EXCERPT FROM MY ARMY LIFE (c. 1866, by Frances C. Carrington)

Fort Phil Kearny was built near present-day Story, Wyoming in 1866 to protect travelers on the Bozeman Trail from attacks by the Sioux. In the first six months of its existence, it was attacked repeatedly by the Sioux, who surrounded the compound with the so-called "Circle of Death." After more than 150 soldiers were killed, the fort was abandoned under the terms of the 1868 Treaty of Fort Laramie.

Frances Carrington was the second wife of Colonel Henry B. Carrington, who oversaw the construction of Fort Phil Kearny. Her memoir, published about forty years after the fort was abandoned, gives a revealing account of the privations and dangers of life in the northern Wyoming encampment. Though under constant attack from both the elements and the Sioux, Mrs. Carrington makes it clear she worked hard to achieve and maintain basic standards of housekeeping and domestic order.

Leah R.Shafer,
Cornell University

See also Frontier ; Wars with Indian Nations: Later Nineteenth Century (1840–1900)

Chapter xii.

Garrison Life Begun.

The sudden change of temperature incident to the high altitude and climate of our new home caused a deep snow to fall during the very night of our arrival, and the tents having been insecurely drawn together, combined with the penetrating wind to supply an extremely novel experience. The snow drifted in, covered my face, and there melting trickled down my cheeks until if I had shed tears they would have been indistinguishable. The cheering proverb, "weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning," had neither solace nor comfort for me, just then!

When I arose from fitful slumber and had sufficiently cleared my eyes and face from snow to take my bearings deliberately it was only to find that pillows, bed-ding, and even the stove and the ground within the tent were also covered. Notwithstanding my misery, there was something actually ludicrous in the situation. I did afterwards intimate to friends that the fancy of thus prematurely donning snow-white robes did not occur to me at that moment, for neither levity nor philosophy could adequately meet the occasion. Shaking out stockings and emptying shoes filled with fine snow was earthly and practical in the extreme.

A soldier from our company had been detailed to make fires and render other domestic service as best he could, and the cook-stove required the first attention both for its heat and its more appetizing functions. That stove proved to be a success. Its warmth soon melted the snow, but in passing from the stove-tent to the mess-chest in the other tent, a slip-shod step became from actual necessity my trying resort. It would seem, and indeed it did seem, as if I had reached the extreme limit of endurance, but no, I had not.

I can speak of it now in calm terms, but at the moment I had such a sensation of actual desperation come over me that with butcher-knife in hand for preparation of something for breakfast I almost threatened then and there to end it all, and I could have settled the question "to be, or not to be" in short order. And then the second thought was of a less morbid vein and I resolved to "take up arms against this sea of trouble" and master the situation.

My first decided action resulted in the manufacture of some very hard biscuit from flour, salt, and water; and then bacon and coffee. All these in course of time were deposited upon the mess-chest for our first morning meal and the bacon and coffee were first served. Then for the biscuit. No hatchet chanced to be conveniently near to aid in separating them in halves, but the work had to be done. Impulsively I seized the butcher-knife, so recently associated with a vague idea of other use, but in the endeavor to do hatchet-work with it the blade slipped and almost severed my thumb, mingling both blood and tears. Had I any doubt of the truth of my statement or the memory thereof I have only to look at the scar which I still wear after the lapse of more than the third of a century.

One morning I started a brisk fire with shavings abundant when a sudden wind blew the sparks under the foundations of the commanding officers quarters where the debris from carpenter work had accumulated, setting the whole on fire and actually threatening the building itself; but quick discovery and prompt action on the part of someone passing by soon extinguished the flame. I suppose that it was thought to be unsafe for such risky experiments as mine in the cooking line, for almost immediately new quarters were assigned me in a large hospital tent recently vacated by the Colonels family, which had moved into their headquarters building then about half finished. The change was a decidedly agreeable one, that of a large tent with a safer cooking arrangement and better protection from future snow and wind blasts.

For some time after that we had no snow and the weather continued fine for weeks, so that in that invigorating climate there was a quick response to the delightful change, at least from a physical point of view. It did not, and could not, bring unalloyed happiness, for Indian alarms were almost constant and attacks upon the wood trains were so frequent that I had a horror of living in a tent, however large or convenient, so near the stockade as the officers line of quarters had been located.

