The good
sweet slumber which I craved never came to me in those weird
Arizona nights under the stars.
At about midnight, a sort of dewy coolness would come down from
the sky, and we could then sleep a little; but the sun rose
incredibly early in that southern country, and by the crack of
dawn sheeted figures were to be seen darting back into the
quarters, to try for another nap. The nap rarely came to any of
us, for the heat of the houses never passed off, day or night, at
that season. After an early breakfast, the long day began again.
The question of what to eat came to be a serious one. We
experimented with all sorts of tinned foods, and tried to produce
some variety from them, but it was all rather tiresome. We almost
dreaded the visits of the Paymaster and the Inspector at that
season, as we never had anything in the house to give them.
One hot night, at about ten o'clock, we heard the rattle of
wheels, and an ambulance drew up at our door. Out jumped Colonel
Biddle, Inspector General, from Fort Whipple. "What shall I give
him to eat, poor hungry man?" I thought. I looked in the
wire-covered safe, which hung outside the kitchen, and discovered
half a beefsteak-pie. The gallant Colonel declared that if there
was one thing above all others that he liked, it was cold
beefsteak-pie. Lieutenant Thomas of the Fifth Cavalry echoed his
sentiments, and with a bottle of Cocomonga, which was always kept
cooling somewhere, they had a merry supper.
These visits broke the monotony of our life at Camp MacDowell. We
heard of the gay doings up at Fort Whipple, and of the lovely
climate there.
Mr. Thomas said he could not understand why we wore such bags of
dresses. I told him spitefully that if the women of Fort Whipple
would come down to MacDowell to spend the summer, they would
soon be able to explain it to him. I began to feel embarrassed at
the fit of my house-gowns. After a few days spent with us,
however, the mercury ranging from l04 to l20 degrees in the
shade, he ceased to comment upon our dresses or our customs.
I had a glass jar of butter sent over from the Commissary, and
asked Colonel Biddle if he thought it right that such butter as
that should be bought by the purchasing officer in San Francisco.
It had melted, and separated into layers of dead white, deep
orange and pinkish-purple colors. Thus I, too, as well as General
Miles, had my turn at trying to reform the Commissary Department
of Uncle Sam's army.
Hammocks were swung under the ramadas, and after luncheon
everybody tried a siesta. Then, near sundown, an ambulance came
and took us over to the Verde River, about a mile away, where we
bathed in water almost as thick as that of the Great Colorado. We
taught Mrs. Kendall to swim, but Mr. Kendall, being an inland
man, did not take to the water. Now the Verde River was not a
very good substitute for the sea, and the thick water filled our
ears and mouths, but it gave us a little half hour in the day
when we could experience a feeling of being cool, and we found it
worth while to take the trouble. Thick clumps of mesquite trees
furnished us with dressing-rooms. We were all young, and youth
requires so little with which to make merry.
After the meagre evening dinner, the Kendalls and ourselves sat
together under the ramada until taps, listening generally to the
droll anecdotes told by Mr. Kendall, who had an inexhaustible
fund. Then another night under the stars, and so passed the time
away.
We lived, ate, slept by the bugle calls. Reveille means sunrise,
when a Lieutenant must hasten to put himself into uniform, sword
and belt, and go out to receive the report of the company or
companies of soldiers, who stand drawn up in line on the parade
ground.
At about nine o'clock in the morning comes the guard-mount, a
function always which everybody goes out to see. Then the various
drill calls, and recalls, and sick-call and the beautiful
stable-call for the cavalry, when the horses are groomed and
watered, the thrilling fire-call and the startling assembly, or
call-to-arms, when every soldier jumps for his rifle and every
officer buckles on his sword, and a woman's heart stands still.
Then at night, "tattoo," when the company officers go out to
receive the report of "all present and accounted for" - and
shortly after that, the mournful "taps," a signal for the barrack
lights to be put out.
The bugle call of "taps" is mournful also through association, as
it is always blown over the grave of a soldier or an officer,
after the coffin has been lowered into the earth. The
soldier-musicians who blow the calls, seem to love the call of
"taps," (strangely enough) and I remember well that there at Camp
MacDowell, we all used to go out and listen when "taps went," as
the soldier who blew it, seemed to put a whole world of sorrow
into it, turning to the four points of the compass and letting
its clear tones tremble through the air, away off across the
Maricopa desert and then toward the East, our home so faraway. We
never spoke, we just listened, and who can tell the thoughts that
each one had in his mind?
