At Davids' Island the four happiest years of my army life glided¹ swiftly away.  
There was a small steam tug² which made regular and frequent trips over to New Rochelle and we enjoyed our intercourse³ with the artists and players who lived there.
 
Zogbaum, whose well known pictures of sailors and warships⁴ and soldiers had reached us even in the far West, and whose charming family added so much to our pleasure.
 
Julian Hawthorne with his daughter Hildegarde, now so well known as a literary critic; Henry Loomis Nelson, whose fair daughter Margaret came to our little dances and promptly⁵ fell in love with a young, slim, straight Artillery⁶ officer. A case of love at first sight, followed by a short courtship and a beautiful little country wedding at Miss Nelson's home on the old Pelham Road, where Hildegarde Hawthorne was bridesmaid in a white dress and scarlet⁷ flowers (the artillery colors) and many famous literary people from everywhere were present.
 
Augustus Thomas, the brilliant playwright⁸, whose home was near the Remingtons on Lathers⁹' Hill, and whose wife, so young, so beautiful and so accomplished¹⁰, made that home attractive and charming.
 
Francis Wilson, known to the world at large, first as a singer in comic opera, and now as an actor and author, also lived in New Rochelle, and we came to have the honor of being numbered amongst his friends. A devoted¹¹ husband and kind father, a man of letters and a book lover, such is the man as we knew him in his home and with his family.
 
And now came the delicious warm summer days. We persuaded the Quartermaster to prop¹² up the little row of old bathing houses which had toppled over with the heavy winter gales¹³. There were several bathing enthusiasts¹⁴ amongst us; we had a pretty fair little stretch of beach which was set apart for the officers' families, and now what bathing parties we had! Kemble, the illustrator, joined our ranks—and on a warm summer morning the little old Tug Hamilton was gay with the artists and their families, the players and writers of plays, and soon you could see the little garrison¹⁵ hastening to the beach and the swimmers running down the long pier¹⁶, down the run-way and off head first into the clear waters of the Sound. What a company was that! The younger and the older ones all together, children and their fathers and mothers, all happy, all well, all so gay, and we of the frontier so enamored of civilization and what it brought us! There were no intruders and ah! those were happy days. Uncle Sam seemed to be making up to us for what we had lost during all those long years in the wild places.
 
Then Augustus Thomas wrote the play of "Arizona" and we went to New York to see it put on, and we sat in Mr. Thomas' box and saw our frontier life brought before us with startling reality.
 
And so one season followed another. Each bringing its pleasures, and then came another lovely wedding, for my brother Harry¹⁷ gave up his bachelor estate and married one of the nicest and handsomest girls in Westchester County, and their home in New Rochelle was most attractive. My son was at the Stevens Institute and both he and Katharine were able to spend their vacations at David's Island, and altogether, our life there was near to perfection.
 
We were doomed¹⁸ to have one more tour in the West, however, and this time it was the Middle West.
 
For in the autumn of '96, Jack¹⁹ was ordered to Jefferson Barracks, Missouri, on construction work.
 
Jefferson Barracks is an old and historic post on the Mississippi River, some ten miles south of St. Louis. I could not seem to take any interest in the post or in the life there. I could not form new ties so quickly, after our life on the coast, and I did not like the Mississippi Valley, and St. Louis was too far from the post, and the trolley²⁰ ride over there too disagreeable for words. After seven months of just existing (on my part) at Jefferson Barracks, Jack received an order for Fort Myer, the end, the aim, the dream of all army people. Fort Myer is about three miles from Washington, D. C.
 
We lost no time in getting there and were soon settled in our pleasant quarters. There was some building to be done, but the duty was comparatively light, and we entered with considerable zest²¹ into the social life of the Capital. We expected to remain there for two years, at the end of which time Captain Summerhayes would be retired²² and Washington would be our permanent home.
 
But alas²³! our anticipation²⁴ was never to be realized, for, as we all know, in May of 1898, the Spanish War broke out, and my husband was ordered to New York City to take charge of the Army Transport Service, under Colonel Kimball.
 
No delay was permitted to him, so I was left behind, to pack up the household goods and to dispose of our horses and carriages as best I could.
 
The battle of Manila Bay had changed the current of our lives, and we were once more adrift.
 
The young Cavalry²⁵ officers came in to say good-bye to Captain Jack: every one was busy packing up his belongings²⁶ for an indefinite period and preparing for the field. We all felt the undercurrent of sadness and uncertainty²⁷, but "a good health" and "happy return" was drunk all around, and Jack departed at midnight for his new station and new duties.
 
The next morning at daybreak we were awakened²⁸ by the tramp, tramp of the Cavalry, marching out of the post, en route for Cuba.
 
We peered out of the windows and watched th............