BRASS BUTTON BRIDES

In our Army on the far-flung frontier, who had it tougher, the soldiers or their wives? BRASS BUTTON BRIDES

In the late nineteenth century, Fran Boyd traveled by mule-drawn Army ambulance from San Francisco to Fort Halleck, Nevada, where she found her new home to be two windowless tents. For her, like many other Army wives of the period, the raw frontier was a rude shock. The War Department provided them no conveniences or special consideration. Undaunted, they followed their men anyway, marveling at Washington's unfailing ability to select sites for posts in the most godforsaken areas of the entire West: seemingly the hottest parts of the desert, the coldest parts of the plains, and, in the most isolated locations, the places that had the worst water and the fewest trees.

Because officers were allowed only 1000 pounds of personal goods fitted into three large chests, Army brides were often forced to auction precious dishes, linens, and furniture. They also could expect to move frequently-sometimes as many as twenty times in three years. In convoy, wagons were positioned by rank. Second lieutenants' wives and families of enlisted men brought up the dustchoked rear. Ingenious wives used cham-baby carriers. At night, tents were pitched in the open. And the supper bacon and coffee cooked over an open fire. Travelers were subjected to prairie fires, flooded rivers, hostile Indians, tornadoes, and blizzards. One bride, after a storm, woke to find she had shared her tent with an old sow and its piglets.

To shine Brass Button homes, as the Army dubbed them, would have given Superwoman pause. On the Arizona desert, "home" usually was made of adobe. Of her quarters Kate Boyd (no relation to Fran) said: "The room was well staffed with gnats, fleas, vinegarroons [large scorpions], and an inquisitive snake that was always popping its head up from a hole in the dirt floor." Roofs were of mud, and sheets of muslin were draped across the ceiling to keep out the vermin and falling dirt.

Once when Lydia Lane, an Army bride, entertained a party of seventeen at dinner, the entire ceiling collapsed and debris engulfed guests and food.

At Camp Ehrenberg on Arizona's Colorado River, Martha Summerhayes later wrote in her book Vanished Arizona, the post was filled with enormous yellow cats which at night would pursue rats across the roof and through the beams of the house while dirt rained from the ceiling.

Most floors were of dirt, too, over which straw was spread, then canvas, and finally rugs if a family was lucky enough to own them.

Each officer had a "striker" or orderly, an enlisted man who cared for the officer's needs. The wives often had cooks Chinese, if they could find them.

Mrs. Summerhayes describes her Indian cook, Charley, "who wore only a loin cloth with about a yard of calico floating out behind." She reports he would wait on table and open wine with a sophis ticated flourish which, when guests came from the East, "rather took their breath away."

Because women domestics found husbands so rapidly, the military once shipped west a "troop of knock-kneed, buck-toothed, cross-eyed females" - each of whom, at the end of two months, had found a man.

Fresh vegetables and fruit were precious in camp. Scurvy, one of the greatest enemies, was kept at bay with potatoes and dried apples and peaches. The most plentiful commodity was hardtack, a challenge for even the cleverest cook. A popular recipe for custard consisted of cornstarch, enough water to make it creamy-thick, with essence of lemon and sugar to taste. Mock apple pie was made from soda crackers soaked in water, to which were added essence of lemon and nutmeg.

Though alcohol often was the scourge of frontier troops, Army wives seem not to have succumbed. They did, however, find escape in "black Mexican tobacco," and some even brought trunkfuls of it back home and smoked it before scandalized relatives. Since Virginia tobacco was available at the post exchange, the "black Mexican" may have been marijuana.

(OPPOSITE PAGE) "The Upstairs Neighbor," by Don Spaulding. Oil on panel, 20 by 30 inches. The artist's interest and knowledge of the Old West give his paintings authenticity.

(LEFT) Interior of a late nineteenth century house at Fort Verde, Arizona. Officer's Row as well as other buildings are now part of the Fort Verde Museum.

(BELOW) Officers and their families on a picnic near Fort Thomas, Arizona, 1881. ARIZONA HISTORICAL SOCIETY Army wives banded together against their common enemy, the quartermaster, and protested the poor selection and quantity of supplies. Together they battled the elements and privations and endured the tragedies which too often befell them. The friendships they formed out west often lasted a lifetime.

Yet most Army wives in their letters and diaries did not dwell on hardships. Instead they wrote eloquently about bracing air, rigorous horseback rides, picnics, dances, theatricals, and busy social life.

As one lieutenant's wife said, "I had cast my lot with a soldier, and where he was, was home to me."

When the railroads stretched across the West and the Indian wars ended, many isolated camps closed, and Army families were sent to established posts in the Midwest and East. But some Army wives missed the camaraderie of frontier garrison life and felt estranged from civilians.

In Omaha, Frances Roe thought crowded rooms, noise, and heat almost unbearable and longed "for the dear old Army life." A lieutenant's wife said after returning to western duty, "It all seemed so good to me. I was happy to see the soldiers again, the drivers and teamsters, and even the sleek government mules."

Those who had once found the Arizona desert so forbidding longed for its beauty and splendid isolation when they returned east. And Martha Summerhayes, who called her years on the frontier "glittering misery," added, "Somehow, the hardship and deprivations we have endured lose their bitterness when they have become a memory."