Ten years in the ranks, U.S. Army
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Title: Ten years in the ranks, U.S. Army
Author: Augustus Meyers
Release date: June 12, 2014 [eBook #45949]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TEN YEARS IN THE RANKS, U.S. ARMY ***
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Ten Years in the Ranks
U. S. Army
BY
AUGUSTUS MEYERS
NEW YORK
THE STIRLING PRESS
1914
COPYRIGHT, 1914
BY AUGUSTUS MEYERS
NEW YORK
Preface
This narrative of ten years' service in the United States Army on the
frontier and during the Civil War at an early period of my life is
written mainly from memory after an interval of more than half a
century. I have endeavored to describe in a simple manner the daily
life of a soldier in the ranks while serving in garrison, camp and
field.
AUGUSTUS MEYERS.
Table of Contents
PART I. Enlistment and Service on Governor's Island, New
York Harbor, in 1854 1
PART II. At Carlisle Barracks, Pa., in 1855 33
PART III. Journey from Carlisle to Fort Pierre Nebraska,
Territory, in 1855 49
PART IV. Fort Pierre and the Sioux Indians, 1855-1856 71
PART V. Establishing Fort Lookout, 1856-1857 109
PART VI. Service at Fort Randall, Campaigning in Kansas and
Expiration of My Enlistment, 1857-1859 127
PART VII. Re-enlistment and Return to Frontiers, 1860 157
PART VIII. Service in Washington and Georgetown, D.C.,
1861-1862 177
PART IX. The Peninsula Campaign, 1862 197
PART X. The Seven Days' Retreat, 1862 225
PART XI. Harrison's Landing to Fredericksburg, Va.
1862-1863 257
PART XII. Chancellorsville to Winter Camp of
1863-1864 287
PART XIII. In Grant's Campaign, 1864 311
PART XIV. Departure from the Field and Last Days of Service,
1865 341
REFLECTIONS 351
ADDENDA 353
PART I.
ENLISTMENT AND SERVICE ON GOVERNOR'S ISLAND, NEW YORK HARBOR, IN 1854.
On March thirty-first, 1854, with the consent of my widowed mother, I
joined the United States Army. I enlisted for a period of five years,
as a musician in the general service, at the recruiting office, at No.
115 Cedar Street, New York City. My age was twelve years and nine
months. I was of slender build, but in good health and passed the
medical examination. After being sworn in at a notary's office in
Nassau Street, I was conducted by the recruiting sergeant to the
Governor's Island boat landing at the Battery; there he placed me in
charge of Sergeant John Brown, cockswain of the eight-oared barge
manned by soldiers from the Island. As this was then the only way for
passengers to reach the Island, I had to wait a long time for the next
trip of the barge, and it was late in the afternoon when we started.
There were but few passengers besides myself, a woman, a civilian or
two and a few soldiers returning from "pass," more or less hilarious.
After a struggle with the swift currents of the East River and
considerable pitching and tossing, we landed at the Island dock near
the guard-house, where I was taken in charge by a corporal of the
guard who conducted me to the South Battery on the east side of the
Island opposite Brooklyn, where the boys learning music were in
quarters. We reported to Sergeant Hanke, who was in charge of all the
non-commissioned officers and music boys in that battery.
Sergeant Hanke, after looking me over, asked whether I desired to
learn to be a drummer or a fifer. When I expressed a preference for
the former, he made some remarks about my slim and very youthful
appearance, and advised me to think it over for a day or two. He
called for Corporal Butler, who conducted me to Room No. 1 on the
ground floor, to the south of the sallyport, of which he had charge.
On my entrance into the room there arose a cry of "Fresh fish" from
the boys who were present. They surrounded me, asked my name, where I
lived and many other questions and demanded to know whether I had any
money or tobacco, taking no pains to hide their disappointment when I
confessed that I had neither. The corporal, who had left the room,
fortunately returned soon and relieved my embarrassing position. He
assigned me to "bunk" with the only boy in the room who had no
bedfellow or "bunkie."
The corporal's presence diverted the boys' attention from me for a
while and gave me time to examine my surroundings. I found myself in a
room with two windows that overlooked the parade ground and one facing
inward towards the interior of South Battery. There were six iron
double bedsteads in the room and a single bedstead for the corporal in
a corner next to a window. The double bedsteads were made so that
one-half could be folded up over the other half when not in use. This
in a measure relieved during the day the very crowded condition at
night when all the beds were down. The beds consisted of a bedsack
stuffed with straw, which was rolled up in the day time, and a pair of
blankets, neatly folded, laid on top. There were no sheets nor pillows
for the boys--the corporal was the only one who enjoyed these
luxuries, and he had provided them himself. The boys slept on the
bedticks and covered themselves with their blankets when it was cold,
or used one of the blankets to lie on when it was warm enough, folding
up a jacket or some other piece of clothing as a substitute for a
pillow.
A wide shelf around the room above the beds provided space for
knapsacks, extra shoes, drums, fifes, and other objects, and on hooks
under the shelf were hung the overcoats. There was a coal fire burning
in the grate. A few wooden benches and a chair for the corporal in
charge; this, with a water pail and a tin cup on a shelf behind the
door, completed the furniture of the room.
After a while I heard a drum beat, which was the first call for
"retreat." Ten minutes later, the "assembly" sounded to form ranks on
the parade outside of the sallyport. The boys formed in two ranks,
those who were proficient with their drums and fifes on the right. The
command, "parade rest," was given by one of the sergeants, and the
"retreat" played by the musicians as prescribed in the regulations.
Then came the command, "Attention," and a roll call, at which each boy
present answered, "Here." Some special orders were read and then at
the command, "Break ranks, march," the boys rushed back to their
quarters, to deposit their instruments and adjourn to the mess room in
the basement for supper.
