by Judy Alter
Kansas
and
Courtmartial
Chapter 10
Fort Riley was a huge disappointment to me, and nothing in our journey had prepared me for it. We'd stopped in St. Louis to visit the Great Fair, where everyone made merry in an effort to put away the gloom cast by the late Great War, and then it was on to Leavenworth, where we shopped to buy all those things we'd left behind in the kitchen on Monroe Street—the cookstove was most important, for we took the advice of an officer who found us browsing, bewildered, in one of the surprisingly excellent stores in that city. We bought pots, pans, dishes, and a small supply of linens—still, it was a scant store with which to start housekeeping. In all my married life—now well over two years—I'd never had a home of my own. Fort Riley would be my first real home.
Riding in the ambulance that brought us from the railhead, I shaded my eyes with my hand to peer ahead, anxious for the first glimpse of the fort. And then, there, magically, it appeared on the horizon—a cluster of story-and-a-hall limestone buildings placed around a parade ground. As we drew closer, I saw that the sutler's store, the quartermaster and commissary storehouses, and the stables were outside the parade ground, but nothing else. There were no trees and precious little vegetation, save the buffalo grass that curled close to the ground. The post sat on a wide plateau at the junction of the Republican and Smoky Hills rivers, and the only trees to be seen were cottonwoods, which bordered the banks of the rivers. Otherwise the eye saw nothing but the plains, waving away on all sides of us, like the surface of a vast ocean.
"I've never seen so far at one time," Autie breathed, clearly awestruck, as the green seemed to roll before us toward the setting sun.
"Where is the moat?" I asked without thinking.
"Moat?" Autie hooted in derision. "Old lady, what are you thinking of?"
"Fort Monroe," I answered indignantly, my mind conjuring up a picture of the only fort I'd known, with its stone walls and turrets for the sentinels, and a moat surrounding the whole. That, I had innocently thought, would repel any Indians. And yet there wasn't even a fence around this fort, nor a tree to hide behind.
Autie ignored me. "You know that transparent veil of faint color in Bierstadt's paintings?" he asked. "Now, for the first time, I realize what it means."
"Autie, it's dusk, and we've yet to find our quarters," I prodded, ever the faithful, complaining wife. We—Diana, Eliza, and I—had bumped over the country, sometimes jammed against the framework of the ambulance's canvas cover and most of the time sliding off the slippery cushions onto the insulted dogs at our feet—Byron and a newly acquired ugly white bulldog named Turkey.
Promising to install us quickly in our quarters, Autie reported to the commanding officer. We three women were left in the ambulance with the dogs. Turk was indignant, and I stared him down as best I could, trying to keep from smiling at the twist in his lumpy tail, the curve in his bowlegs, the ambitious nose, which drew the upper lip above the heaviest of protruding jaws. Byron and Turk had tangled, but usually it needed only a deep growl and an uprising of the bristles on the back for Byron to recall lessons earlier administered by Turk. This time Byron, made cross as we all were by hunger, thirst, and exhaustion, seemed less likely to give way when they renewed hostilities.
After an eternity Autie returned to find Diana clenching Byron's collar with both hands while I sat at the other end of the ambulance, Turk on my lap swelling with rage because my fingers, twisted in his chain, held him motionless. Never mind that both Diana and I were shaking in terror, and Eliza, situated in the middle, was near screaming with fright of "them dogs."
"You there," Autie cried to Turk, "get on out of here!" A well-aimed boot gave direction to the order, and then he turned his attention to Lord Byron. "Don't you ever fight with ladies present!" he blazed, as the boot aided Byron out of the ambulance.
But then Autie created chaos anew. "There are no quarters for us. We will have to stay with the Gibbses."
"Autie," I exclaimed, "we can't. We'll pay whatever we have to for a room."
He looked at me pityingly. "There are no rooms, not for all the king's ransom. Our quarters are not inhabitable tonight—we can't even cook." Then he concluded firmly, "We're staying with the Gibbses."
