THE ESSENTIALS AT FORT ADOBE
THE Indian suns himself before the door of his tepee, dreaming of thepast. For a long time now he has eaten of the white man's lotos--thebimonthly beef-issue. I looked on him and wondered at the new things.The buffalo, the warpath, all are gone. What of the cavalrymen over atAdobe--his Nemesis in the stirring days--are they, too, lounging inbarracks, since his lordship no longer leads them trooping over theburning flats by day and through the ragged hills by night? I will goand see.
The blistered faces of men, the gaunt horses dragging stiffly along tothe cruel spurring, the dirty lack-lustre of campaigning--that, ofcourse, is no more. Will it be parades, and those soul-deadening "foursright" and "column left" affairs? Oh, my dear, let us hope not.
Nothing is so necessary in the manufacture of soldiers, sure enough, butit is not hard to learn, and once a soldier knows it I can neverunderstand why it should be drilled into him until it hurts. Besides,from another point of view, soldiers in rows and in lines do not composewell in pictures. I always feel, after seeing infantry drill in anarmory, like Kipling's light-house keeper, who went insane looking atthe cracks between the boards--they were all so horribly alike.
Then Adobe is away out West in the blistering dust, with no towns of anyimportance near it. I can understand why men might become listless whenthey are at field-work, with the full knowledge that nothing but theirbrothers are looking at them save the hawks and coyotes. It is differentfrom Meyer, with its traps full of Congressmen and girls, both of whomare much on the minds of cavalrymen.
In due course I was bedded down at Adobe by my old friend the Captain,and then lay thinking of this cavalry business. It is a subject whichthought does not simplify, but, like other great things, makes itcomplicate and recede from its votaries. To know essential details fromunessential details is the study in all arts. Details there must be;they are the small things that make the big things. To apply thisgeneral order of things to this arm of the service kept me awake. Thereis first the riding--simple enough if they catch you young. There arebits, saddles, and cavalry packs. I know men who have not spoken to eachother in years because they disagree about these. There are the sorebacks and colics--that is a profession in itself. There are judgment ofpace, the battle tactics, the use of three very different weapons; thereis a world of history in this, in forty languages. Then an ever-varying_terrain_ tops all. There are other things not confined to cavalry, butregarded by all soldiers. The crowning peculiarity of cavalry is therapidity of its movement, whereby a commander can lose the carefullybuilt up reputation of years in about the time it takes a school-boy toeat a marsh-mallow. After all, it is surely a hard profession--a veryblind trail to fame. I am glad I am not a cavalryman; still, it is thehappiest kind of fun to look on when you are not responsible; but itneeds some cultivation to understand and appreciate.
I remember a dear friend who had a taste for out-of-doors. He penetrateddeeply into the interior not long since to see these same troopers do aline of heroics, with a band of Bannocks to support the role. TheIndians could not finally be got on the centre of the stage, but madehot-foot for the agency. My friend could not see any good in all this,nor was he satisfied with the first act even. He must needs have aclimax, and that not forthcoming, he loaded his disgust into a trunkline and brought it back to his club corner here in New York. He therenarrated the failure of his first night; said the soldiers were not evendusty as advertised; damned the Indians keenly, and swore at the West byall his gods.
There was a time when I, too, regarded not the sketches in this art, butyearned for the finished product. That, however, is not exhibitedgenerally over once in a generation.
At Adobe there are only eight troops--not enough to make a Germannurse-girl turn her head in the street, and my friend from New York,with his Napoleonic largeness, would scoff out loud. But he and thenurse do not understand the significance; they have not the eyes to see.A starboard or a port horseshoe would be all one to them, and a creasein the saddle-blanket the smallest thing in the world, yet it mightspoil a horse.
When the trumpets went in the morning I was sorry I had thought at all.It was not light yet, and I clung to my pillow. Already this cavalry hastoo much energy for my taste.
"If you want to see anything, you want to lead out," said the Captain,as he pounded me with a boot.