I was directed to follow, and found the mess room large enough to hold
the entire company of boys at one sitting. There were long pine tables
and benches without backs, all scrubbed clean. At each boy's place was
a thin plate, containing a small portion of stewed dried apples, a
large stone china bowl filled with black coffee (sweetened but without
milk) and a slice of bread about four ounces in weight. There were
iron spoons, knives and forks, and a few dishes on the table
containing pepper and salt.
I asked one of the boys if they had the same kind of a supper every
day, and was informed that sometimes they got molasses in place of the
dried apples. As the boys finished their meager supper they left the
mess room without any formality and returned to their quarters or went
out to have a smoke in some place unobserved. I went back to my
quarters and sat on a bench, chatting with some of the boys, who told
me many things about their daily duties and the treatment they
received. They all wished to leave the Island, and hoped to be sent
soon to join a regiment somewhere. Some were reading books by the
feeble tallow candle light, some played checkers on home-made checker
boards, or amused themselves with other games.
Thus passed the evening until nine o'clock when the call for "Tattoo"
sounded. There was considerably more music than at "Retreat,"
otherwise it was the same. There was another roll call and dismissal
to quarters, where the beds were let down and the blankets spread.
With a little skylarking, the boys undressed and lay down. The orderly
covered the fire in the grate with ashes, "Taps" were sounded by the
drummer detailed for that purpose, lights were extinguished, and all
were supposed to be silent. But there was whispering and smothered
laughing, which ceased only after some vigorous language and threats
of reporting by the corporal.
I lay down alongside of my strange bedfellow, who kindly shared his
blanket with me, my head pillowed on my jacket. There was a glimmering
light from the fireplace, by which I could make out the forms of my
companions and that of the corporal stretched out on his more
comfortable bed in the corner. Soon all seemed to be asleep except
myself. I remained awake a long time, thinking of the circumstances
that had brought me here, the strange company I was sharing, and
wondering what my future would be. At last, weary with the day's
unusual experiences and excitements, I also fell asleep. And thus
ended my first day as a soldier in the United States Army.
I was awakened next morning at daylight by a drummer beating the first
call for "Reveille," and the corporal's voice shouting, "Get up! you
lazy fellows," to some who were slow to respond. The boys, who slept
in their underclothing, hastily put on their pants, stockings and
shoes. Then each grabbed a tin wash basin from its hook in the hall,
went out of doors to a pump and filled the basin, which he carried
into the hall, and, placing it on a bench, performed his ablutions,
drying himself on a roller towel. In the warm season this performance
took place out of doors. It was a cold, raw morning, and it made me
shiver as I followed the others outside; but I concealed my distress
to avoid being laughed at.
We finished dressing, and soon heard the drum beat the "Assembly," and
the corporal's call to "Turn out and fall in." Ranks were formed, as
at "Retreat" and "Tattoo," and the roll was called. The fifers and
drummers played the "Reveille," which was a much longer performance
than either "Retreat" or "Tattoo." It consisted of perhaps a half
dozen tunes, commencing with a piece called "Three Camps," then "Slow
Scotch," "Austrian," "Dutch," "Quick Scotch," "Hessian," etc. Some of
these pieces were played in slow time and others in quick time; they
and the regular calls were the same as were used at the time of the
American Revolution and had never been materially changed since.
Immediately after we were dismissed, we went to breakfast which
consisted of a small piece of boiled salt pork--cold--a piece of bread
and a large bowl of black coffee. There was also some grease in a
dish, saved from the boiling of the pork, which some of the boys
spread on their bread as a substitute for butter, seasoning it with
pepper and salt.
Soon after breakfast "Doctor's Call" sounded, and those who felt
unwell were conducted to the hospital to be examined by the surgeon.
The boys now became busy making up their beds, cleaning their shoes,
brushing their clothes and polishing their brass buttons with the aid
of a brush and what was called a "button stick." Some pipe-clayed or
chalked the white braid on their jackets. The room orderly, who was
changed daily, swept the floor, replenished the fire and everything in
the room was put in order for the daily inspection made by Sergeant
Hanke.
At eight o'clock came the call to "fall in" for guard mounting, ranks
were formed and after a critical inspection as to cleanliness by the
sergeant, the company marched to the main parade ground in the center
of the Island. About the same time we heard a band playing as it left
the main garrison followed by the guard detail for the day. The lines
were formed, the adjutant and the officer of the day took their
places. Then the arms, accoutrements and clothing were inspected. An
orderly for the commanding officer was selected from the guard and one
from the boys for the adjutant.
The entire interesting ceremony of the Guard Mount was performed
according to regulation, the band playing at intervals. The guard
passed in review, marched off to their station and relieved the old
guard. The boys were marched back to the South Battery where, shortly
after their arrival, a call for "School" sounded at nine o'clock. As I
was in citizen's clothing I did not have to take part in any formation
of ranks. I was simply a spectator until I was uniformed.
At eleven o'clock school was over and practice on the fife and drum
continued until noon. The drummers, twenty-five or more in number,
went outside and made a great racket under the east wall of the South
Battery, which could be heard on the other side of Butter Milk Channel
in Brooklyn. They were in charge of their instructor, Sergeant Moore,
who was called the drum major and had Corporal Butler as an assistant.
I watched the boys practicing and noted how difficult it seemed to be
for some to hold the drum-sticks properly and beat the first exercise,
called "Mammy-Daddy," without hitting the rim of the drum as often as
the drum-head, which would bring down upon them a reprimand from the
instructor, or in some cases a rap across the knuckles for some
persistently awkward boy. When I took note of the exceedingly large
and heavy drums used in the service at that time, which the drummers
were obliged to carry, I resolved to become a fifer, as I considered
it more genteel and a step towards acquiring some knowledge of music.
