latter.
Tonight at dinner in the “mess” tent as the Army insists upon calling it, the conversation turned as it does with ever greater frequency to the subject of our Cheyennes. The Captain admitted, if rather grudgingly, that the tribe is a superior race as the American Indians go—a handsome, proud, and independent people, who have kept to themselves as much as they have been able in these times, avoiding the missionaries, the agencies, and general commerce with the whites more than any of the other tribes. This, the Captain stated, has allowed them to remain less “spoiled” than the others.
“I find that to be an unfortunate choice of words, Captain,” objected our official church representative Narcissa White, “for it implies that contact with Christian civilization is the root cause of the spoilation of heathens, rather than the ladder by which they might climb from the muck of paganism.”
“I consider myself to be a devout man, Miss White,” answered the Captain. “But I am also a military man. It is the lesson of history that in order for Christian civilization to extend her noble boundaries, barbarians must first be roundly defeated on the battlefield. By spoiled I mean only that in giving the Red Man gifts—rations and charity that are not earned by the sweat of his own brow—our government has never accomplished anything other than to encourage him, like a dog fed scraps at table, to beg more gifts, rations, and charity.”
“And brides,” I interjected good-naturedly. “Give the damn heathens one thousand white women, and soon they’ll want a thousand more!”
“Although I think you mock me, Miss Dodd,” said the Captain with an amused glint in his eye, “that is exactly correct. Such well-intentioned gifts will only make them bolder in their demands. The savages will never be convinced of the benefits of civilization until they are first subdued by superior force.”
“Yes, and isn’t that why the government is sending us among them?” I said, with a bit of false bravado.
“Yah, May, I tink so,” Gretchen Fathauer said. “I tink dey not seen superior force until dey seen us!” And we all laughed. For what else is there to do?
22 April 1875
This evening after dinner our muleskinner Jimmy called at the tent in which I share extremely close quarters with Phemie, Martha, Gretchen, and the girl Sara. Jimmy asked me to step outside for a word, and then proceeded to inform me that Captain Bourke should like to see me in his own quarters. There is little opportunity for privacy in our camps at the end of the day’s travels, and I must say his request startled me, especially given the Captain’s recent coolness toward me. The lad led me there. He is such a strange boy … I cannot put a finger on it …
The Captain greeted me at the entrance to his tent, and seemed genuinely pleased that I had come. “I hope you will not consider my invitation to be too forward, Miss Dodd,” he said, “but evening bivouacs in the field can be exceptionally dull, particularly to an old Army man such as myself who has endured so many of them. I always carry with me in the field my cherished volume of Shakespeare, which I amuse myself by reading at night. I thought this evening you might be willing to join me—far more interesting to read aloud with a fellow enthusiast.”
“Why thank you, Captain, I’d love to,” I answered. “And shall I invite Helen Flight to join us, to play yet a third part?”
I had set this small trap for the Captain, just to gauge his reaction. And I was not displeased to see that he was unable to mask the flicker of disappointment that crossed his brow. But he recovered quickly and was, as usual, the perfect gentleman. “Yes … yes, by all means, Miss Dodd, a fine idea, do please ask Miss Flight to please join us. Shall I send Jimmy to fetch her?”
And then our eyes met and we stared for some time at one another, and the charade melted away in the heat of
Tonight at dinner in the “mess” tent as the Army insists upon calling it, the conversation turned as it does with ever greater frequency to the subject of our Cheyennes. The Captain admitted, if rather grudgingly, that the tribe is a superior race as the American Indians go—a handsome, proud, and independent people, who have kept to themselves as much as they have been able in these times, avoiding the missionaries, the agencies, and general commerce with the whites more than any of the other tribes. This, the Captain stated, has allowed them to remain less “spoiled” than the others.
“I find that to be an unfortunate choice of words, Captain,” objected our official church representative Narcissa White, “for it implies that contact with Christian civilization is the root cause of the spoilation of heathens, rather than the ladder by which they might climb from the muck of paganism.”
“I consider myself to be a devout man, Miss White,” answered the Captain. “But I am also a military man. It is the lesson of history that in order for Christian civilization to extend her noble boundaries, barbarians must first be roundly defeated on the battlefield. By spoiled I mean only that in giving the Red Man gifts—rations and charity that are not earned by the sweat of his own brow—our government has never accomplished anything other than to encourage him, like a dog fed scraps at table, to beg more gifts, rations, and charity.”
“And brides,” I interjected good-naturedly. “Give the damn heathens one thousand white women, and soon they’ll want a thousand more!”
“Although I think you mock me, Miss Dodd,” said the Captain with an amused glint in his eye, “that is exactly correct. Such well-intentioned gifts will only make them bolder in their demands. The savages will never be convinced of the benefits of civilization until they are first subdued by superior force.”
“Yes, and isn’t that why the government is sending us among them?” I said, with a bit of false bravado.
“Yah, May, I tink so,” Gretchen Fathauer said. “I tink dey not seen superior force until dey seen us!” And we all laughed. For what else is there to do?
22 April 1875
This evening after dinner our muleskinner Jimmy called at the tent in which I share extremely close quarters with Phemie, Martha, Gretchen, and the girl Sara. Jimmy asked me to step outside for a word, and then proceeded to inform me that Captain Bourke should like to see me in his own quarters. There is little opportunity for privacy in our camps at the end of the day’s travels, and I must say his request startled me, especially given the Captain’s recent coolness toward me. The lad led me there. He is such a strange boy … I cannot put a finger on it …
The Captain greeted me at the entrance to his tent, and seemed genuinely pleased that I had come. “I hope you will not consider my invitation to be too forward, Miss Dodd,” he said, “but evening bivouacs in the field can be exceptionally dull, particularly to an old Army man such as myself who has endured so many of them. I always carry with me in the field my cherished volume of Shakespeare, which I amuse myself by reading at night. I thought this evening you might be willing to join me—far more interesting to read aloud with a fellow enthusiast.”
“Why thank you, Captain, I’d love to,” I answered. “And shall I invite Helen Flight to join us, to play yet a third part?”
I had set this small trap for the Captain, just to gauge his reaction. And I was not displeased to see that he was unable to mask the flicker of disappointment that crossed his brow. But he recovered quickly and was, as usual, the perfect gentleman. “Yes … yes, by all means, Miss Dodd, a fine idea, do please ask Miss Flight to please join us. Shall I send Jimmy to fetch her?”
And then our eyes met and we stared for some time at one another, and the charade melted away in the heat of
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