e
kitchen was rapidly flooding us.

So I ran to the front door, and seeing a soldier at one of he barrack
windows, I waved and waved my hand until he saw me. He understood at
once and came running over, followed by three more men, who brought
spades and other things. In a short time sods had been banked up at
every door, and then the water ceased to come in. By that time the
heaviest of the storm had passed over, and the men, who were most
willing and kind, began to shovel out the enormous quantity of
hailstones from the shed. They found by actual measurement that they
were eight inches deep--solid hail, and over the entire floor. Much
of the water had run into the kitchen and on through to the butler's
pantry, and was fast making its way to the dining room when it was cut
off. The scenes around the little house were awful. More or less water
was in each room, and there was not one unbroken pane of glass to be
found, and that was not all---there was not one unbroken pane of glass
in the whole post. That night Faye telegraphed to St. Paul for glass to
replace nine hundred panes that had been broken.

Faye was at the quartermaster's office when the storm came up, and while
it was still hailing I happened to look across the parade that way, and
in the door I saw Faye standing. He had left the house not long before,
dressed in a suit of immaculate white linen, and it was that suit that
enabled me to recognize him through the veil of rain and hail. Sorry as
I was, I had to laugh, for the picture was so ludicrous--Faye in those
chilling white clothes, broken windows each side of him, and the ground
covered with inches of hailstones and ice water! He ran over soon after
the men got here, but as he had to come a greater distance his pelting
was in proportion. Many of the stones were so large it was really
dangerous to be hit by them.

When the storm was over the ground was white, as if covered with
snow, and the high board fences that are around the yards back of the
officers' quarters looked as though they had been used for targets and
peppered with big bullets. Mount Bridger is several miles distant, yet
we can distinctly see from here the furrows that were made down its
sides. It looks as if deep ravines had been cut straight down from peak
to base. The gardens are wholly ruined--not one thing was left in them.
The poor little gophers were forced out of their holes by the water,
to be killed by the hail, and hundreds of t