While the drummers were practicing outside of the Battery, Sergeant
Hanke, the fife-major, and a corporal were instructing an equal number
of fifers in the school room that was filled with a shrill din as each
tried to play a different tune.
At noon musical instruction ceased, and we went to the mess room for
dinner. The menu consisted of a bowl of rice soup containing some
desiccated vegetables, a small piece of boiled beef and the usual
piece of bread. I was told that about three times a week there was
bean soup served with boiled salt pork or bacon and, at rare
intervals, one or two boiled potatoes.
After dinner there was nothing to do until two o'clock when school
opened again for two hours. At four o'clock in the afternoon drill
commenced. The boys were instructed in what was called the "School of
the Soldier"--facing, marching, etc. They drilled singly at first,
then in squads and finally by company according to Scott's Tactics,
always without arms. Drill was over at five o'clock when there was a
rest until "Retreat." This was the daily routine of duties, except on
Saturdays, when they ceased at noon.
On Saturday afternoons some of the boys were detailed in turn to scrub
and holy-stone the floor of our quarters and the benches, which
consumed some hours. The remainder of the boys were free to do as they
pleased.
On Sundays we attended guard mounting at eight in the morning and at
ten-thirty we marched in a body to the Episcopal Chapel, a short
distance from our quarters. The chapel was a frame structure, seating
about two hundred besides the music boys. The services were attended
by some of the officers and their families, soldiers' wives and their
children and such of the soldiers and recruits as wished to attend.
There was no regular post chaplain; I do not think there were any in
the army at this time. A minister from New York or Brooklyn conducted
the services. I do not remember whether any collections were taken
up--if there were I am sure it was fruitless so far as the boys were
concerned, unless the Sunday immediately succeeded a pay day.
The interior of the chapel was very plain, only one aisle had
cushioned seats and they were not for our use. There was a small organ
and a few wooden tablets were hung on the walls. One of them was much
larger than the others. It commemorated the wreck of the steamer
_San Francisco_, bound for California, and the drowning of a
number of soldiers and music boys, whose names were on the tablet.
This always interested me, and if the sermon was dull or I felt
sleepy, I would read it over and over again until I could repeat all
the names by heart.
On Sunday afternoon we were free to roam about the island as we
pleased, until about sun-down when, if the weather permitted, we had
"dress parade" on the main parade ground. This was a more elaborate
ceremony than guard mounting. It was always interesting to me and I
liked to attend it. The post band turned out and all the armed
soldiers on the island were present as well as our "Field Music
Battalion." We made a fine show, and sometimes we had a few spectators
who came from the city in row boats. Once in every two months we had
muster and general inspection by the commanding officer of the post,
who called the roll and looked over the arms, accoutrements, clothing
and quarters. For this inspection we were obliged to appear on parade
in full marching order, our knapsacks packed and bulging with our
spare clothing. Muster was a preliminary to pay day, an event always
welcomed.
On my second day on the island I was taken to the quartermaster's
store house to draw the first installment of my yearly clothing
allowance. There were issued to me, one blanket, one great coat, two
fatigue jackets, two pairs of trousers, two pairs of white flannel
shirts, two pairs of Canton flannel drawers, two pairs of woolen
stockings, two pairs of shoes, one forage cap and one leather stock,
also a knapsack, a haversack and a canteen.
The blanket was coarse and heavy; it weighed five pounds and measured
seven by five and a half feet. It was grayish brown in color and had
"U.S." in four inch black letters worked in the centre. The overcoat
as well as the trousers and jacket, were of coarse sky-blue cloth. The
overcoat was single breasted and had a cape reaching down to the
elbows; there was a row of brass buttons on the breast and on the cape
and some more on the coat tails. The jacket came to the hips, had a
standing collar, an inside breast pocket, a row of brass buttons down
the front and a few on the sleeves. The shoes were coarse looking with
broad toes and heels and leather thongs, but they were good
serviceable marching shoes. The trousers were plain without stripes
and had two pockets. There were no waistcoats issued. The forage or
fatigue cap was a heavy, clumsy looking affair, made of thick dark
blue cloth. It had a large overhanging crown with a welt, a chin-strap
with a brass button on each side and a leather visor.
The most objectionable part of the whole uniform was the leather stock
or "dog collar," as we called it, intended to serve as a cravat and
keep the soldier's chin elevated. It was a strip of stiff black shoe
leather about two and one-half inches high and arranged to fasten at
the back of the neck with a leather thong. It was torture to wear it
in hot weather, but we found means to modify the annoyance by reducing
the height of the stock and shaving down the thickness of the leather
until it became soft and pliable.
As the soldiers' clothing was made up in men's sizes only, there were
none to fit the boys. I believe there were about six different sizes
in shoes and three or four in clothing. The smallest size in clothing,
No. 1, was issued to me, and I was sent to the post tailor. He took my
measure and altered the great coat, jackets and trousers. He also put
some white braid on the collar and sleeves of one of my jackets. The
cost of these alterations were deducted from my first pay due. It was
moderate enough, for the tailor's price as well as those of the
laundress and the sutler were fixed by the Post Council of
Administration. With the shirts and drawers I was obliged to get along
without alterations, voluminous though they were. The shoes were too
large for me also, but the thick woolen socks helped to fill them. No
dress coats were furnished to the boys while they were on the Island.
We only got those after joining a regiment.
In about a week my clothes were ready. I arrayed myself in my new
sky-blue uniform, experiencing a boy's pleasure in a new suit and some
pride in what I considered my fine soldierly appearance. We were not
allowed to keep any citizen's clothing, so I sold my clothes to a
Hebrew "Old Clo' Man" who often visited the island for that purpose.
He paid me a dollar for them, the possession of which made me quite
popular with a few of the boys who showed me where we could buy pies
and ginger-pop at the sutler's store.
