is prisoners
and captives. Surely men were never kinder to a woman than these
scouts were to me; they most affectionately called me Mother Conger
and treated me always with the greatest respect and kindness. I hope
some day the history of this brave band of men will be written, with
its more than romantic campaigns and wonderful exploits, marches,
dangers, and miraculous escapes. Few men were wounded or disabled,
notwithstanding all the tedious marches in most impenetrable swamps
and mountains, with no guide but the stars by night and the sun by
day, and no maps or trusted men to guide them. I recall the bravery
of one man who was shot through the abdomen, and when they stopped to
carry him away he said, "Leave me here; I cannot live, and you may
all be captured or killed." They tenderly placed him in a blanket,
carried him to a place of safety, and, when he died, they brought
him back to Jaro and buried him with military honors. He was the only
man killed in all the months of their arduous tasks.

If I have any courage I owe it to my grandmother. I will perhaps
be pardoned if I say that all my girlhood life was spent with my
Grandmother Bronson, a very small woman, weighing less than ninety
pounds, small featured, always quaintly dressed in the old-fashioned
Levantine silk with two breadths only in the skirt, a crossed silk
handkerchief with a small white one folded neatly across her breast,
a black silk apron, dainty cap made of sheer linen lawn with full
ruffles. She it was who entered into all my child life and who used to
tell me of her early pioneer days, and of her wonderful experiences
with the Indians. In the War of 1812, fearing for his little family,
my grandfather started her back to Connecticut on horse back with
her four little children, the youngest, my father, only six months
old. The two older children walked part of the way; whoever rode
had to carry the baby and the next smallest child rode on a pillion
that was tied to the saddle. In this way she accomplished the long
journey from Cleveland, Ohio, to Connecticut. When she used to tell
me of the wonderful things that happened on this tedious journey,
that took weeks and weeks to accomplish, I used to wonder if I should
ever take so long a trip. I take pleasure in presenting the dearly
loved grandmother of eighty-one and the little girl of ten.

While my dear little grandmother dreaded the Indians, I did the
treacherous Filipinos; while she dreaded t