So all of us traipsed into the commanding officer's house, where the one spare room had already been taken by General Sherman, who'd arrived before us. His first words to me were, "Child, you'll find the air of the plains is like champagne."
I was less interested in champagne than I was worried about inconveniencing Mrs. Gibbs.
"Oh, don't bother about it," Mrs. Gibbs said. "Out here one gets used to making do. I'm surely used to making room for whoever needs it."
I'd no idea how those words would haunt me in the next ten years.
* * *
"Autie, it's enormous!" I wandered through a house twice as large as the one on Monroe Street. In truth, it had been made by pulling two houses together, with the result that the parlors on one side alone were so huge as to dwarf our few, pitiful pieces of furniture—six wooden chairs looked lost upon a sea of wooden floor in need of waxing.
"Perhaps," Autie said thoughtfully, "someone will come and rank us out, and we can retire to more modest quarters."
That's exactly what happened. An officer who outranked Autie—even though Autie was now in command—came and requested the house, and then, according to army custom, we had to move. But we had our choice of all the houses among those officers below us in rank—we could displace whoever had a house that pleased us. Sometimes on remote posts when the process of ranking out began at the top, families fell before it like so many dominoes—I remember once when eight families were required to move, the lowest in rank having to move into a two-room cabin formerly occupied by a noncommissioned officer.
In this instance, ranking worked to our advantage, for we were soon settled in a house more proportionate to our furniture—and to us.
"Autie, there's a huge crowd of people outside." Fearfully, I held back the dreary curtain at the window of our new quarters. "Whoever are they?"
"Tourists," he replied. "They've come to see where General Custer lives."
"And, no doubt, to see General Custer," I said. "Do we have to let them in?"
Autie crossed his arms thoughtfully. "I rather think you should."
"We have no chairs to seat them... and Eliza and I could not possibly begin to feed them," I wailed, my notions of propriety upset by a crowd of what looked to be at least fifty people.
"Oh," Autie said, "I doubt that's expected. Just let them in."
Obediently, I crossed the hall to open the door, and before I could offer a word of cordial greetings, utter strangers thrust themselves into my new home. "General Custer... ," I said futilely, "General Custer will be glad to greet you." But then I turned and looked for him, and Autie was nowhere to be seen.
"He gone outside the back," Eliza whispered, while I frantically tried to welcome the group. None of them spoke to me, though they seemed to peer into every corner and to be particularly curious about six wooden chairs sitting lonely in our parlor. "I'm sorry I can't seat you all...." But my apologies fell on deaf ears, and soon, having satisfied their curiosity, they trooped back outside.
Autie reappeared almost immediately. "I just stepped outside," he said innocently.
"If you ever dare leave me again like that... ," I fumed. But I knew that Autie had a habit of disappearing before strangers—was he shy?—and I learned to refuse those eager tourists their peek at my home.
One afternoon Autie and I sat in the library—a fancy name for a room we'd fixed with a desk and several makeshift bookcases to hold the volumes that Autie could not bear to leave behind. He liked to work at the desk, with me seated by his side working on my infernal needlework.
"He's coming to pay his call," Tom cried, bursting into the room without so much as a by-your-leave. "Pritchett—the new officer. I've helped him dress."
&nb
sp; "I bet you have," Autie said, laughing heartily. "Libbie, stay and see this."
"Whatever is going on?" I asked, completely puzzled.
"Just what you hear. A new officer is coming to pay his formal call, and Tom and the others have given him some pointers. We'll receive him in the parlor."
Within minutes Lieutenant Pritchett entered our parlor—a large man in full uniform, though it fit poorly on his portly body. The first thing I saw was that he wore cavalry boots—strictly out of order with a dress uniform—and then I saw the red sash spread from under his arms to below his waistline. A sword belt, with saber attached, surrounded this, and over the whole he folded large hands encased in white cotton gloves. He looked like a child dressed so carefully that he is afraid to move, and he had no idea how ridiculous the other officers had made him appear.
