Little Pills, an Army Story. R. H. McKay
water makes a pretty fair quality of cement. It was used altogether in the floors for the military posts along the Rio Grande.
The water supply at Fort Craig was obtained from the Rio Grande river and there were times about June when the snows melted in the mountains that it answered very well to a description I once read of the Missouri river water, "Too thick to drink and too thin to cultivate." This was a great bother to us during the summer rise for it was persistent for more than a month. I conceived the idea of making a filter by making a good sized ball of jaspa and charcoal which I held together by mixing a little cotton batting carefully in the mortar and kneading it into a very stiff paste. After it hardened I bored a hole in the ball and inserted a rubber tube and then put the ball in a "Tanaja," a large ungalvanized earthen jar holding eight or ten gallons of the muddy water. This jar was put in an army blanket and was swung in the hallway. The jar being porous would let enough water through to keep the blanket damp, which cooled the water. By swinging another tanaja just below the first and having it blanketed in the same way, and having a rubber tube connecting the two, I had a filter that furnished clear, sparkling, cool water. I put one in the hospital and they became quite the vogue at the post.
The wood supply was brought from the mountains some thirty miles away. Trains comprising several wagons would be sent out in charge of a wagonmaster with men enough to load them promptly and by starting early and returning late they sometimes made the round trip in two days, but generally they were three days out.
For a month or more I was in the officers' mess, consisting only of single men or those whose families were away. The meals were rather stately affairs and to me seemed a little tinged with the ridiculous in that far-away place. There was a colored man standing behind each officer's chair dressed in the proper toggery to do his duty and to give him every attention. I never saw any more perfect service at any hotel and the table was the best the commissary department and the surrounding country would provide.
Prices outside the commissary were much higher than we had then in Iowa. Eggs were fifty cents a dozen; butter a dollar and a quarter a pound. I paid these prices regularly when I started my own mess. I had what was called a student's lamp in those days and paid five dollars a gallon for coal oil, as it was then called. Of course that was before oil tanks were known and it was carried across the plains in barrels, maybe in hot weather, and on slow moving ox trains, being months on the way. The evaporation would necessarily be very great, and by the time the sutler's store got its percent of profit (probably one hundred percent or more) one could easily see that fifty cent oil in Iowa could easily be five dollars in New Mexico. Some years later at Fort McRae, further down the river, we got it for two dollars and a half per gallon by sending a five gallon can to Santa Fe to be filled.
Thinking that I was a fixture at Fort Craig for some time I wrote my wife and asked her to join me after her visit in the East was over. In view of her coming I started a mess of my own and had a little colored drummer boy detailed as servant and cook. He was as black as night and I called him Sandy. To start with I laid in a pretty good supply of commissaries, among them ten pounds of cut loaf sugar. I had my first dinner on Saturday and the following Monday morning I asked Sandy if anything was needed. "Yas sah, Doctor, we needs some moah sugar." Why Sandy, I said, we got ten pounds of each kind on Saturday, which kind do you want? "We needs some moah cut loaf sugar, sah," he said. What, cut loaf sugar? "Yas sah, Doctor, it takes a powerful sight 'o sugar for deserts." Well all right Sandy, I said, I'll see about it. I thought it was going pretty fast for only two dinners so I stopped on my way back from the hospital at Major Sweet's quarters and asked Mrs. Sweet how much cut loaf sugar they used. She was bright and quick as a flash, and wished to know, while trying to look serious, why I asked such a question. Finally she broke out into a jolly rippling laugh and said, "I know what's the matter, Sandy has been carrying your sugar off to the laundresses." I told Sandy when I returned to my quarters that I did not mind his having all the sugar he wanted himself but I did not want to feed all the laundresses at the post on cut loaf sugar. He did better afterwards but I still think the laundresses got some sugar.
There is no other part of the country so far as I know where skunks were so plentiful as in New Mexico. They were a nuisance at all the posts at which I served in that territory, but if possible were worse at Fort Craig than elsewhere. One evening I had gone to the post trader's to get my mail and upon my return I found the odor in my quarters so pronounced that I investigated and found that Sandy had killed a skunk in the kitchen. He explained by saying that he had tried to drive it out and could not do so and that he had killed it. I told him to open up all the windows and doors and scrub the kitchen floor and I went back to the sutler's store in self protection. I did not return until late when I found the odor worse than ever and Sandy explained the matter this time by saying another skunk came in and had made its way into my bed-room and got under the wardrobe and he could not get it out and was compelled to kill it. This he did by punching it to death. The result can be imagined, but not very well described. I slept on a cot in the front room for some time afterwards and found hunting and out-door exercise more interesting than remaining in my quarters.
The sand storms at Fort Craig were something to remember, or rather I should say impossible to forget. They are simply a straight wind blowing with terrific force and loaded with fine sand and dust and very fine gravel. I remember particularly one that came up one day when the steward and I were making out the monthly reports at the hospital. The windows and doors were closed and everything made as snug as possible, yet when the storm was over one made tracks when walking across the floor as visible as he would have made walking along a sandy highway. It was a serious matter to be out in one of them, for unless the face was covered one would suffer severely from the stinging sand and fine gravel, and everything a short distance away was shut out from sight. There are also some pleasant things to remember of my experience at this post. The hunting, particularly of wild fowl, was very good, the ducks remaining late in the spring and returning early in the fall. The sunsets were beautiful beyond my power of description. It was my first summer in a rarified atmosphere and I imagined at times I could see objects moving along the mountain range some thirty miles away. I remember one evening when Doctor Seguin was visiting a few days with me on his return from Fort Selden to New York, having left the service, we were out for a walk together and were up on a little mound just west of the post as the sun went down and his attention was called to the beautiful cloud effects. He remarked that he had never seen anything more beautiful in Italy. The doctor was a Frenchman by birth; his father was a medical man of distinction, and while most of his life had been spent in this country he had traveled extensively abroad and his education, particularly in medicine, had been acquired in Europe. He was now returning to New York to take up his work as a lecturer on nervous diseases in the College of Physicians and Surgeons.
While the doctor was visiting with me we went up to San Marcial to witness the games on St. John's day, June 24th. San Marcial was at that time a small straggling Mexican village of one street with adobe houses on each side and all told maybe had one hundred inhabitants. We did not go into any of the houses and only witnessed one game of any interest, it was a rough-and-tumble affair and excited great interest among the Mexicans. A rooster with its legs tied would be buried in a little mound of sand in the middle of the street, leaving only its head and neck sticking above the mound. The game was for the horsemen to form in line some distance up the street and come at full speed swooping down from the saddle, grab the chicken by the head, and then the battle was on for the chicken. The possessor of the unfortunate chicken would strike out over adobe walls and across irrigating ditches, anywhere to get out of the way of his pursuers and when at last he would be cornered, or surrounded, a battle royal would follow. I could not determine how the matter was decided but when the game was over they would come back and repeat the performance. There were many misses in their efforts to pick up the rooster, but a few of the contestants were more expert than the others and several succeeded in swinging down and retrieving the rooster from the mound of sand. We left while the game was still in progress. In all the games I witnessed among the Mexicans there appeared the element of cruelty in some form or other.
During the summer of 1869 while stationed at this post I went to Paraja to see the Penitentes parade. I don't know why it was called a parade for it was an exhibition of cruelty that I have never at any other time in my life seen equaled. It was supposed to be a religious ceremony but consisted of a procession in single