21 THE ADVANCE]
"Say, Captain, I suppose Colonel Hamilton issues this order to get up atthis hour, doesn't he?"
"He does."
"Well, he has to obey his own order, then, doesn't he?"
"He does."
I took a good long stretch and yawn, and what I said about ColonelHamilton I will not commit to print, out of respect to the Colonel. ThenI got up.
This bitterness of bed-parting passes. The Captain said he would put a"cook's police" under arrest for appearing in my make-up; but all thesedetails will be forgotten, and whatever happens at this hour should beforgiven. I had just come from the North, where I had been saunteringover the territory of Montana with some Indians and a wild man fromVirginia, getting up before light--tightening up on coffee and bacon fortwelve hours in the saddle to prepare for more bacon and coffee; but atAdobe I had hoped for, even if I did not expect, some repose.
In the east there was a fine green coming over the sky. No one out ofthe painter guild would have admitted it was green, even on the rack,but what I mean is that you could not approach it in any other way. Anice little adjutant went jangling by on a hard-trotting thoroughbred,his shoulders high and his seat low. My old disease began to takepossession of me; I could fairly feel the microbes generate. Anotherofficer comes clattering, with his orderly following after. The feverhas me. We mount, and we are off, all going to stables.
Out from the corrals swarm the troopers, leading their unwilling mounts.The horses are saying, "Damn the Colonel!" One of them comes in archingbounds; he is saying worse of the Colonel, or maybe only cussing out hisown recruit for pulling his _cincha_ too tight. They form troop lines incolumn, while the Captains throw open eyes over the things which wouldnot interest my friend from New York or the German nurse-girl.
The two forward troops are the enemy, and are distinguished by wearingbrown canvas stable-frocks. These shortly move out through the post, andare seen no more.
Now comes the sun. By the shades of Knickerbocker's _History of NewYork_ I seem now to have gotten at the beginning; but patience, the sunis no detail out in the arid country. It does more things than blisteryour nose. It is the despair of the painter as it colors the minarets ofthe Bad Lands which abound around Adobe, and it dries up the companygardens if they don't watch the _acequias_ mighty sharp. To one just outof bed it excuses existence. I find I begin to soften towards theColonel. In fact, it is possible that he is entirely right about havinghis old trumpets blown around garrison at this hour, though it took theCaptain's boot to prove it shortly since.
22 HORSE GYMNASTICS]
The command moves out, trotting quickly through the blinding clouds ofdust. The landscape seems to get right up and mingle with theexcitement. The supple, well-trained horses lose the scintillation ontheir coats, while Uncle Sam's blue is growing mauve very rapidly. Butthere is a useful look about the men, and the horses show conditionafter their long practice march just finished. Horses much used to gounder saddle have well-developed quarters and strong stifle action. Factis, nothing looks like a horse with a harness on. That is a job formules, and these should have a labor organization and monopolize it.
The problem of the morning was that we as an advance were to drive thetwo troops which had gone on ahead. These in turn were to represent arapidly retiring rear-guard. This training is more that troops may behandled with expedition, and that the men may gather the thing, ratherthan that officers should do brilliant things, which they mightundertake on their own responsibility in time of war, such as pushingrapidly by on one flank and cutting out a rear-guard.
Grevious and very much to be commiserated is the task
of the feelinghistorian who writes of these paper wars. He may see possibilities orcalamities which do not signify. The morning orders provide againstgenius, and who will be able to estimate the surgical possibilities ofblank cartridges? The sergeant-major cautioned me not to indicate by myactions what I saw as we rode to the top of a commanding hill. The enemyhad abandoned the stream because their retreat would have been exposedto fire. They made a stand back in the hills. The advance felt thestream quickly, and passed, fanning out to develop. The left flankcaught their fire, whereat the centre and right came around at topspeed. But this is getting so serious.
The scene was crowded with little pictures, all happeningquickly--little dots of horsemen gliding quickly along the yellowlandscape, leaving long trails of steely dust in their wake. A scoutcomes trotting along, his face set in an expectant way, carbineadvanced. A man on a horse is a vigorous, forceful thing to look at. Itembodies the liveliness of nature in its most attractive form,especially when a gun and sabre are attached.