Diana left the room hurriedly, hand over her mouth, and Autie's mustache quivered as he shook hands and bid the man welcome to the regiment. Then, overcome by mirth he could no longer control, Autie dashed out the door, leaving me to deal with the soldier. I tried desperately to entertain him and succeeded so well that he overstayed his welcome. When he finally left, I confronted Autie and Diana in a rage.
"You'll laugh next time," Autie predicted.
"Nonsense," I replied stoutly. "It's absolutely cruel to make such fun of a human being. When he realizes how foolish he's been made to look..."
"He's probably already plotting to play the same trick on the next new officer," Autie said calmly, settling himself down to read again.
Life at Fort Riley was full of such high jinks. A game of romps was Autie's favorite. We chased each other upstairs and down, using the furniture as temporary barricades against each other, while the dogs barked and raced around, joining in the excitement. The fracas was frightful, and I was sure neighboring families thought the new commanding officer was beating his wife, for our houses were close together and the walls far from thick.
As we had in Louisiana, we rode frequently—only this time we rode over endless miles of plains, with none of the swamp and quagmire of Michigan nor the quicksands and sloughs of Louisiana. It was a long time before I learned I needn't steer around a darkened patch of ground, for all the plains were safe. And Sherman was right about the air—it was more exhilarating than any bubbly drink. And the prairie sky—surely whoever said, "The sky fits close down all around" was on a Kansas prairie when he uttered those words.
"Come on, old lady, hurry up that old plug of yours! I have one orderly and don't want another." Autie called this back disdainfully, though with a wink at his orderly, who followed the prescribed distance in the rear.
Outraged at the insult to Custis Lee, I bided my time and then when he least expected it, flew by him, leaving man and horse in my wake.
"That's not such a bad nag after all," Autie laughed, coming up behind me.
"Autie, my hair..."
"You mean that dead woman's hair," he said, referring to the waterfall that I wore, according to the latest fashion. "All right, let's clear the decks for another race."
"Clearing the decks" meant that I unfastened hairpins, net, and switch and handed them to him, to be hidden in the breast of his coat.
"Just think if your coat opens accidentally in front of, oh, say... Lieutenant Pritchett, who still owes you for a mean joke," I teased, getting a head start on him before he knew it.
"Cheat!" he cried, racing to catch up. Soon our horses were going full tilt, side by side, and then Autie, with one powerful arm, lifted me out of my saddle and held me poised in the air for an instant. In that brief moment I found myself suspended between heaven and earth, and I thought, with surprising clarity, that I must cling to the bridle and keep control of my horse. Whether I came down on his ear or his tail was yet to be determined, but the moment I was held aloft was in my mind an hour of uncertainty. My indignation rolled off Autie like the proverbial water off a duck's back.
Another favorite trick of Autie's was to put me on his Thoroughbred, Phil Sheridan, when newcomers rode with us—there were always newcomers, and they were always the butt of jokes. The stranger would be given the honor of riding next to the commanding officer's wife, and as Phil started slowly, the newcomer simply kept pace. But then, as the colt took longer and longer strides, a look of puzzlement would appear on the man's face, until Autie gave me the signal and I spoke in low tones to Phil. Off we would fly, leaving the mystified soldier to urge his nag in vain. It was not quite my idea of hospitality, but my need to be a good sport outweighed social custom, and I participated in these charades.
I am obliged to confess that I belong to the league of those who once went off the horse against their will and then concealed the fact. Autie had asked me to ride on in advance one day, because he and Tom wanted to talk about something not of interest to me. Wallowing in the prairie day, I forgot to watch Phil, and when he took one of those sudden jumps from one side of the road to the other, at some imaginary obstacle, I found myself hanging on to the saddle. There was nothing for it but an ignominious slide, and I landed in a heap in the dust. Autie found Phil wandering riderless and came immediately to look for me.
"All right," I called from my seat on the ground, waving a feeble arm. I surely was not hurt—except for my crushed spirits. "Autie," I pleaded as soon as I was righted in the saddle again, "you must not tell anyone! Promise me!"
