TAPS FOR THE CAPTAIN

On my last trip across Wyoming to attend my brother's wedding, I took a side road approximately five miles from the freeway to the site of fort Fred Steele. As I reached a point from which I could see the parade ground I realized that the house we had lived in was gone. By checking the local paper later I learned the the house had burned down the year before.
Fort Fred Steele was built to offer protection to the men who built the Union Pacific Railroad bridge across the North Platte River in central Wyoming. When I was fourteen years old my father purchased the officers quarters which consisted of sixteen rooms and several outbuildings. The house was two stories tall and faced the parade ground.
One of the most outstanding features of the house was the banister on the staircase, it was solid oak and four inches wide by five inches deep. Halfway up this banister was a deep gash, which local legends said was put there by the commanding officer slamming his saber into the wood upon learning that his son had been killed by hostile indians.
A short while after we got settled in to the house my mom told us that we were not the only inhabitants of the house. She said that as she was climbing the stairs she had a feeling that she was not alone, and that as she looked up the stairs to the landing she saw a figure of a cavalry officer in uniform. She said that rather than being frightened by this figure she felt totally safe and secure and that there was no need to be afraid. After discussing what she had seen we named this figure the Captain.
It was summertime when we moved and I relished not being in school. I passed my time fishing and reading, but there were always chores such as chopping wood and carrying in coal. Most of my spare time was spent practicing my trumpet. My room faced the parade ground and I often wondered what stories that area could tell if it could speak.
I was awakened early one morning by a sense of another presence in my room. It was the Captain and, as I looked at him I was overcome by a feeling of sadness, he seemed to almost be crying. As I watched him he crossed my room and laid his hand on my trumpet case. Without a word being spoken I knew what he wanted and I could not turn down his request. I got out of bed, picked up my horn, and facing the parade ground I blew taps. As the last note sounded the Captain smiled, came to attention, and saluted me. We never saw the Captain again.
A few years later we left Fort Steele and I didn't return for many years. When I finally returned I was saddened to see the old house was gone. As I looked across the parade ground the memories came back. Memories of a simpler time and particularly of a fathers love for his son.