Three Score Years and Ten | Page 7

life
was his marriage with Miss Caroline Hamilton, a beautiful girl of
fifteen, as full of fun and lady-like mirth as he was of dignity and
reserve. I can barely recall their going in sleighs on the ice to Prairie du
Chien accompanied by Lieutenant Hunter and one of the ladies, to be
married, that being the nearest point where the ceremony could be
performed, for we had neither Chaplain nor Justice of the Peace at the
new fort. I have dim recollections of the preparation of the trousseau by
the nimble fingers of the officers' wives, of the pleasureable excitement
and merry chat over the unusual event, and of the starting off of the

excursion on that long, cold ride, the "good-byes," the tears, the smiles
and the blushes, and of the hearty welcome home of the beautiful,
happy bride, and the proud but dignified bridegroom, and I there and
then yielded my fealty to the sweet child-wife, and always loved her as
a dear relative. She was a most loving wife and mother, and some who
read these records will call to mind her lovely, interesting daughter, the
wife of Mr. Corcoran, for some time Postmaster at St. Paul, and her son
Brooke Denny, whose home, when the dear mother passed away, was
with his sister in that city, and whose gentlemanly manners and
kindness of heart won for him the love and confidence of his associates.
An anecdote of Lieutenant Denny, characteristic of his precision of
speech, his perfect self-control under the most exciting circumstances,
and his strict regard to military etiquette, may be related here:
At one of the frontier stations, where he was doing duty as
Quartermaster, he was in his office one day during a fearful thunder
storm, accompanied with high wind and pouring rain, which threatened
to demolish the building. Every one was alarmed for its safety, and the
whole garrison was in a high state of excitement. After the storm had
subsided, a group of officers were talking it over, and Lieutenant
Denny, speaking of it in his peculiarly measured tones, ended his
remarks with this climax: "I was standing in the door of my office
when the storm was at its height, and it was so terrible that I was forced
to turn and say, even in the presence of my clerk, 'Bless me! how the
wind blows!'"
Any member of the old Fifth Regiment can recall that remark, for it
became a household word; but alas! who are now living of that gallant
old regiment? Of all the names recorded in these annals, I know of not
one left to answer to roll-call, the last survivor, General David Hunter,
having passed away at an advanced age only a few months ago. The old
Mexican war decimated the regiment, which was always placed in
positions of danger, requiring brave, cool, determined men, and it was
then that Captain Martin Scott poured out his heart's blood in defense
of his country. Who has not heard of him and his indomitable courage?
Some of the most pleasant recollections of my childhood are associated
with that brave, true man, who was a member of our family for many

years, and was dearly beloved by us all. His eccentricities were
numerous, but did no one any harm, while his fondness for hunting, his
love for his dogs (of which I can clearly recall by name eight or ten),
his almost incredible skill as a marksman, and his unvarying success as
a hunter, made him the hero of our childish admiration, and won for
him the reputation of a veritable Nimrod. I remember very clearly his
habit of asking my mother what and how much game she would like
for the table, and invariably bringing her just what she named. He was
an admirable purveyor, and we lived on the fat of the land, for there
was no delicacy in the way of wild game which he did not, in its proper
season, bring from the forest and wild-wood to make savory meat
which, like old Isaac, we all loved. He had the reputation at one time of
being parsimonious, and some were inclined to treat him coldly on that
account; but in time it was found that out of his small pay he
maintained his widowed mother and a lame sister in their New England
home, and that while niggard in regard to his own personal wants, the
dear ones at the old home were generously provided for. So, although
at first the West Point graduates were disposed to treat with contempt
the Green Mountain boy who had entered the army as a volunteer in the
war of 1812, and had been retained in the service, his sterling qualities
and his dignified self-respect won for him finally