The stockade itself was rapidly nearing completion, notwithstanding all other work went on, and the skirmishing continued to be accepted as a part of the daily discipline and experience. It was made of heavy pine trunks eleven feet in length hewn to a touching surface of four inches, so as to join closely, all pointed, loop-holed, and imbedded in the ground for four feet. Block-houses were at two diagonal corners and one at the water-gate, and massive double gates of double plank, with small sally-wickets and substantial bars and locks opened on three fronts, while the fourth directly behind the officers quarters had but a small sally-port, for the officers use only. My constant fear was that the Indians would work their way over the stockade under cover of the darkness at night. Opening from this, the fort proper, was a rough cottonwood stockade, or corral, known as the quartermasters yard, which contained quarters for teamsters, stock, wagons, hay ricks, and shops for wagon-makers, saddlers, and other general apparatus and conveniences usual in a large frontier fort. I often heard the crack of a rifle, so near that it seemed to be just at the back of my tent. The evident plan of the Indians was to harass the fort constantly by running off stock, to cut off any soldier or citizen who ventured any distance from the gates, and also to entice soldiers from the protection of the stockade and then lead them into some fatal ambush. As yet it was perfectly certain that the leading chiefs had not settled upon any plan to attack the fort itself in mass. Why they did not do so earlier and before the fort was completed is still a mystery.

The mountain scenery about the post was grand, and the beautiful Tongue River Valley, with its countless bright streams, was full of charms. With the Panther Mountains beyond to the westward the Big Horn Mountains to the southward, and the Black Hills, soon after made so famous for golded treasure, to the eastward, surely Fort Phil. Kearney was beautiful for situation. Lowering my gaze to the hills immediately near us, my eyes more frequently rested with pleasure upon Pilot Hill, only a few hundred yards from the fort. This shapely conical summit was the real watch-tower from which the faithful picket guard would signal danger as his watchful eye caught glimpses and his waving flag announced an approaching foe.

As our world revolved in a very small space there were no happenings that were unrelated, and the stories of miners, trappers, and guides were more intensely interesting as told by word of mouth than when filtered through the printed page.

It was my good fortune to meet with old Jim Bridger, already past his three-score and ten, who had been the chief guide to Colonel Carrington in the opening of the country. He was a typical "plainsman" and his name is perpetuated by such types as Fort Bridger and Bridgers Ferry. He had been a chief among the friendly Crows and the guide to Brigham Young in earlier days, and his biography, if written, would make a ponderous volume of tragic and startling events.

Although uneducated, he spoke both Spanish and English, as well as many Indian tongues, and his genial manners and simplicity of bearing commanded respect as well as the attachment and confidence of all who knew him well.

A quaint story is related of Bridger that when Laramie was but a small frontier outpost it was visited by a rich Irish nobleman who was upon a great hunting expedition among the Rockies and had secured Bridger for his guide. His outfit was made up of six wagons, twenty-one carts, twelve yoke of cattle, twelve horses, fourteen dogs and forty servants. He made Laramie the base of his supplies for several months during the hunting season. Bridger was a very revelation of a genuine sportsman to the lordly Irishman, who especially admired him for his honesty, simplicity, and shrewdness, as well as his knowledge of woodcraft and game. The contrast between the Irish gentleman and his train and the rude Bridger, who had depended upon his rifle for his livelihood from early childhood, was at times very amusing. The Irishman would lie in bed until a late hour, then take his hunt and return late at night, but however late he returned he would bring meat and insist upon having a late dinner to which he would invite Bridger. After the meal was over Sir George Gore, for that was his name, was in the habit of reading aloud to draw out Bridgers ideas of the author. On one ocasion when reading from Shakespeare and about Fallstaff, Bridger broke out with the exclamation: "Thats too hyfalutin for me; that thar Fullstuff was a leettle too fond olager beer!" Sir George read the adventures of Baron Munchausen one evening. Bridger shook his head a moment and then remarked, "Ill be dog-goned if I ken swaller everything that Baron sez. I believe hes a liar." A moment afterwards he added, that, "some of his own adventures among the Blackfoot Indians, in old times, would read just as wonderful if they were jest writ down in a book."

