ought to be recognized, and none were afraid of showing that they possessed truly tender, gentle, sympathetic natures, with me or with any woman that came among them.

      The rivers, and even the small streams, in Texas have high banks. It is a land of freshets, and the most innocent little rill can rise to a roaring torrent in no time. Anticipating these crossings, we had in our train a pontoon bridge. We had to make long halts while this bridge was being laid, and then, oh! the getting down to it. If the sun was high, and the surgeon had consigned me to the traveling-wagon, I looked down the deep gulley with more than inward quaking. My trembling hands clutched wildly at the seat and my head was out at the side to see my husband's face, as he directed the descent, cautioned the driver, and encouraged me. The brake was frequently not enough, and the soldiers had to man the wheels, for the soil was wet and slippery from the constant passing of the pioneer force, who had laid the bridge. The heavy wagons, carrying the boats and lumber for the bridge, had made the side-hill a difficult bit of ground to traverse. The four faithful mules apparently sat down and slid to the water's edge; but the driver, so patient with my quiet imploring to go slowly, kept his strong foot on the brake and knotted the reins in his powerful hands. I blessed him for his caution, and then at every turn of the wheel I implored him again to be careful. Finally, when I poured out my thanks at the safe transit, the color mounted in his brown face, as if he had led a successful charge. In talking at night to Eliza, of my tremors as we plunged down the bank and were bounced upon the pontoon, which descended to the water's edge under the sudden rush with which we came, I added my praise of the driver's skill, which she carefully repeated as she slipped him, on the sly, the mug of coffee and hot biscuits with which she invariably rewarded merit, whether in officers or men. When I could, I made these descents on horseback, and climbed up the opposite bank with my hands wound in Custis Lee's abundant mane.

      Eliza, in spite of her constant lookout for some variety for our table, could seldom find any vegetables, even at the huts we passed. Corn pone and chine were the principal food of these shiftless citizens, butternut-colored in clothing and complexion, indifferent alike to food and to drink. At the Sabine River the water was somewhat clearer. The soldiers, leading their horses, crossed carefully, as it was dangerous to stop here, lest the weight should carry the bridge under; but they are too quick-witted not to watch every chance to procure a comfort, and they tied strings to their canteens and dragged them beside the bridge, getting, even in that short progress, one tolerably good drink. The wagon-train was of course a long time in crossing, and dinner looked dubious to our staff. Our faithful Eliza, as we talk over that march, will prove in her own language, better than I can portray, how she constantly bore our comfort on her mind:

      "Miss Libbie, do you mind, after we crossed the Sabine River, we went into camp? Well, we hadn't much supplies, and the wagons wasn't up; so, as I was a-waitin' for you all, I says to the boys, 'Now, you make a fire, and I'll go a-fishin'.' The first thing, I got a fish—well, as long as my arm. It was big, and jumped so it scart me, and I let the line go, but one of the men caught hold and jumped for me and I had him, and went to work on him right away. I cleaned him, salted him, rolled him in flour, and fried him; and, Miss Libbie, we had a nice platter of fish, and the General was just delighted when he came up, and he was surprised, too, and he found his dinner—for I had some cold biscuit and a bottle of tea in the lunch-box—while the rest was a-waitin' for the supplies to come up. For while all the rest was a-waitin', I went fishin', mind you!"

       FOOTNOTE:

      CHAPTER V.

       OUT OF THE WILDERNESS.

       Table of Contents

      As we came out of the forest, the country improved somewhat. The farm-houses began to show a little look of comfort, and it occurred to us that we might now vary the monotony of our fare by marketing. My husband and I sometimes rode on in advance of the command, and approached the houses with our best manners, soliciting the privilege of buying butter and eggs. The farmer's wife was taking her first look at Yankees, but she found that we neither wore horns nor were cloven-footed, and she even so far unbent as to apologize for not having butter, adding, what seemed then so flimsy an excuse, that "I don't make more than enough butter for our own use, as we are only milking seven cows now." We had yet to learn that what makes a respectable dairy at home was nothing in a country where the cows give a cupful of milk and all run to horns. It was a great relief to get out of the wilderness, but though our hardships were great, I do not want them to appear to outnumber the pleasures. The absence of creature comforts is easily itemized. We are either too warm or too cold, we sleep uncomfortably, we have poor food, we are wet by storms, we are made ill by exposure. Happiness cannot be itemized so readily; it is hard to define what goes to round and complete a perfect day. We remember hours of pleasure as bathed in a mist that blends all shades into a roseate hue; but it is impossible to take one tint from colors so perfectly mingled, and define how it adds to the perfect whole.

      The days now seemed to grow shorter and brighter. In place of the monotonous pines, we had magnolia, mulberry, pecan, persimmon and live-oak, as well as many of our own Northern trees, that grew along the streams. The cactus, often four feet high, was covered with rich red blossoms, and made spots of gorgeous color in the prairie grass. I had not then seen the enormous cacti of old Mexico, and four feet of that plant seemed immense, as at home we labored to get one to grow six inches. The wild-flowers were charming in color, variety and luxuriance. The air, even then beginning to taste of the sea, blew softly about us. Stillman no longer blackened his soul with prophecies about the streams on which we nightly pitched our tents. The water did flow in them, and though they were then low, so that the thousands of horses were scattered far up and down when watering-time came, the green scum of sluggish pools was a thing of the past.

      A few days before we reached what was to be a permanent camp, a staff-officer rode out to meet us, and brought some mail. It was a strange sensation to feel ourselves restored by these letters to the outside world. General Custer received a great surprise. He was brevetted major, lieutenant-colonel and brigadier-general in the regular army. The officers went off one side to read their sweethearts' letters; and some of our number renewed their youth, sacrificed in that dreadful forest to fever, when they read the good news of the coming of their wives by sea. At Hempstead we halted, and the General made a permanent camp, in order to recruit men and horses after their exhausting march. Here General Sheridan and some of his staff came,

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