Whenever I think of San Antonio and Fort Sam Houston, the perfume of the wood violet which blossomed in mid-winter along the borders of our lawn, and the delicate odor of the Cape1 jessamine, seem to be wafted2 about me.
Fort Sam Houston is the Headquarters of the Department of Texas, and all the Staff officers live there, in comfortable stone houses, with broad lawns shaded by chinaberry trees. Then at the top of the hill is a great quadrangle, with a clock tower and all the department offices. On the other side of this quadrangle is the post, where the line officers live.
General Stanley commanded the Department. A fine, dignified3 and able man, with a great record as an Indian fighter. Jack4 knew him well, as he had been with him in the first preliminary survey for the northern Pacific Railroad, when he drove old Sitting Bull back to the Powder River.
He was now about to reach the age of retirement5; and as the day approached, that day when a man has reached the limit of his usefulness (in the opinion of an ever-wise Government), that day which sounds the knell6 of active service, that day so dreaded7 and yet so longed for, that day when an army officer is sixty-four years old and Uncle Sam lays him upon the shelf, as that day approached, the city of San Antonio, in fact the entire State of Texas poured forth8 to bid him Godspeed; for if ever an army man was beloved, it was General Stanley by the State of Texas.
Now on the other side of the great quadrangle lay the post, where were the soldiers' barracks and quarters of the line officers. This was commanded by Colonel Coppinger, a gallant9 officer, who had fought in many wars in many countries.
He had his famous regiment10, the Twenty-third Infantry11, and many were the pleasant dances and theatricals12 we had, with the music furnished by their band; for, as it was a time of peace, the troops were all in garrison13.
Major Burbank was there also, with his well-drilled Light Battery of the 3rd Artillery14.
My husband, being a Captain and Quartermaster, served directly under General George H. Weeks, who was Chief Quartermaster of the Department, and I can never forget his kindness to us both. He was one of the best men I ever knew, in the army or out of it, and came to be one of my dearest friends. He possessed15 the sturdy qualities of his Puritan ancestry16, united with the charming manners of an aristocrat17.
We belonged, of course, now, with the Staff, and something, an intangible something, seemed to have gone out of the life. The officers were all older, and the Staff uniforms were more sombre. I missed the white stripe of the infantry, and the yellow of the cavalry18. The shoulder-straps all had gold eagles or leaves on them, instead of the Captains' or Lieutenants19' bars. Many of the Staff officers wore civilians20' clothes, which distressed21 me much, and I used to tell them that if I were Secretary of War they would not be permitted to go about in black alpaca coats and cinnamon-brown trousers.
"What would you have us do?" said General Weeks.
"Wear white duck and brass22 buttons," I replied.
"Fol-de-rol!" said the fine-looking and erect23 Chief Quartermaster; "you would have us be as vain as we were when we were Lieutenants?"
"You can afford to be," I answered; for, even with his threescore years, he had retained the lines of youth, and was, in my opinion, the finest looking man in the Staff of the Army.
But all my reproaches and all my diplomacy24 were of no avail in reforming the Staff. Evidently comfort and not looks was their motto.
One day, I accidentally caught a side view of myself in a long mirror (long mirrors had not been very plentiful25 on the frontier), and was appalled26 by the fact that my own lines corresponded but too well, alas27! with those of the Staff. Ah, me! were the days, then, of Lieutenants forever past and gone? The days of suppleness28 and youth, the careless gay days, when there was no thought for the future, no anxiety about education, when the day began with a wild dash across country and ended with a dinner and dance—-were they over, then, for us all?
Major Burbank's battery of light artillery came over and enlivened the quiet of our post occasionally with their brilliant red color. At those times, we all went out and stood in the music pavilion to watch the drill; and when his horses and guns and caissons thundered down the hill and swept by us at a terrific gallop29, our hearts stood still. Even the dignified Staff permitted themselves a thrill, and as for us women, our excitement knew no bounds.
The brilliant red of the artillery brought color to the rather grey aspect of the quiet Headquarters post, and the magnificent drill supplied the martial30 element so dear to a woman's heart.
In San Antonio, the New has almost obliterated31 the Old, and little remains32 except its pretty green river, its picturesque33 bridges, and the historic Alamo, to mark it from other cities in the Southwest.
In the late afternoon, everybody drove to the Plaza34, where all the country people were selling their garden-stuff and poultry35 in the open square. This was charming, and we all bought live fowl36 and drove home again. One heard cackling and gobbling from the smart traps and victorias, and it seemed to be a survival of an old custom. The whole town took a drive after that, and supped at eight o'clock.
The San Antonio people believe there is no climate to equal theirs, and talk much about the cool breezes from the Gulf37 of Mexico, which is some miles away. But I found seven months of the twelve too hot for comfort, and I could never detect much coolness in the summer breezes.
After I settled down to the sedateness38 which is supposed to belong to the Staff, I began to enjoy life very much. There is compensation for every loss, and I found, with the new friends, many of whom had lived their lives, and had known sorrow and joy, a true companionship which enriched my life, and filled the days with gladness.
My son had completed the High School course in San Antonio, under an able German master, and had been sent East to prepare for the Stevens Institute of Technology, and in the following spring I took my daughter Katharine and fled from the dreaded heat of a Texas summer. Never can I forget the child's grief on parting from her Texas pony39. She extorted40 a solemn promise from her father, who was obliged to stay in Texas, that he would never part with him.
My brother, then unmarried, and my sister Harriet were living together in New Rochelle and to them we went. Harry's vacation enabled him to be with us, and we had a delightful41 summer. It was good to be on the shores of Long Island Sound.
In the autumn, not knowing what next was in store for us, I placed my dear little Katharine at the Convent of the Sacred Heart at Kenwood on the Hudson, that she might be able to complete her education in one place, and in the care of those lovely, gentle and refined ladies of that order.
Shortly after that, Captain Jack was ordered to David's Island, New York Harbor (now called Fort Slocum), where we spent four happy and uninterrupted years, in the most constant intercourse42 with my dear brother and sister.
Old friends were coming and going all the time, and it seemed so good to us to be living in a place where this was possible.
Captain Summerhayes was constructing officer and had a busy life, with all the various sorts of building to be done there.
David's Island was then an Artillery Post, and there were several batteries stationed there. (Afterwards it became a recruiting station.) The garrison was often entirely43 changed. At one time, General Henry C. Cook was in command. He and his charming Southern wife added so much to the enjoyment44 of the post. Then came our old friends the Van Vliets of Santa Fe days; and Dr. and Mrs. Valery Havard, who are so well known in the army, and then Colonel Carl............