Question by Frontier Reporter, Summer 1869, (almost daybreak):
Pardon me, you with the bugle! Can you tell our readers what you do here at Fort Griffin?
The Army Bugler answers:
With all due respect, I can give you one minute—and I mean one minute—of my time. I am a very busy man. My commanding officer, Capt. John Lee, insists that I keep on schedule—and the sun is growing lighter as we speak.
All
right—I'll try to make it fast. My name is Sergeant Toby Lark. I serve
with the Fourth Cavalry of the United States Army. I just got promoted to
camp bugler. The bugler who had the job before can't bugle anymore. He got
into a fistfight over at the Bee Hive Saloon in town and knocked out his two
front teeth.
Being the official bugler is an important job. I am the camp clock. My bugle calls tell the soldiers when to eat, sleep, work, pick up their mail, march, and go to church. One day I had to blow my bugle twenty-five times. With me around, no one here needs to carry a timepiece. Everybody within earshot—even the ranchers nearby—knows the meaning of each different tune. Some have added their own words. Here's what I heard a few soldiers singing the other day when I played the notes of "mess call":
"Soupy, soupy, soupy—without a single bean; Porky, porky, porky—without a streak of lean; Coffee, coffee, coffee—without any cream."
I
see you looking at my bugle. You're looking at the dent in its side, aren't
you? You know how it got that dent? It happened at the Battle of Bull Run—during
the War between the States, back in '61. My horse stepped on it. Just you
try to stay on your horse and bugle and stay alive when people are taking
potshots at ...
OOPS! I almost missed it. 6 o'clock, straight up—time to wake up the men. Here's "Reveille" for you. (The bugler raises himself to his full height, lifting the bugle reverently to his lips and blows the wake-up tune.)
There.
Now the regiments will stir. If you care to follow me to the flagpole, you
can watch us raise the colors and fire the cannon. After that, though, I must
take leave of you. The men will have shaken off their sleep and assembled
onto the parade ground for roll call. Then it will be time for me to blow
my bugle again: 6:15 Stable Call. The first thing we do every morning is to
check on our horses. We'd be nothing without our horses. This Texas frontier
is wild and wooly. Without good horses, we can't do what we came west to do—protect
the settlers from danger.
|
Drills began at Ft.
Griffin after breakfast. After washing down their usual meal of beef, bread,
and potato hash with cups of strong, black coffee, officers and enlisted men
reluctantly left their separate mess halls to drill on the parade ground.
Morning drills consisted of a solid hour of continual marching and countermarching.
The soldiers hated it. In an attempt to keep their soldiers happy, some drill
captains became creative. For instance, Capt. George Arme at Ft. Stockton
ordered his mounted troopers to charge and "behead" wooden posts topped with
bundles of straw. This made for fine entertainment—for both soldiers
and civilians. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||