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