On the third day after my arrival, I was ordered to commence attending
school and to learn music. The school was in a room within the South
Battery, which was much too small for the attendance. There were some
pine desks and benches, a blackboard, desks and chairs for two
teachers and some shelves. We were divided into several classes and
were instructed in three R's by Sergeant Evans who taught the older
boys and by Corporal Washburn who had charge of the younger ones. Each
of the teachers had a rattan, for it required more than patience on
their part to keep the unruly element quiet. I think both the sergeant
and the corporal were very forbearing men. They were excused from all
other duties and paraded at muster only, receiving a mere pittance of
extra pay from the post fund.
Every month Sergeant Evans read to us the hundred and one Articles of
War from the Army Regulations, wherein punishments were prescribed for
all imaginable offenses, the ninety-ninth article covering everything
else that might have been missed in the preceding articles so long as
the offense was "to the prejudice of good order and military
discipline." I noticed later that there were more charges and trials
for "violation of the ninety-ninth article of war" than for any other.
It seemed to fit nearly every case.
At eleven o'clock the two hour morning session of the school was over.
The drummers who were nicknamed "sheepskin fiddlers," left the school
room for an hour's practice, the fifers, called "straw blowers," by
the drummers, had their instruments with them and remained in the
school room. They got out their notes, and as soon as Sergeant Hanke
and his assistant entered, commenced to practise, producing a terrific
racket with their differing tunes. I was handed a "B" fife, the kind
that was used at that time, and was shown how to hold it and place my
fingers over the holes and my lips over the embouchure. I found it
difficult to make a sound at first, but after a time I managed to
produce some noise. I struggled with the gamut for a week or more and
spent another in trying to play a bar or two of music correctly. After
that I got along faster and commenced to learn some of the more simple
calls and to understand the meaning of the notes in my music book. In
about two months I had made sufficient progress to take my part in
playing the reveille, retreat and tattoo. After that, I learned to
play marches and other pieces. In the meantime, I had also made
progress in drill and was considered sufficiently proficient at the
end of three months to take part in parades and all other duties.
During the course of my musical instruction, I found the corporal
instructor, whose name I do not recall, a rather impatient man very
much given to scolding. Sergeant Hanke was more kindly, but he had a
habit of taking a boy's fife out of his hands and playing part of the
piece for him to show him how it should be done. As he was an
inveterate tobacco-chewer this was very disagreeable. Wiping the fife
on the sleeve of the jacket did not remove the strong odor. In my case
I used soap and water as soon as I had the opportunity to do so.
I was obliged to submit to the customary "hazing," inflicted on new
arrivals. I had to do various foolish stunts such as innocently asking
Sergeant Moore for a pair of knapsack screws. He very promptly chased
me out of his room. But the worst was what the boys named a "blanket
court martial." This was performed in the quarters, a blanket was
spread upon the floor, the victim was brought into the room
blindfolded and placed standing upon the blanket by his guards. He was
accused of a number of crimes such as stealing one of the heavy guns,
swimming to Brooklyn with it and selling it for junk, and other
ridiculous things.
Finally he was asked by the president of the court if he was guilty,
and upon his reply "No!" the president said, "Then what are you
standing there for?"
This was the signal for jerking away the blanket from under his feet,
tumbling him to the floor. It was both rough and dangerous and I was
sore after it.
I also had to have a few fights with some of the boys. These usually
took place under the east wall of the Battery and were witnessed by a
number of spectators. Such little affairs were not serious; the
combatants usually had a rough and tumble scrap and the only damage I
ever received was a bloody nose and a few scratches. Some of the older
boys, however, occasionally had regular fist fights according to rules
and had scouts out to give warning at the approach of any officer.
Fighting was forbidden and the participants liable to be severely
punished. After a time other "fresh fish" arrived and I ceased to be a
novelty. I was then left at peace to pursue the regular course of
events.
The greater part of the fifty or more music boys on the island at this
time were from New York City like myself; the rest were from cities
and small towns in adjoining states. There were half a dozen farmer's
boys, mostly from Connecticut and the interior counties of New York
State. A few of the boys were about my age, but most of them were from
fifteen to eighteen or nineteen years old. None were enlisted without
the consent of their parents or guardians whose inability to support
them, no doubt, caused the greater part of them to join the army.
Some of them, however, seemed to have left good homes, or at least had
prosperous looking visitors who brought them nice things to eat or
gave them money. Poorly dressed women also appeared, mothers, who took
their boys to some retired spot and had a cry over them. There was a
very nice, genteel boy a year or two older than I, whose father owned
a hotel on Broadway near Bleecker Street, in New York. I wondered why
he left home to enlist. He and I became good friends and served in the
same regiment later on, but he was always reticent on that point. By
far the greater part of the boys were native born, but largely of
foreign parentage, the Irish predominating.
With the exception of a dozen or so who were rather "hard cases" and
boasted of it, and who formed a clique by themselves, the boys, I
always thought, would compare quite favorably as regards morals and
good behavior with an equal number of boys of even age at some private
school. Discipline was of course stricter with us and punishment more
severe. For minor offenses we got a few whacks over the shoulders with
a rattan in the hands of one of the non-commissioned officers,
confinement to quarters, or deprivation of passes to the city. The
most frequent punishment of all was to "walk the ring," but this was
inflicted only by order of the adjutant, who was the officer in
command of the musicians. He could also confine an offender in a cell
for twenty-four hours in the guard-house without formal charges.
The ring was in front of the guard-house under the observation of the
sentinel of Post No. 1, who had orders to keep the culprits moving.
They were required to walk around in a well beaten circular track of
about thirty feet in diameter, sometimes two or three at one time.
They had to attend to their duties and walk the ring during recreation
time in the afternoon and from retreat to tattoo in the evening. This
punishment might last anywhere from one day to a week or more at a
stretch. Graver offenses were tried by a garrison court martial whose
findings were submitted to a higher authority for revision or
approval.
