Instructing the Major in the Intricacies and Arts of Western “Draw” Poker

(by R. H. Bemis - originally published in the Hysham Echo on September 16, 1926

The modern “doughboy” is a far different personality as compared to his prototype of forty to fifty years ago, and in some personal traits may be said to show a vast improvement. The regular army of today in America is in effect a well organized school of instruction in many trades and even professions. A commission is within reach of any enlisted man with ambition and a solid groundwork of schooling, while a “hitch” in the service is no mean advantage to any boy for a postgraduate course in self-reliance, discipline and a grounding in most any trade that he may elect to choose, to say nothing of the benefits of a sound physical training. For the most part the regular army man of today is an upstanding, intelligent, clear-eyed, self-respecting and loyal citizen, commanding respect in whatever company he happens to find himself.

The “Swaddie”

The soldier or “swaddie” as he was dubbed in earlier days, though I never learned the origin of the term, had few of the intellectual or industrial advantages to be found in the modern military regime. He was induced to enlist primarily as a potential fighting man and to his credit it may be said that he acquitted himself with high honors on that score, a matter well attested by historical record. But actual combat was a very small part of the soldier’s routine in those days as it is at present and he found much leisure for other and sometimes less useful activities. Recruiting officers of former days were much less careful in the selection of material to fill up the ranks than those at present, and in consequence most anyone who could pass the examining surgeon was accepted and made into some sort of a soldier. Even under those rather haphazard methods of induction into the service, the majority were fairly good citizens, and as the records prove practically all were dependable fighting men by the time the drill sergeants got through with them.

Pay Day and Amusement

At the time of my first contact with the men of the regular army there was peace upon the frontier, in fact the “frontier” itself had passed in Montana. Life was crude, perhaps, but warfare with the red man had practically ceased with the unfortunate Custer campaign and the long chase and capture of Chief Joseph and his band by General Miles. In consequence time hung heavy with the soldier and he sought his pleasure and excitement where ever he could find them, and be sure where ever he congregated there was plenty of divertissement provided under very lax and tolerant laws. Action was what he craved and it was usually ready at hand in the form that moderns travel to Tia Juana to find. In the hideous background of the “honky-tonk” and with licensed gambling and drinking, the slender pay of the enlisted man melted like the fabled snowball in hades. A glorious payday and then a month of deadly monotony of duty and drill was the cycle making up the existence of at least a comfortable majority of those connected with the army posts of the territorial period of Montana. Even to some of the commissioned personnel, the blatant entertainment held attractions that called for an occasional visit of exploration.
Under such conditions the ways of the soldier do not call for censure particularly. He only sought such amusement as was available and so long as his money lasted was tolerated by his civilian brother whose rather crude opinion of the ‘swaddie’ in those days was summed up in a current expression with a descending scale of respectability:

“White man, Indian; dog; skunk soldier.”

Unrefined, even cruel, and to be taken seriously, and only quoted as a sample of the rough wit of an uncultured age.
The passing of several troops of cavalry, mounted on glistening and sweat-streaked horses of the type of perfection demanded by Uncle Sam, nearing the end of a long and weary march from Fort Walla Walla to Fort Custer, was a rather splendid break in the monotony of stacking hay on a hot and breathless summer afternoon in the fragrant bottom land of a Yellowstone ranch. In their uniforms of bright blue, they made an inspiring parade as they filed past at a brisk walk. No wonder the haying crew stopped work and stared, while even the boss stopped his mowing machine to await the approach of an officer who rode across the field to bargain for a couple of loads of hay to be delivered at their camp that evening. I was one of the drivers detailed to haul they hay and we left right after supper for the camp which had been made on Little Otter creek, some three or four miles below the ranch.

A Visit to the Post

I had absorbed a measure of the civilians’ point of view regarding the soldier from casual contact in his visit’s to town, and was somewhat surprised when I arrived at the camp to note the orderliness and precision of the arrangements. Evidently I had not seen the soldier at his best. The tents were erected in an accurate row, the horses tethered to a long rope stretched mathematically straight along the ground, while the troopers were busy carrying their mounts with care and energy, and vociferous with gossip of the road. A squad of the troopers mounted our loads and made short work of pitching the hay to the waiting and hungry horses as we drove along the line. The loads off, and after securing a voucher for the forage from the quartermaster-sergeant, I lounged about the camp, scraping acquaintance with an orderly who seemed to have nothing to do at the moment. He was a clear-eyed, clean built youngster in a neat-fitting uniform and was about my own age and from him I got a better idea of the peace-time soldier than I had heretofore conceived. After some questioning he remarked:
“Sure, I get only fourteen dollars a month, but it is all velvet, and besides I an save something out of my clothing and rations allowance. I’ll bet I can save more in five years than you can with your fifty dollars a month.”

I sadly admitted that he possibly did save more, for somehow I hadn’t absorbed the lesson of thrift, and also that my jobs were temporary affairs anyway. He had to stick for five years at least, though desertions were common in those days and not given much thought of, even by the officers who considered the army better off without those tired of its monotony and discipline. This young soldier was not of the material that deserted, however, and was even considering a re-enlistment and had figured out how much he could save in ten years of army life, which amounted to a rather respectable sum for those days. He also called attention to the fact of free medial services and his pay going on through sickness and furloughs. He said there were many others in the service who held and practiced his ideas and I began to see that the enlisted man we came in contact with in the saloons and other places of entertainment they frequented on liberty, was not altogether the typical soldier.

The next morning, as I was operating the hay-rake alongside the fence bordering the road, a glittering object in the grass caught my eye. Investigation disclosed a cavalry carbine, without doubt thrown away by one of the passing troopers of the day before. An instance of the carefree attitude of many enlisted men toward government property. The trooper was probably irked by the necessity of carrying a weapon for which he had no immediate use and watching his opportunity when no officer was alert, flung it over the fence, secure in the knowledge his fellow soldiers would bear not tales. I don’t know how he explained it absence, but I regret to say that I did not add to his dilemma by returning the gu to its rightful owner. I kept it as a useful souvenir.

Indeed, most of us in those days made collections of useful government property in divers ways, but usually by barter with impecunious soldiers and Indians. Blankets were staple at a dollar a piece. Saddle pads, needle guns, ammunition, belts, clothing and underwear, pack saddles, all staple goods of government quality, were current and negotiable, though not conspicuous when officers were around, though they apparently took little trouble toward recovering stray government property of this nature. Occasionally we were reminded that our right to such was open to debate.

The Major

A certain Major , medical officer attached to the two or three troops of cavalry from Fort Ellis, stationed at the summer cantonment at the mouth of the Boulder, evidently found the monotony of camp life extremely irksome and often sought what entertainment was to be found in the three or four saloons that flourished in the little town of Big Timber, located a mile or so above the cantonment. It was his habit to visit the town nearly every evening accompanied by an orderly, or “dog robber” as termed in the expressive language of the enlisted men, whose chief function on these occasions appeared to be the hoisting of the Major onto his horse at the end of an evening’s session and convoying him to camp. The major’s condition in the late hours of the evening usually warranted this assistance.

The major was a genial soul and thoroughly democratic in his tastes, seemingly entirely free from any false ideas of caste which was occasionally displayed by army officers in the presence of civilians. He cultivated the acquaintance of the motley crew of workers who congregated in the saloons, reserving his dignity only for the few soldiers who might happen to be present on these occasions. His main source of entertainment was found at the bar where he was a consistent and almost continuous performer. One evening in a mellow stage he became somewhat interested in a small poker game which was in progress, and upon invitation sat in, though professing a profound ignorance of the rules of the game.

(Cont. next week) Print this post