I hear, in fancy, the
wheels of the ambulance crunching the small broken stones of the
malapais, or grating swiftly over the gravel of the smooth white
roads of the river-bottoms. I hear the rattle of the ivory rings
on the harness of the six-mule team; I see the soldiers marching
on ahead; I see my white tent, so inviting after a long day's
journey.
But how vain these fancies! Railroad and automobile have
annihilated distance, the army life of those years is past and
gone, and Arizona, as we knew it, has vanished from the face of
the earth.
THE END.
APPENDIX.
NANTUCKET ISLAND, June 1910.
When, a few years ago, I determined to write my recollections of
life in the army, I was wholly unfamiliar with the methods of
publishers, and the firm to whom I applied to bring out my book,
did not urge upon me the advisability of having it electrotyped,
firstly, because, as they said afterwards, I myself had such a
very modest opinion of my book, and, secondly because they
thought a book of so decidedly personal a character would not
reach a sale of more than a few hundred copies at the farthest.
The matter of electrotyping was not even discussed between us.
The entire edition of one thousand copies was exhausted in about
a year, without having been carried on the lists of any
bookseller or advertised in any way except through some circulars
sent by myself to personal friends, and through several excellent
reviews in prominent newspapers.
As the demand for the book continued, I have thought it advisable
to re-issue it, adding a good deal that has come into my mind
since its publication.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * *
It was after the Colonel's retirement that we came to spend the
summers at Nantucket, and I began to enjoy the leisure that never
comes into the life of an army woman during the active service of
her husband. We were no longer expecting sudden orders, and I was
able to think quietly over the events of the past.
My old letters which had been returned to me really gave me the
inspiration to write the book and as I read them over, the people
and the events therein described were recalled vividly to my
mind - events which I had forgotten, people whom I had
forgotten - events and people all crowded out of my memory for
many years by the pressure of family cares, and the succession of
changes in our stations, by anxiety during Indian campaigns, and
the constant readjustment of my mind to new scenes and new
friends.
And so, in the delicious quiet of the Autumn days at Nantucket,
when the summer winds had ceased to blow and the frogs had ceased
their pipings in the salt meadows, and the sea was wondering
whether it should keep its summer blue or change into its winter
grey, I sat down at my desk and began to write my story.