The punishments of a garrison court martial were limited to thirty
days' confinement in the guard-house, part of it, perhaps, solitary
confinement on bread and water, or the forfeiture of a month's pay and
allowances. Very serious offenses were tried before a general court
martial which had power to sentence the prisoner to almost any kind of
punishment, including death, according to "Articles of War." Their
proceedings were reviewed, however, by the Judge Advocate at the War
Department in Washington, and some cases required the decision of the
President. There was also an intermediate court named a regimental
court martial which had somewhat larger powers than a garrison court,
but no such court convened at the island during my stay there, as
there was no regimental headquarters, all the soldiers belonging to
what was called the general service.
One day at a morning inspection for guard mounting, Sergeant Hanke
noticed the end of a pipe stem protruding between the buttons of my
jacket. I had carelessly thrust it into the inside breast pocket when
the call to "fall in" sounded. He pulled it out and confiscated the
pipe, remarking, "You will get a month on the ring for this." I was
greatly alarmed at this threat of so severe a punishment and fully
expected to receive orders to report to the sergeant of the guard
after school that afternoon to be placed on the ring by him and
commence my endless march. When the order was not given I thought sure
it would some the next day, but it did not. It was a week before I
felt safe and concluded that the sergeant had not reported me. Only on
one occasion did I receive any punishment. I once threw a basin full
of dirty water out of a window and inadvertently dashed it over
Sergeant Moore, who was passing. He saw me and immediately got his
rattan and gave me a good whipping.
Governor's Island in 1854 presented a very different appearance from
what it does in 1914. It was much smaller. Its diameter was less than
half a mile and there were but few buildings on it. More than a
hundred acres have been added to it by filling in a part of the bay
and a sea wall has been built around the entire island. Many buildings
have been erected; trees, shrubbery and flowers have been planted and
walks laid out; sewers have been put in; water, gas and electricity
provided and the island generally improved and beautified.
Many of the venerable old buildings still remain, however, as they
existed during my time. Castle Williams, at the south-west angle of
the island, is a circular structure, pierced with three tiers of
embrasures. At its portal can still be read the inscription cut in the
stone, "Commenced 1807, finished 1811." It is built of brown stone,
backed up with brick. The granite parapet on top was erected shortly
after Civil War, replacing one of brown stone. As a work of defense it
has long outlived its usefulness, but in 1854 there were still guns
mounted in the first tier of casemates which were considered
formidable, and others were mounted en barbette on the parapet. These
guns were used sometimes in firing a salute to foreign warships in the
harbor.
Northward from Castle Williams, near the northwest angle of the
island, was the ordnance building, then came the guard-house with its
prison cells in the basement and the adjutant's office above them. The
quartermasters' and commissary stores, the commanding officer's house
and a few other houses for the married officers of the higher grade
were all on the north side of the island. Next came the hospital on
the east and near it, but somewhat to the west, a row of small
two-story buildings partly used as the sutler's store and as quarters
for some married soldiers and their families. At the southeast corner
of the island was the South Battery, mounting a few guns. Some
distance to the west was the chapel and next to it the graveyard, in
which some officers and a number of soldiers were buried, most of whom
had died of cholera and yellow fever which had often visited the
island. Beyond the graveyard was the post garden, several acres in
extent, in which all kinds of vegetables were raised. West of the
garden was the parade ground, extending to the garrison, and from the
commanding officers' house sloping gently to the shore line on the
south.
Fort Jay, or Fort Columbus, as it was then called, was generally known
as the "garrison." It is situated on the westerly part of the island
on raised ground--a square-built, old style fortress with a dry moat,
portcullis, draw bridge, and ramparts. Guns are mounted en barbette on
three of its sides. An artistic and elaborate piece of sculpture over
the portal, representing the various arms of the service, cut in brown
stone, is still in a fair state of preservation. Passing through the
deep sallyport, the interior is found to be quite roomy, having a
sodded parade ground with quarters surrounding it on four sides. The
buildings in the south were used as quarters for the unmarried
officers. On the east lived recruits, and on the west were the
quarters of a company of soldiers, about seventy-five strong, who were
officially called the Permanent Party. On the north was the post band
on one side of the sallyport and the non-commissioned staff and some
buglers on the other. There was a smaller gate on the south leading
into the moat and a sunken way leading from there to the entrance to
Castle Williams.
All of the buildings which I have described still exist except a few
of the officers' cottages on the north side of the island, the
sutler's row and the chapel which was destroyed by fire and lately
replaced on another site by a much larger and finer building of cut
stone, a gift of Trinity Church of New York. The post-garden has
disappeared and so has the graveyard with its few monuments and many
headstones. The remains were disinterred and reburied elsewhere, and
the site is now covered with buildings.
Governor's Island was the principal recruiting depot in the east, and
in 1854 Major John T. Sprague of the Eighth U.S. Infantry was in
command. He was a West Point graduate, who had joined the army in 1837
and had been breveted as a Major during the Mexican War. Major Sprague
was relieved and ordered elsewhere before my departure from the
island. He was succeeded by Captain Mansfield Lovell, a dashing
artillery officer, who later joined the confederate army and had
something to do with the surrender of New Orleans. A captain or two,
an ordnance officer and six or eight lieutenants from different
branches of the service, were all detailed on detached service away
from their regiments to serve here as instructors of recruits.
A very fine military band was connected with this post under the
leadership of Bandmaster Bloomfield, who was a celebrated musician.
There were two drummers in this band, brothers, named Jack and Pete
Vigo, who were considered to be the best in the army. Later on both
served in the band of the regiment which I joined, Pete Vigo, in the
meantime, having married Bandmaster Bloomfield's daughter, who
accompanied him to the frontiers.