He used to tell us stories occasionally at the fort. He ridiculed the frontiersmen for their "gold craze" and laughed himself as he told a hunter once that "there was a diamond out near the Yellowstone Country that was on a mountain and if any one was lucky enough to get the right range it could be seen fifty miles, and one fool offered him a new rifle and a fine horse if he would put him on the right track to go for that diamond."

Bridger would walk about, constantly scanning the opposite hills that commanded a good view of the fort, as if he suspected Indians of having scouts behind every sage clump, or fallen cottonwood; and toward evening, as well as in the early morning, it was not strange that we caught flashes of small hand mirrors, which were used by the Indians in giving signals to other Indians who were invisible from the fort. Indeed all sights and sounds were of constant interest, if not of dread, living so constantly in the region of the senses, keyed to their highest tone by the life external. I often wondered why a post so isolated was not swept away by a rush of mighty numbers of the surrounding savages, to avenge in one vast holocaust the invasion of their finest hunting grounds. Only our strong defenses prevented an assault, and the depletion of our numbers by attacks upon our exposed wood trains seemed to be their sole hope of finding some opportunity by which to find the way to final extermination of the garrison itself.

The nights were made hideous at times by the hungry wolves who gathered in hordes about the slaughter-yard of the quartermaster, without the stockade, and near the Little Piney Creek. The only reassuring comfort was the statement of Bridger and others that Indians were rarely near when many wolves were present, and that they could distinguish the howl of the wolf from the cry of the Indian, by the fact that the former produced no echo. Once indeed, Indians, knowing that the soldiers were accustomed to put poison on the offal at the slaughter-yard to secure the pelts of the wolves for robes, crawled up close to the stockade, crawling under wolf-skins that covered their bodies, and a sentry was actually shot from the banquet that lay along the stockade, by an arrow, before any knowledge of the vicinity of the enemy came to the garrison.

In contrast with howling wolves and screeching savages who on one occasion rode in full view along the summit opposite the fort, waving their blankets and yelling their fierce bravadoes, we had the fine music of our splendid band of forty pieces, which played at guard-mounting in the morning and at dress-parade at sunset, while their afternoon drills and evening entertainments were in strange contrast with the solemn conditions that were constantly suggestive of war and sacrifice of life. If unable to soothe the savage breast, our music did soothe our civilized dread and force cheer in spite of ever present danger.

An Indian superstition maintained that a man killed in the darkness must spend eternity in darkness, and if that enured to our benefit, all right; but it did not deter Indians from making demonstrations by moonlight. On one occasion, just after dark, an alarm called attention to a large fire built on the top of Sullivant Hills, where Indians were visible, dancing about the flames where they were supposed to be taking a substantial meal of basted venison. No alarm was given, but the Colonel turned three howitzers upon the spot, cut fuses for the right time of flight, and all were fired at the same instant. Two spherical case shot exploded just over the fire scattering the bullets which they carried, and the fire was instantly trampled out as the Indians swiftly disappeared. It was a novel surprise to the redman that at a distance of several hundred yards the white soldier could drop into their midst such masterful vollies as eighty-four one-ounce bullets at every discharge. To us who watched the flight and witnessed the flash of the explosion in their very midst there was a satisfaction in the conviction that the Indians would hardly venture to come nearer when the "guns that shoot twice," as they called our howitzers, could do so much fighting even at night at so great a distance.

Chapter xiii.

Domesticities and New Friendships.

The residents of Fort Phil. Kearney were not troubled with ennui. While the men were busy in their departments of labor, the ladies were no less occupied in their accustomed activities. "Baking, brewing, stewing, and sewing" was the alliterative expression of the daily routine. With little fresh meat other than juiceless wild game, buffalo, elk, deer, or mountain sheep, and no vegetables, canned stuffs were in immediate and constant requisition. Once, indeed, Mr. Bozeman sent a few sacks of potatoes from his ranch in Montana to headquarters, as precious as grain in the sacks of Israels sons in Egypt; but these were doled out in small quantities to officers families, while the remainder, the major part, was sent to the hospital for men afflicted or threatened with scurvy.

