ALL that remained of Captain White was carried to the little cemetery
yesterday, with all the military honors possible at such a far-away
post We have no chaplain, therefore one of the cavalry officers read
the service for the dead at the house, just before the march to the
cemetery. Almost all of the cavalry of the garrison was out, mounted,
Captain White's own troop having the lead, of course, and the greater
part of the infantry was out also, and there was a firing detail, with
guns reversed.

The casket, covered with a large flag, was carried on a caisson, and
his horse, led by an orderly, was covered with a large blanket of
black cloth. Over this was the saddle, and on top of the saddle rested
his helmet--the yellow horsehair plume and gold trimmings looking
soiled by long service. His sabre was there, too, and strapped to the
saddle on each side were his uniform boots, toes in stirrups--all
reversed! This riderless horse, with its pall of black, yellow helmet,
and footless boots, was the saddest sight imaginable.

I did not go to the cemetery, but we heard distinctly the firing of
the three volleys over the grave and the sounding of taps on the
bugles. The garrison flag had been drawn to half mast almost the
moment of Captain White's death, but at the last sound of taps it was
immediately pulled up to full mast, and soon the troops came back to
their quarters, the field music playing lively airs.

This seemed so unnecessarily cruel, for Mrs. White must have heard
every note, and she is still so wretchedly ill. The tiny baby has been
taken from the house by the motherly wife of an officer, and the other
tots--four in all--are being cared for by others. We have all been