The band played at guard mounting and dress parade, musters and
general inspections. It also gave concerts on certain summer days in
front of the commanding officers' quarters. Bandsmen had permission
occasionally to play in New York City, which was lucrative for them.
Indeed they were very much petted and pampered and enjoyed many
privileges. They received extra pay and had especial fine uniforms and
instruments, all of which had to be paid for out of the post fund.
The Permanent Party, also called Company "A," was a company of
soldiers selected from the recruits for stature, physique and
soldierly bearing. They were mostly tall men and, as I imagine, must
have borne some resemblance to the grenadiers of Frederick the Great.
They looked well on parade in their striking uniforms--dark blue coats
with facings and sky-blue trousers, white cross and waist belts,
epaulettes and black shakos with blue pompons and brass chin straps.
Occasionally some were sent away to serve with a regiment at their own
request or as a punishment. The Permanent Party did all of the guard
duty that was required on the island, and guarded the prisoners who
did the scavenging.
Other troops on the island were the recruits, generally several
hundred of them, who were quartered in the garrison and in the upper
casemates of Castle Williams. From time to time they were sent away in
detachments of a hundred or more, generally accompanied by some of the
drummers and fifers, to vacancies in regiments serving throughout the
country. Officers were detailed to accompany these detachments to
their destinations. The non-commissioned officers were generally
selected from the most worthy and efficient of the recruits and
promoted to lance sergeants and lance corporals, a rank with authority
but without extra pay. Often a few re-enlisted old soldiers, rejoining
regiments on the frontiers, went with these parties and helped to take
charge of them.
The recruits were unarmed. Arms were furnished when they joined their
regiments, unless it became necessary to march through a part of the
Indian country to reach their destination. In that case they were
armed and accompanied by an escort of experienced soldiers. These
departures from the island were always occasions of considerable
military ceremony. The recruits were escorted from the garrison to the
wharf by the post band and the Permanent Party. And when they had
embarked on the steamboat and the lines were cast off, the band would
play, "The Girl I Left Behind Me," amid the parting cheers of the
spectators.
The final complement that made up the garrison of Governors Island
were the music boys, designated as Company "B," and stationed in the
small South Battery. We were under special command of the
Post-Adjutant, but never saw him there except on muster days. He
troubled himself very little about us, leaving the care and management
of the fifty or sixty boys to the two sergeants in charge. Sergeant
Hanke, of whom I have spoken before, was a Dane who had been for many
years in the United States service. He was of low stature, very
corpulent, with a large round florid face, and was bald, except for a
fringe of gray hair below the top of his ears. He had sharp twinkling
eyes and a strong voice. He was married but had no children and lived
in a couple of small rooms on the second floor of the quarters. His
Irish wife was his counterpart in stature and corpulency. She
generally wore a white cap and a red skirt. That she had a fine brogue
we knew from overhearing her disputes with the sergeant. She had a
loud voice and was more than a match for the sergeant, whose English
failed him when he became excited. Sergeant Hanke, while a strict
disciplinarian, was not an unkindly man. He often listened patiently
to our complaints and forgave us for many minor transgressions when we
were brought before him.
Sergeant Moore was an Irishman and married. He kept house with his
wife and several children in some rooms on the lower floor of our
quarters. He also had served a long time in the army. He was a tall
thin man with iron gray hair, quick tempered and not so well liked by
the boys as Sergeant Hanke. Both of these men remained in the service
for more than sixty years and were finally retired and pensioned by
the government. Sergeant Moore lived to be ninety-seven years old and
Hanke nearly as long.
Corporal Butler, the assistant instructor, was a young man of medium
size, with a fiery temper and a profusion of very red hair and
mustache, the greasing, waxing and combing of which consumed much of
his spare time. The other corporal, who was assistant fife instructor,
and whose name, unless memory fails me, was Pfaefle, was a tall and
very good looking young German of a more pleasant disposition. He
spent much time in "primping" himself and the boys called him "the
dude." I never learned what became of him in after years, but I did
learn that Corporal Butler remained in the service all his life and
died only recently at a military post at Sackett's Harbor, N. Y., at
an advanced age. Sergeant Evans and Corporal Washburn, our school
teachers, were both very fair men with no peculiarities. Later on I
believe they became citizen clerks in the War Department at
Washington.
With a couple of the older boys promoted to lance corporals, who had
charge of some rooms, this completed the list of non-commissioned
officers who had the immediate charge of the boys and were responsible
to the post adjutant, who cared very little how things went.
It took but a short time for me to realize that the quantity of food
we received was very scanty for growing boys. While we were not
actually starved, we did not get enough to eat and often felt hungry.
We had a limited amount of credit at the sutler's store, which was
deducted from our pay. Much of this we consumed in buying crackers and
cheese or an occasional piece of pie or cake to eke out our scanty
food, the sameness of which often palled on us. In the summer months
we were given a few vegetables once or twice a week from the post
garden after the officers and their families had first received all
they wanted. The poor recruits never got any, although they
contributed their pro-rata share to the post fund, while the officers
were not obliged to contribute anything.
Had we received the entire ration allowed us, it would have been
sufficient and we could not have complained as to quantity. The
soldier's daily ration at this time consisted of sixteen ounces of
salt or fresh beef or twelve ounces of pork or bacon, eighteen ounces
of soft bread or flour, or one pound of hard bread and the "small
rations," as they were called, such as coffee, sugar, beans, peas,
rice, salt, vinegar, desiccated vegetables, soap and candles, which
were sufficient, when used collectively, for an entire company. The
flour ration of eighteen ounces, when baked into bread, will produce
about one-third more in weight of bread. Hence there was a saving of
about one-third on flour which was sold to increase the post fund. But
we boys never received eighteen ounces of bread per day, and all of
our other rations were also reduced.