"Of course, Libbie," he said, his mustache jerking and twisting suspiciously. Then, turning to Tom, who had ridden up, he asked, "Have you heard of the famous Japanese acrobat, All Right?"
Solemnly and somewhat mystified, Tom denied any knowledge of such a creature, and Autie merely nodded and said, "I see."
But for weeks he would bring up All Right in who-knows-what situation, or he would wonder aloud, "How could an old campaigner be unseated, under any circumstances?"
"I don't know, General," some flunky would reply, while I blushed a furious red.
Diana rode a pretty little sorrel horse, though we rarely saw her—all we saw was an avalanche of flying curls as she dashed off beside first this young officer and then that one. But once Custis Lee was temporarily disabled and Autie was on Phil, so I rode the sorrel.
"Old lady, pay attention to your horse. It's crowding Phil something awful, irritating him."
The little horse had indeed snuggled right up to Phil. I used the reins harshly and pulled him aside, but as soon as my attention wandered, we were right back at Autie's side, too close even for lovers.
"My leg!" Autie complained. "It's crushed beyond repair."
"I can't keep him away," I said, baffled.
Autie let out a long laugh. "I suspect someone has taught this horse to ride so close... someone who wants the rider close to him."
And then it dawned on me, and I joined him in laughter. Autie told the whole story, the minute he was back among the officers, of how a perfectly good cavalry horse could be demoralized in the hands of a belle. Diana blushed while all the young men joined in the laughter, though no doubt each of them had been guilty of encouraging the little horse in its new trick.
Diana had more cause to blush a few nights later, at a party given at our house. Major Joel Elliott and the unfortunate Lieutenant Pritchett tangled over whose turn it was to dance with Diana. Too courteous to enter into the discussion in her presence, they retired to the small veranda outside our house, but from there their voices could be clearly heard.
"It is not your turn," Elliott accused. "You danced two dances with her, and this one's promised to me."
"It'll be over while we stand out here arguing," Pritchett said pompously, his tongue suspiciously thick. "Stand aside."
"Try and make me," came the dire threat.
"Just watch me and I will," was the answer.
Then, in a lower voice, Elliott muttered, "Custer'll arrest both of us."
"Not if I tell him what you've done," taunted Pritchett confidently.
Autie was called outside to join the men, while Diana
and I stood poised inside the door, clasping each other in horror.
"Pritchett's at fault," Elliott said, "and I ask your permission to pound him."
Autie was infamous for the escapade at West Point when he had encouraged two cadets to solve their differences in a fair fight, and I, breath held in anticipation, remembered this incident. Surely he wouldn't consent as commanding officer.
I also remembered that Pritchett's gait had been unsteady when last I looked at him.
"You have my permission," Autie said.
All dancing inside stopped as we heard the thud of blows hitting flesh, the grunts of the recipient, and the oaths muttered on both sides. Neither man came back into the dance that night, so we were never sure who triumphed, but both lost. Diana refused to ride, or dance, with either of them for weeks.
When I reprimanded Autie for having allowed such a fracas, he merely shrugged. "It was a diversion, wasn't it?"
"Autie, Lieutenant Pritchett was drunk."
He shrugged again. "It's a continual problem. The men are bored."
The men were not the only ones bored. Life was not all romps and races for Autie. The post was understaffed. The Seventh should have had twelve companies of 100 enlisted men each, with three officers for each company, but the most we ever had at Riley was about 950 enlisted men and fewer than twenty
officers. The actual training of the troops and the day-to-day discipline were handled by the field-grade officers, the corporals and sergeants. Autie had the challenge of gaining the loyalty of these men and of forming them into crack Indian fighters—but he had little in the way of daily duties.
Still, he was in charge.
"Autie, who are those two men marching around the parade ground?" I stood at the window, holding the glass curtain to one side to peer out at two men marching round and round, apparently observed by four or five other soldiers who stood on the sidelines.
"Insubordinates," he replied. "They were insubordinate to their officers."
"And so they must march forever?"