23 JUMPING ON A HORSE]
When both living equations are young, full of oats and bacon, imbuedwith military ideas, and trained to the hour, it always seems to me thatthe ghost of a tragedy stalks at their side. This is why the polo-playerdoes not qualify sentimentally. But what is one man beside two troopswhich come shortly in two solid chunks, with horses snorting and sendingthe dry landscape in a dusty pall for a quarter of a mile in the rear?It is good--ah! it is worth any one's while; but stop and think, what ifwe could magnify that? Tut, tut! as I said before, that only happensonce in a generation. Adobe doesn't dream; it simply does its morning'swork.
The rear-guard have popped at our advance, which exchanges with them.Their fire grows slack, and from our vantage we can see them mountquickly and flee.
After two hours of this we shake hands with the hostiles and trot hometo breakfast.
These active, hard-riding, straight-shooting, open-order men are doingreal work, and are not being stupefied by drill-ground routine, orrendered listless by file-closer prompting or sleepy reiteration.
By the time the command dismounts in front of stables we turn longinglyto the thoughts of breakfast. Every one has completely forgiven theColonel, though I have no doubt he will be equally unpopular to-morrowmorning.
But what do I see--am I faint? No; it has happened again. It looks asthough I saw a soldier jump over a horse. I moved on him.
"Did I see you--" I began.
"Oh yes, sir--you see," returned a little soldier, who ran with themincing steps of an athlete towards his horse, and landed standing uipon his hind quarters, whereupon he settled down quietly into his saddle.
Others began to gyrate over and under their horses in a dizzy way. Somehad taken their saddles off and now sat on their horses' bellies, whilethe big dog-like animals lay on their backs, with their feet in the air.It was circus business, or what they call "short and long horse"work--some not understandable phrase. Every one does it. While I am notunaccustomed to looking at cavalry, I am being perpetually surprised bythe lengths to which our cavalry is carrying thus Cossack drill. It isbeginning to be nothing short of marvellous.
In the old days this thing was not known. Between building mud or logforts, working on the bull-train, marching or fighting, a man and a gunmade a soldier; but it takes an education along with this now before hecan qualify.
24 A TAME HORSE]
The regular work at Adobe went on during the day--guard mount, orders,inspection, and routine.
At the club I was asked, "Going out this afternoon with us?"
"Yes, he is going; his horse will be up at 4.30; he wants to see thiscavalry," answered my friend the Captain for me.
"Yes; it's fine moonlight. The Colonel is going to do an attack onCossack posts out in the hills," said the adjutant.
So at five o'clock we again sallied out in the dust, the men in theranks next me silhouetting one after the other more dimly until theydisappeared in the enveloping cloud. They were cheerful, laughing andwondering one to another if Captain Garrard, the enemy, would get in ontheir pickets. He was regarded in the ranks as a sharp fellow, one to bewell looked after.
At the line of hills where the Colonel stopped, the various troops weretold off in their positions, while the long cool shadows of eveningstole over the land, and the pale moon began to grow bolder over on theleft flank.
I sat on a hill with a sergeant who knew history and horses. Heremembered "Pansy," which had served sixteen years in the troop--and afirst-rate old horse then; but a damned inspector with no soul camebrowsing around one day and condemned that old horse. Government got ameasly ten dollars--or something like that. This ran along for a time;when one day they were trooping up some lonely valley, and, behold,there stood "Pansy," as thin as a snake, tied by a wickieup. He greetedthe troop with joyful neighs. The soldiers asked the Captain to beallowed to shoot him, but of course he said no. I could not learn if hewinked when he said it. The column wound over the hill, a carbine rangfrom its rear, and "Pansy" lay down in the dust without a kick. Death isbetter than an Indian for a horse. The thing was not noticed at thetime, but made a world of fuss afterwards, though how it all came outthe sergeant did not develop, nor was it necessary.
