by Zina Abbott
Jake shook his head. The goal of the punitive campaign was to force upon the native tribes the message that Americans would not tolerate attacks on their people such as what took place at Julesburg in January and on the Platt River Bridge just the past July. Rumor was, in spite of the talent and experience of the officers General Dodge had put in charge of this operation, it was thrown together too quickly, supplies were insufficient due to scarcities that still existed at the end of the war, and the horses and mules used were not acclimated or suitable for the terrain. From what he had heard, so far, the campaign had not been as successful as originally hoped.
Jake unfolded Hannah’s second letter. He did not read far before he felt a sense of shared remorse. Although the Powder River Expedition had been plagued with difficulties, death of livestock, and inadequate distribution of food, the casualties had been low. Unfortunately, Hannah’s brother was among the injured. The family had received an official notification from a medical officer at Fort Laramie that Otto had been sent there after the regimental doctor for the 16th Kansas died at Fort Collins along the Powder River. From there, before the weather turned too cold, they planned to transport him to Fort Leavenworth for further treatment and recovery.
Slowly folded the second letter, Jake grew reflective. He knew his sweet, lovely Hannah had been enamored with Fort Riley and Army life as she saw it there. Now, with her brother being severely injured, she had been exposed to the hazards of the occupation.
Jake knew, even though he served in the Quartermaster Corps, there were no guarantees he would never face battle again. Every time he rode with a patrol escorting a freight train or stagecoach, he faced the same risk of being attacked by hostiles and needing to fight for his life and protection of others. He faced the same possibility that, even if he survived an attack by the natives, he risked having his horse stolen and ending up on foot. After all, as he talked to the commanding officers of the forts, one of the greatest needs he found was that of replacement mounts for the cavalry or replacement mules for the wagons carrying ordnance or infantry.
Jake knew he must meet with the Fort Zarah commander and finish up a report containing his final recommendations before he left with the next escort patrol riding to the north. At Fort Ellsworth again, he would also finalize his reports for that fort to be forwarded to Capt. Prescott. Then his latest orders were to proceed back south to Fort Larned, an older and more established fort, and use it as a base of operations while he finished assessing both Larned and the new Fort Dodge to the south.
Those were his orders. In the past few days, though, he became aware of a need, one that would grow as winter approached. He also considered a means to possibly help resolve that need. If he discovered the same situation at both Ellsworth and Larned, he might send ahead a report informing Capt. Prescott of a slight delay in following through on his current orders. It would take a few weeks until he would know for sure. If he was right, he would gather what was available and transport it back to be processed. In the end, he could better provide the soldiers in these forts clothing they desperately needed to survive the winter conditions found on the plains.
However, while at Fort Ellsworth, Jake intended to reply to Hannah Atwell’s letters and perhaps offer some words of consolation regarding her brother.
.
.
.
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Chapter 11
~o0o~
Salina, Kansas
Late October, 1865
H annah sat at the kitchen table and held her breath. She listened as her parents discussed Otto’s situation and what they intended to do. She had made her offer. Would her father, who now paced the floor, agree to it? More to the point, would her mother, who sat on the opposite side of the table, allow it?
Not fully trusting the report and assurances of the medical officer regarding his care at Fort Leavenworth, they wanted to see Otto for themselves. Unfortunately, the one thing they agreed upon was that it would be best if an adult stayed home to see to the farm and their children.
“Papa, if you and Mama think she needs to stay here, I said I could go with you. I can ride a horse well enough to help you herd what few cattle you’re driving to Fort Riley on the way to where Otto is. Or, if you think they will let us bring him home, I can drive a wagon for him to ride in.”
“Nein, liebes Kind. Too cold for you, this time of year.”
Hannah knew she should not be annoyed that her mother called her a dear child. If she had any hope of persuading her parents, she had to stay calm and reasonable.
“Mama—Mutti—I’m younger. I can handle the cold better than you can. Besides, you need to stay here to take care of Magpie…er, Margarete. And the boys, even though I know Carl is old enough to tend to the animals...” Upon seeing the way her father narrowed his eyes at her statement, she knew it might be better if she stopped talking.
“If your mother wants to go, you can handle the house and your brothers and sister just fine, Hannah. My guess is, your biggest interest is visiting the fort again.”
Hannah forced her gaze to remain connected to her father’s rather than turn it away in embarrassment. Yes, she did hope to visit Fort Riley while her father talked business regarding the cattle. She wished to exchange greetings with Mrs. Prescott and a few other officers’ wives she had met. In the event they planned other socials, she did not want them to forget about her. That, and she hoped to persuade her father to stop by Bonner Springs long enough to say hello to Kizzie—the new Mrs. Jones—and see her house.
She knew if she acknowledged the truth, it would sound the death knell to her chance to go, Hannah fell back into her usual role as the dutiful daughter. “Whatever you think is best, Papa.”
Jefferson glared and shook his head. “I’ll have to think about it. Especially with your aunt and uncle so close and the Palmers just up the lane, I’m sure you and your brothers can handle things here by yourselves. The harvest is in, so there’s not much to do except take care of the animals and each other.”
