not ride back.
Mary Donovan came with six of her seven children to see her husband off. Huffing from her trek up fromSuds Row, she advised Julia that the post had seen a flurry of activity all night. In less than twenty-four hours, company farriers had reshod fifty or so mounts as well as the mules hauling the ambulance and supply wagons. The hospital steward had packed a chest of medical supplies. Quartermaster personnel had issued two weeks’ rations and ammunition to each man. Sergeant majors had inspected their men’s mess kits, field packs and equipment. Troopers had stashed their personal belongings in their footlockers, written hurried letters to their loved ones and oiled their saddles and tack a final time.
The sun was just beginning to raise trickles of sweat on the necks of those waiting when the bugles sounded boots and saddles. Almost immediately, a group of Indian wives dressed in calico and beautifully beaded jewelry began an answering chant. The watching crowd stirred in anticipation. Dogs barked and yipped. Children raced back and forth. Even the usually prissy Suzanne joined a group of barefoot excited youngsters that included the offspring of officers, troopers, civilians and the Sioux, Cheyenne and Arapaho families who made their homes across the river.
Another round of bugle calls brought the platoon from the stables behind the barracks. With bridles jingling and hooves thudding on the beaten earth, the squads assembled into a column of fours. First, the scouts in buckskin breeches, blue cavalry shirts and wide-brimmed hats decorated with feathers andsnakeskin bands. Then the drummers and trumpeters, followed by fifty mounted troops led by their officers. The wagons rolled along behind the troops.
“They’re going’ out in light marchin’ order,” the knowledgeable Mary informed Julia. “They’re only carryin’ a little more’n a hundred pounds o’gear apiece. The major likes to move fast, he does.”
To Julia’s untrained eye, it didn’t look as though these men were going out light. Each trooper had rolled spare clothes, an India rubber poncho, a blanket and a half tent at the front of his saddle. A forage sack with extra oats was lashed at the back. They rested atop bulging black leather saddlebags. Currycombs and horseshoe pouches hung from saddle straps, as did water canteens, mugs, coffeepots and skillets.
The troopers themselves presented a formidable appearance. Each was armed with a revolver, crossed ammunition belts and a long hunting knife, in addition to carbines in broad leather slings. Eyes shaded by broad-brimmed slouch hats, they rode erect and alert behind their officers and flag bearers.
The company pennants fluttered bravely in the breeze. Handkerchiefs waved in farewell. Wives called out to their husbands in a chorus of English, Gaelic, German, Norwegian and Sioux. Children and barking dogs raced alongside the column. As the troops trotted past, Andrew issued a command and the regimental band struck up a lively air.
“Oooch, it’s me favorite,” Mary exclaimed. Toestapping, hands clapping, she hummed along with the music.
I’m lonesome since I crossed the hill,
And o’er the moor and valley
Such heavy thoughts my heart do fill,
Since parting with m’Sally.
I seek for one as fair and gay,
But find none to remind me
How sweet the hours I passed away,
With the girl I left behind me.
One by one, the women picked up the chorus of the popular folk tune entitled, appropriately Julia thought, “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” Suddenly, a clear, male tenor soared out above the tramping hooves and jingling bridles.
Now I’m bound for Brighton camp
Kind heav’n then pray guide me
And send me safely back again,
To the girl I left behind me.
Goose bumps raised on Julia’s arms. Without quite knowing how it had happened, she found herself swept up in the emotion of the moment. Her heart thumping, she stood amid the other women, a
Mary Donovan came with six of her seven children to see her husband off. Huffing from her trek up fromSuds Row, she advised Julia that the post had seen a flurry of activity all night. In less than twenty-four hours, company farriers had reshod fifty or so mounts as well as the mules hauling the ambulance and supply wagons. The hospital steward had packed a chest of medical supplies. Quartermaster personnel had issued two weeks’ rations and ammunition to each man. Sergeant majors had inspected their men’s mess kits, field packs and equipment. Troopers had stashed their personal belongings in their footlockers, written hurried letters to their loved ones and oiled their saddles and tack a final time.
The sun was just beginning to raise trickles of sweat on the necks of those waiting when the bugles sounded boots and saddles. Almost immediately, a group of Indian wives dressed in calico and beautifully beaded jewelry began an answering chant. The watching crowd stirred in anticipation. Dogs barked and yipped. Children raced back and forth. Even the usually prissy Suzanne joined a group of barefoot excited youngsters that included the offspring of officers, troopers, civilians and the Sioux, Cheyenne and Arapaho families who made their homes across the river.
Another round of bugle calls brought the platoon from the stables behind the barracks. With bridles jingling and hooves thudding on the beaten earth, the squads assembled into a column of fours. First, the scouts in buckskin breeches, blue cavalry shirts and wide-brimmed hats decorated with feathers andsnakeskin bands. Then the drummers and trumpeters, followed by fifty mounted troops led by their officers. The wagons rolled along behind the troops.
“They’re going’ out in light marchin’ order,” the knowledgeable Mary informed Julia. “They’re only carryin’ a little more’n a hundred pounds o’gear apiece. The major likes to move fast, he does.”
To Julia’s untrained eye, it didn’t look as though these men were going out light. Each trooper had rolled spare clothes, an India rubber poncho, a blanket and a half tent at the front of his saddle. A forage sack with extra oats was lashed at the back. They rested atop bulging black leather saddlebags. Currycombs and horseshoe pouches hung from saddle straps, as did water canteens, mugs, coffeepots and skillets.
The troopers themselves presented a formidable appearance. Each was armed with a revolver, crossed ammunition belts and a long hunting knife, in addition to carbines in broad leather slings. Eyes shaded by broad-brimmed slouch hats, they rode erect and alert behind their officers and flag bearers.
The company pennants fluttered bravely in the breeze. Handkerchiefs waved in farewell. Wives called out to their husbands in a chorus of English, Gaelic, German, Norwegian and Sioux. Children and barking dogs raced alongside the column. As the troops trotted past, Andrew issued a command and the regimental band struck up a lively air.
“Oooch, it’s me favorite,” Mary exclaimed. Toestapping, hands clapping, she hummed along with the music.
I’m lonesome since I crossed the hill,
And o’er the moor and valley
Such heavy thoughts my heart do fill,
Since parting with m’Sally.
I seek for one as fair and gay,
But find none to remind me
How sweet the hours I passed away,
With the girl I left behind me.
One by one, the women picked up the chorus of the popular folk tune entitled, appropriately Julia thought, “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” Suddenly, a clear, male tenor soared out above the tramping hooves and jingling bridles.
Now I’m bound for Brighton camp
Kind heav’n then pray guide me
And send me safely back again,
To the girl I left behind me.
Goose bumps raised on Julia’s arms. Without quite knowing how it had happened, she found herself swept up in the emotion of the moment. Her heart thumping, she stood amid the other women, a
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