The preparation of edible from canned fruits, meats, and vegetables taxed all ingenuity to evolve some product, independent of mere stewing, for successful results. Calico, flannel, and linsey woolsey, procured from the sutlers store, with gray army blankets as material for little boys overcoats, composed the staple goods required, and ladies garments, evolved after the "hit or miss" style, came in due time without the aid of sewing machines, of which none were at the post. Our buffalo boots were of a pattern emanating from or necessitated by our frontier locality, a counterpart of the leggings worn by the men, except that theirs did not have the shoe attachment. They were made by the company shoemakers of harness leather, to which was attached buffalo skin, with the hair inside, reaching almost to the knee and fastened on the outside with leather straps and brass buttons. The brass buttons were not for ornament, but a necessity in lieu of any other available kind. Nothing could exceed them in comfort, as a means adapted to an end.

There were hours when one could sit down composedly for a bit of sewing in a comfortable chair, with additional pleasure in the possession of a table sufficiently large for the double duty of dining and work table. With the few books I had carried with me for companionship distributed about, there was just a bit of homelikeness in tent life. My cooking experiments were never a great success, especially in the attempt at making pies, though I tried to emulate the ladies of larger experience in the effort. The cook-stove rested upon boards somewhat inclined, which was fatal to pie-making, which I did attempt a few times from canned fruit only to find in due time well developed crusts minus the fruit, which had oozed out gradually during the process, still in evidence of my good intentions, and to be eaten with as much philosophy as one could command with a straight face, disguising laughter, or tears.

Through the kind consideration of Mrs. Carrington, a large double bedstead was made by the carpenters, a luxury indeed, with mattress stuffed with dried grass, army blankets, and a large gay-colored shawl for counterpane, and surely no four-poster of mahogany, with valences of richest texture and downy pillows, and, for that matter, no Chippendale table, with these furniture accessories, could have been more prized during my life at the fort, as a demonstration of the simple life theory in every detail, whether enforced or otherwise.

Often, while reading or sewing quietly by myself, I would be startled by a rustling at my tent door, but fears were soon allayed when I discovered the beautiful head of Mrs. Hortons pet antelope protruding within. Its large, melting eyes would look at me appealingly, and, with sufficient encouragement, it would approach for the accustomed caress and favorite bite to eat.

Of the little children at the fort there were four boys, and many pleasant hours were spent in my tent with Jimmy Carrington, my little favorite, whose loving disposition made him a welcome guest. No picknickers of the pine woods ever enjoyed a repast so much as we did, after our simple preparations, involving a trip to the sutlers store, where cans of sugar were obtained, each with a mysterious-looking little bottle of lemon essence deposited therein, from which we produced lemonade, and this, together with ginger-snaps and nuts, made a "dainty dish fit for a King," never mind about the birds. After the repast was the song. He possessed a remarkably sweet voice, and together we sang familiar Sunday School hymns his mother had taught him, one of which I especially recall, "There is a light in the window for me," and his sweet childish tones sang the words deeply into my heart.

Sunday evening singing at headquarters was a feature of the day. Neither was Sunday morning service neglected, for, though no chapel had as yet been erected, each new building in turn was utilized for the service. With a fine string band to accompany the voices, and sometimes additional instruments, the presence of God was felt and recognized in this impromptu worship. Several of the band were German Catholics and good singers. On one occasion especial pains had been taken by the Colonel to make the music an attractive specialty to interest the men. The chaplain, Rev. David White, was a devout Methodist, of good heart and excellent in teaching the soldiers children at the fort, for there were several, but very unsophisticated in general society matters. On one occasion, when great care had secured the rendition of "Te Deum Laudamus," in which the band took part, he very solemnly asked the Colonel, "Isnt that a Catholic tune?" and upon answer by the Colonel, "Why, that is one of the oldest and most glorious hymns of the Church all over Christendon," he expressed surprise, but thought himself that "it seemed to be quite religious, but it was new to him."

With a coterie of five ladies at the post, each had four places to visit, and the most was made of it in comparing notes upon the important matters of cooking, sewing, and our various steps of advancement in the different arts, quite independently of prevailing fashions of dress in the States, and yet this did not signify entire emancipation, for the problem was still a little perplexing in the evolution of new ideas, while mutual helpfulness simplified all our efforts. There was often an all-round social dance, games of cards, the "authors game," and other contrivances for recreation and amusement, in addition to the receptions at headquarters, which were spirited and congenial, and, with a band having the deserved reputation of being the finest in the army, their choice music was no small feature in the cheer on the frontier.

SOURCE: Carrington, Frances C. My Army Life and the Fort Phil. Kearney Massacre, with an Account of the Celebration of "Wyoming Opened." Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1910.