Hannah dropped her gaze to her hands, interlocked and resting on the table. Not much to do was correct. Because she was too old to attend school, her life consisted of nothing more than routine daily chores broken only by a few hours each day of reading or working on her embroidery. For a few months, there had been the excitement of helping her cousin prepare for her wedding. Now the event was in the past, the humdrum of everyday life wore at Hannah. At least, if she was allowed to go and spend time with Otto, she might be able to help nurse him. It would still be work, but it would be something different.
“Let our Hannah go. Her friends at the fort, let her visit. Take her to see Kizzie, ja? I stay here. My Otto, you bring him home.”
Hannah allowed herself a hint of a smile as she released a breath she had not known she was holding. She would make the trip with her father to check on Otto.
~o0o~
Jefferson gathered the cattle he, Sidney, and Edward Palmer intended to sell and place them in a corral. Then, with Carlotte’s help, he packed the food, bedding, pallet, feed for the horses, and a large canvas sheet waterproofed with beeswax he would take because of the probability of rain.
Hannah kept track of all this as she helped her mother prepare food for the journey. She also packed the clothes she would need. She convinced her mother she must take her Sunday dress. Although she doubted that she would be at Fort Riley long enough to wear it there, she hoped to change into it before she visited with Otto for the first time.
The morning the two left, just as the light began to break, Hannah, climbed onto the bench of the wagon she often drove to town while she still attended school. Wearing her leather gloves, she clicked her tongue and flipped the leads to get the team of horses started. In front of her, Jefferson drove the seven steers.
Hannah shivered at the coolness of the air. Grateful she had thought to put on two pair of wool stockings, she also wore an extra wool petticoat her mother loaned her. Hannah hoped the weather di
d not turn bitter cold with rain, or even snow, before they returned home.
Hannah almost drove past the Palmers’ house when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Edward bound off the porch stair and, with his characteristic limp caused by a weak knee, he waved a hand as he called out to her. Pulling the horses to a stop, she set the brake and climbed down. She met Edward, whom she, along with almost all the Jefferson Atwell children, called Grandpa, even though he was, in reality, her cousins’ step-grandfather.
Edward sucked in air to catch his breath. “Glad I caught you in time. I should have come over last night, but it was getting late, and I knew Mary was holding supper for me. I picked up a letter for you while I was in town.”
After Hannah accepted the letter, she wrapped her arms around Grandpa Palmer and gave him a hug. “Thank you. It will give me something to read on the trip.”
“You and your pa take care, now. I don’t want anything to happen to you two. And give our love to Otto. I sure hope you can bring him home.”
“Me, too.” After a few more quick pleasantries, Hannah rushed to reclaim her seat in the wagon. She needed to catch up with her father. Once she coaxed the horses into a trot down the lane, she glanced at the envelope and broke into a wide smile. It was from Jake.
~o0o~
While Hannah gathered enough wood for a fire to heat the supper her mother sent, her father rigged up a rope corral for the cattle. Seemingly content that they had been able to drink from the Kansas River, they grazed the now-brown grass. With sufficient forage, she knew her father hoped they would stay put long enough for him to eat his meal.
In spite of being bone-weary, after she cooked supper and washed the cast iron pot and dishes, Hannah pulled the letter out of her skirt pocket. She angled her body so, in the fading dusk, she could read it in the glow of light from the cook fire.
Aware her father watched her, Hannah worked at not responding openly to some of what Jake wrote. Gratefully, nothing was said until she finished. Unsettled about some of what she read, she leaned back. With the pages of her letter clasped loosely in her fingers, she stared into the few flames that flickered above the coals.
“That from your soldier friend?”
“Yes, Papa. It’s from Lt. Burdock.”
“I remember his name. He have anything interesting to say? He never asked for permission from me to court you, so he better not be writing flowery words of undying love.”
Hannah giggled and shook her head. “Nothing like that, Papa. He just told me a little about what he’s doing where he is.” She paused and looked over to her father. “Do you know about galvanized Yankees, Papa?”
“Heard about them. Probably nobody we want to associate with. Unless that letter is full of secrets, why don’t you read it to me?”
Hannah hesitated. As a rule, fearing that doing so would invite additional rounds of criticism and warnings from her parents—not to mention, teasing from her siblings—she did not share her letters either to or from Jake Burdock. However, she could not think of anything in this letter that should prove objectionable to her father. She again brought the pages to her face and positioned herself to read by firelight.
Fort Zarah, Kansas
October 7, 1865
Dear Miss Atwell,
I received your last two letters upon my return this past Tuesday. As I will finish my business here for the time being and then return to Fort Ellsworth with the next escort patrol, I write this so that I might get it in the outgoing mail.
I found your tale of your brother’s purchase of the gold locket interesting. It added a moment of brightness to my day as I reflected on how often soldiers of my acquaintance have searched for means to leave a memory of themselves with those they care about. Thank you for sharing what happened. I agree that beauty should be enjoyed and shared with others. I am sure, in time, your family will realize your true motives regarding the locket.