A post fund, according to army regulations, was created by a tax of
ten cents per month to be paid by the sutler for every officer or
soldier stationed there, also from the savings on the flour ration
between eighteen ounces of flour and eighteen ounces of bread at the
post bakery. No saving is supposed to be made on any other portion of
the soldier's ration. The management of the fund was generally in the
hands of three officers, one of whom acted as treasurer; they were
called Post Council of Administration and had power to fix a tariff of
prices for the sutler, laundresses, tailor, shoemaker, etc., and the
expenditure of the fund for other purposes approved by the commanding
officer.
At Governor's Island one of the largest expenses was the band whose
members were paid extra (according to their ability) over and above
their grade of soldier's pay. Their instruments, which the Government
did not furnish, had to be purchased, as well as music and a showy
uniform. Other expenses were the post bakery, the post garden and
school for the boys. From all this the officers received the greater
benefit and yet they were not required by army regulations to
contribute to the fund.
When spring came, in pleasant weather I often sat on the west shore of
the island, which faced Battery Park in New York, and watched the
ferry boats and excursion steamers pass close by, crowded with people
who were bent on enjoying themselves. This made me feel melancholy and
homesick. Sometimes, when alone, tears would come to my eyes in spite
of my efforts to restrain them. When the summer came, I felt less
lonely and forsaken. We played ball and other games during our leisure
hours and went in swimming very often on the south shore of the island
where there was a good gravelly beach, interspersed with mossy rocks.
Early in June we received two months' pay. A private soldier's pay at
this time was but seven dollars per month, but was raised by act of
Congress to eleven dollars about six months after I entered the
service. The officers' pay was raised also all along the line. The
musician's pay was always one dollar more per month than that of a
private, and I was, therefore, entitled to sixteen dollars for my two
months' service; but after the sutler's, tailor's, and laundresses'
bills were deducted, I had but a few dollars left.
Immediately after being paid the soldiers and some of the boys started
gambling with cards and dice in secluded places all over the island,
under trees, behind buildings and even in the graveyard. I was
pressingly invited to join in some of the games but I refused as I had
no inclination for playing. Gambling was forbidden and the gamblers
punished if caught. I wished to get a pass to visit New York and did
not care to take any chances. I applied for a pass and got permission
to be absent from nine o'clock on a Saturday morning to Retreat at
sundown on Sunday.
I put on my best uniform, polished my shoes and buttons, exhibited my
pass to the guard on the dock and was rowed over to the Battery in New
York, whence I had departed two and a half months before. I walked
rapidly through Battery Park and up Broadway towards my home. I was
anxious to see my mother from whom I had only heard by letter since my
departure. I had not gone far when I was jeered at by boys and larger
hoodlums and saluted with such questions as "Soger will ye work?" and
their replies of "No! First I'd sell me shirt." I flushed with anger
but could do nothing except to hasten my steps and get away from my
tormentors, only to encounter others on my way home. Even respectable
people looked me over as though I was a freak or a curiosity of some
kind.
A soldier at that period was but little respected by civilians in the
east. Only the people on the Western frontiers appreciated him and
understood how much he did toward making the new country a safe place
for them to acquire homes and develop the land. It required the lesson
of the Civil War to teach the east the value of soldiers and sailors.
The soldier particularly was looked upon as an individual too lazy to
work for a living. He had not been much in evidence since the Mexican
War. The entire U.S. Army contained less than twelve thousand men
scattered over a large territory.
When my pass expired I caught the boat for Governor's Island, and
reported for duty on time. I did not receive another leave of absence
for about three months. The cholera broke out in New York and Brooklyn
and soon made its appearance on Governor's Island, where it had been a
frequent visitor as well as the yellow fever. Passes were suspended
except in urgent cases, and communication with the city restricted as
much as possible. A few of the boys were attacked but recovered. Some
of the Permanent Party died of it, but the recruits suffered most. A
considerable number of them died and were buried in the island
graveyard. The funeral march was often heard and the report from the
corporal's firing squad of eight, who fired three rounds over the
grave, was the last farewell to the poor soldier, as no religious
services were held.
I had formed a few friendships among the soldiers of the Permanent
Party, particularly with a man named Lovell, a very tall, fine-looking
soldier who later on became the drum-major of my regiment. Another of
my friends was a man named Fisher, an estimable soldier. One evening
Fisher sent for me from the hospital where he was sick with the
cholera. I found the building crowded with cholera patients and
others. Fisher was suffering intensely but was conscious. He expressed
a wish, in the presence of the nurses, that in case of his death his
trunk, keepsakes and money were to be given to me. I left him after a
while and next morning learned that he had died during the night.
I got permission to attend his funeral, and the next day I went to the
hospital to claim my inheritance, but the hospital steward, named
Campbell, chased me away and for a long time I blamed him unjustly for
depriving me of the little legacy, for his own benefit, as I supposed.
He was an ill tempered man not liked by the boys. But later on I
learned that he was within his rights in not allowing me to take
anything. There is a great deal of military red tape in disposing of a
soldier's effects and I dropped the matter. Steward Campbell was
shortly after relieved by David Robinson, a kindly man, who at the
present time is still on the island, retired and living in a cottage
there.
The island, even when free from epidemics, was not a healthy place.
There were no sewers, the water was supplied from cisterns and a few
wells. There was no gas and on dark nights lanterns were carried.
First sergeants of companies called the roll at tattoo by their aid.
As the island had no sea wall and was directly in line of the tide
currents of the East River, which it divided into two parts, much of
the floating filth from the city was deposited on its shore. Dead
cats, dogs and other small animals were washed on to the beach daily.
Sometimes a horse and, on a few occasions, a human body. Fruit of all
kinds, but all more or less decayed, great quantities of wood, all
sorts of boxes and cases, in fact anything that could float, seemed to
be cast upon the island's shore. A squad of prisoners under guard were
busy all day long in "beach combing," gathering up this filth and
burning it.