Night settled down on the quiet hills, and the dark spots of picketsshowed dimly on the gray surface of the land. The Colonel inspected hisline, and found everybody alert and possessed of a good workingknowledge of picket duties at night--one of the most difficult dutiesenlisted men have to perform. It is astonishing how short is thedistance at which we can see a picket even in this bright night on theopen hills.
I sat on my horse by a sergeant at a point in the line where I suspectedthe attack would come. The sergeant thought he saw figures moving in adry bottom before us. I could not see. A column of dust off to the leftindicated troops, but we thought it a ruse of Garrard's. My sergeant,though, had really seen the enemy, and said, softly, "They are coming."
25 THE PURSUIT]
The bottom twinkled and popped with savage little yellow winks; bang!went a rifle in my ear; "whew!" snorted my big horse; and our picketwent to the supports clattering.
The shots and yells followed fast. The Colonel had withdrawn thesupports towards the post rapidly, leaving his picket-line in the air--athing which happens in war; but he did not lose much of that line, Ishould say.
It was an interesting drill. Pestiferous little man disturbed nature,and it all seemed so absurd out there on those quiet gray hills. It mademe feel, as I slowed down and gazed at the vastness of things, like asuperior sort of bug. In the middle distance several hundred troops areof no more proportion than an old cow bawling through the hills afterher wolf-eaten calf. If my mental vision were not distorted I shouldnever have seen the manoeuvre at all--only the moon and the land doingwhat they have done before for so long a time.
We reached Adobe rather late, when I found that the day's work had donewonders for my appetite. I reminded the Captain that I had broken hisbread but once that day.
"It is enough for a Ninth Cavalry man," he observed. However, Iout-flanked this brutal disregard for established customs, but it was"cold."
In the morning I resisted the Captain's boot, and protested that I mustbe let alone; which being so, I appeared groomed and breakfasted at aChristian hour, fully persuaded that as between an Indian and a NinthCavalry man I should elect to be an Indian.
Some one must have disciplined the Colonel. I don't know who it was.There is only one woman in a post who can, generally; but no dinnerswere spoiled at Adobe by night-cat affairs.
Instead, during the afternoon we were to see Captain Garrard, thehostile, try to save two troops which were pressed into the bend of ariver by throwing over a bridge, while holding the enemy in check. Thiswas as complicated as putting a baby to sleep while reading law; soclearly my point of view was with the hostiles. With them I entered theneck. The horses were grouped in the brush, leaving some men who weregoing underground like gophers out near the entrance. Thebrown-
canvas-covered soldiers grabbed their axes, rolled their eyestowards the open plain, and listened expectantly.
26 THE ATTACK ON THE COSSACK]
The clear notes of a bugle rang; whackety, bang--clack--clack, went theaxes. Trees fell all around. The forest seemed to drop on me. I got myhorse and fled across the creek.
"That isn't fair; this stream is supposed to be impassable," sang out alieutenant, who was doing a Blondin act on the first tree over, whilebeneath him yawned the chasm of four or five feet.
In less than a minute the whole forest got up again and moved towardsthe bridge. There were men behind it, but the leaves concealed them.Logs dropped over, brush piled on top. The rifles rang in scatteredvolleys, and the enemy's fire rolled out beyond the brush. No bulletswhistled--that was a redeeming feature.
Aside from that it seemed as though every man was doing his ultimateact. They flew about; the shovels dug with despair; the sand covered thelogs in a shower. While I am telling this the bridge was made.
The first horse came forward, led by his rider. He raised his eyes likeSt. Anthony; he did not approve of the bridge. He put his ears forward,felt with his toes, squatted behind, and made nervous side steps. Themen moved on him in a solid crowd from behind. Stepping high and shorthe then bounded over, and after him in a stream came the willingbrothers. Out along the bluffs strung the troopers to cover the heroeswho had held the neck, while they destroyed the bridge.
Then they rode home with the enemy, chaffing each other.
It is only a workaday matter, all this; but workaday stuff does thebusiness nowadays.
Crooked Trails Page 5