I do not know if you have ever traveled to Fort Ellsworth or are aware of the state of the fortifications to the west of Salina. They live up to their designation of being on the frontier. They pose a challenge to bring them up to the same standards as installations such as Fort Riley, with which you are familiar. It is my task to make arrangements to work toward that goal—a lofty and challenging one, indeed. As much as I inspect and consider the best options for structures for each fort, often the most pressing needs seem to be providing replacement mounts for the cavalry and replacement mules and wagons. So many are driven off or destroyed during attacks by the hostiles, which leaves our soldiers operating in difficult conditions. I cannot help but feel a sense of admiration for those men who so valiantly face the dangers they do as they protect the mail, stagecoach passengers, freight trains, and those settlers who have claimed land. They often do so while dealing with the difficulties of regularly receiving adequate rations, and, sometimes munitions, and mounts. For example, Fort Ellsworth was attacked by the Indians in June. One might say I was fortunate to not be caught in that conflict. I had already traveled on to Fort Zarah and Larned by then. However, the men at Fort Ellsworth still are in need of more horses to replace all those lost. I can submit my orders and make my recommendations, but it is for those above me to decide and execute.
As much as I would like to spend my winter in the comfort of Fort Riley and enjoy the opportunity of visiting with you and your family once again, my orders send me elsewhere. After I finish my latest assignment at Fort Ellsworth, I am to set up my base of operations at Fort Larned along the Santa Fe Trail. It is a more established fort, having been in existence longer than others I am tasked to assess. Built mostly of adobe, is in need of more permanent structures. However, compared to the other forts over which I have responsibility, the quarters are adequate and comfortable. My hope is to spend most of the winter there.
My concern is for Fort Dodge, barely established in the spring of this year. Although, from what I understand, two military camps have been located in that general vicinity in past years, the post is quite isolated and rudimentary, hardly meriting the designation of “fort.” Most remote of the Kansas forts, it is garrisoned with galvanized Yankees, men most others in the military do not care for.
I recall our conversation about your mother’s ancestor who came to this country as a Hessian soldier, and, upon being captured, signed an agreement not to take up arms again in exchange for being relocated in Pennsylvania where he could eventually obtain land. Unlike your grandparent, who was conscripted into military service and brought here to fight as a mercenary with no personal stake in the outcome of the war, these men were Confederate soldiers. They willingly, and often eagerly, agreed to take up arms against their nation. It was only after being faced with a choice of either the deprivations and possible death in a prisoner-of-war camp, or being brought out west to fight against the natives, that they joined the army they should have supported from the beginning. Frankly, most soldiers consider them less than vermin and care not if they live or die.
However, my concerns revolve around the quarters I have heard they are reduced to inhabiting that I suspect are unacceptable. With no wood within fifteen miles of the fort’s location, caves have been dug into the banks of the Arkansas River, similar to the Fort Ellsworth dugouts along the banks of the Smoky Hill River. They contain one opening for an entry and another on top for light and smoke to escape, all where rain and the rising river can weaken the soil, which leads to collapse. Although I have been assured such quarters will insulate and protect them from the worst of the winter storms that sweep across the plains, I suspect such living conditions, where they burrow into the earth like prairie dogs, are not adequate, not even for galvanized Yankees. Besides, that unit is due to be mustered out shortly.
Who knows but what I might find myself wintering in such conditions and might soon be grateful for my earthen habitat? If such is the case, I will let you know how I fare. In the meantime, it is my challenge to arrange proper structures for the group stationed at the fort in a
ddition to the equipment, munitions, and livestock they need.
In closing, my condolences regarding your brother’s injury. I extend my best wishes as your family faces the challenge of helping him to recover. I know you will do everything within your power to see to his well-being. I understand the expedition to the Powder River region continues, and the success of its objectives remain to be seen, especially in light of the Army facing a combined force of three tribes. I have believed for some time that, as formidable as the individual tribes can be, if they ever banded together and fought as a unit, they would prove even more challenging to the efforts of the Army to bring peace to the region.
I have no doubt shared more shared more with you than prudent, Miss Atwell. It is my hope you are not inclined to gossip. A story told to family, which is then spoken of among neighbors, soon changes and spreads out of proportion to the original. Particularly, if you have occasion to visit Fort Riley, the less said, the better. Although the opinions I have expressed are not unique to me, I would prefer they not be passed on to others. I hope my trust in you is not misplaced.
Sincerely, your humble servant & etc.,
First Lieutenant Jacob C. Burdock
When Hannah finished, she listened to the crackle of the fire as it died down for the night. She turned to her father, barely able to see in the growing darkness. “The forts where Lt. Burdock are staying seem rather primitive, don’t they?”
“Certainly do. It also seems that some of his impressions he wrote about could stir up a lot of trouble if repeated to the wrong people. You don’t discuss what he writes with others, do you? I know you haven’t said much at home.”
Hannah shook her head. “No. I don’t talk about his letters because I don’t want you and Mama to start warning me again about involving myself with soldiers. I don’t say anything to my friends at church or to anyone in town, either. I doubt they would be interested.”