One day, when passing along the south shore, I noticed a curious
looking object partly covered by rubbish. It was high and dry up on
the beach, where it must have lain for some days exposed to the hot
sun. It was very brown and very small, and I thought it was a dead
monkey or perhaps a mummy of some kind. I called the attention of the
prisoners' guard, who were close by, to the object. They uncovered it
and declared it to be a new born infant. One of the prisoners carried
it on a shovel to the graveyard, only a few steps away, where he dug a
shallow hole in a corner of the fence and buried it.
Some parts of the shore were sandy, and at low tide I often saw some
of the hungry recruits gathering soft clams and eating them after
boiling them in a rusty can, picked up along the shore. They also ate
much of the fruit cast up by the tide. All this no doubt contributed
to the greater mortality among them during the prevalence of the
cholera. Very few boys, I think, ever touched any of the fruit. We
were strictly cautioned against it.
Changes made by boys being sent away to join regiments made it
possible for me to move to a room on the second floor which was more
cheerful and to have a more congenial bunkie, whose name was William
J. Milligan. He was a New York boy, whose mother kept a millinery
store on upper Broadway. We became fast friends and remained so as
long as he lived. We were separated when he was sent to join the Sixth
U.S. Infantry, as a fifer, and I did not meet him again until we both
served in the same brigade in the Army of the Potomac, during the
Civil War.
One day orders were given to prepare for a grand inspection of all the
soldiers on the island by General Winfield Scott, who was the
Commander-in-Chief of the army. We were busy for some days cleaning up
for the great inspection. Finally the day arrived, so did the general
in his cocked hat, a gorgeous uniform and splendid sword. He was very
tall, large and dignified. Despite his age he was erect and soldierly.
He was accompanied by some of the officers of his staff, also in full
uniform. As he debarked, a salute of thirteen guns thundered from
Castle Williams. All the soldiers on the island, not on other duty,
were drawn up on the parade ground and the band played "Hail to the
Chief." For occasions of this sort we were required to appear fully
equipped and with knapsacks packed.
There was always a rivalry among us as to who could pack his kit the
neatest and show the fewest creases in the overcoat when rolled up and
strapped on top of the knapsack. In this particular we never seemed to
be able to equal the Permanent Party, whose overcoats were faultlessly
rolled. The usual formula of a general inspection was carried through,
as prescribed in the regulations, ending up with opening ranks,
unslinging and opening knapsacks and displaying our kits. The General
and his aides-de-camp, accompanied by the commanding officer and the
adjutant, first inspected the band, then passed through the boys'
opened ranks without any comments and on through the ranks of the
Permanent Party, each of whom stood like a statue at the position
"order arms." An officer of the General's staff, remarking the
immaculate rolling of many of the overcoats, tapped one of them with
the scabbard of his sword. It emitted a hollow sound. He asked the
soldier what it was, and the man explained that it was a dummy made
out of a piece of stove pipe covered with blue cloth. The old General
noticed the incident but merely smiled as did some of the other
officers. However, it proved to be the end of the dummy overcoats on
parade.
One summer's day several French ships of war arrived in the harbor,
opposite Governor's Island. They fired a national salute which it was
necessary to reply to, gun for gun, according to custom. Unfortunately
at that particular time there were no artillery soldiers on the
island, but a sergeant of the Permanent Party was found who understood
how to load and discharge guns. He was furnished with a detail of
infantry men to assist him. Salutes were always fired from the first
or ground tier of guns at Castle Williams, about a dozen in number.
When not in use the embrasures for these guns were closed with wooden
shutters which could be removed and taken inside while firing.
The Sergeant ordered the shutters to be detached from their fastenings
and laid down flat in the openings. He then commenced firing, and at
every discharge we saw the shutters being blown to splinters into the
harbor, fortunately without damage to any one. When all the guns in
the tier had been discharged the Sergeant and his inexperienced crew
had to go back to reload and fire them over again. This caused a long
gap in the completion of the salute, which should have been fired
continuously, and no doubt astonished our French visitors.
A day or two later on a Saturday afternoon the French admiral, with
some of his officers, accompanied by the post adjutant, came on an
informal visit to the island. I was on the scrubbing squad that day
when they passed through the sallyport of the South Battery,
unannounced. I was the first boy whom they encountered, hatless,
barefooted, in shirt sleeves, with my trousers rolled up to the knees
and a broom in my hands. I was startled, but stood to attention and
came to a salute, which was returned by the admiral. My few companions
did the same. Most of the boys were out fishing, swimming and playing
games. The distinguished party remained but a few minutes and did not
enter the quarters. I think they were not favorably impressed by our
sloppy appearance.
Sometimes recruits deserted the island by arranging to have a row boat
appear on the shores at night or by swimming across the Buttermilk
Channel to Brooklyn in the night time when the tide was right. If
recaptured they were tried by a general court martial and sentenced to
severe punishments. There were few desertions among the boys; but two
of them who failed to return from leave of absence were caught after a
time. They were tried and sentenced to receive twenty-five strokes
with a rattan well applied to their "bare buttocks," so the sentence
read, and to be confined in the guard-house at hard labor for two
months, also forfeit their pay for the same period.
We were turned out and formed in ranks on a spot near the graveyard to
witness the punishment of the poor fellows. They were marched to the
place under guard. The Adjutant read the sentence of the court
martial. Then one of the boys was laid face down on a long bench and
held by a member of the guard at his head and another at his feet. His
clothes were removed sufficiently to expose his buttocks, and at the
adjutant's command, a corporal commenced to apply the rattan, which
left a red mark at every stroke and made the boy squirm and groan and
finally cry out with pain before the adjutant cried "Halt" at the
twenty-fifth blow. While the blows were not inflicted with anything
like full force, yet they were cruel enough if only by their number.
The unfortunate second victim was obliged to witness his comrade's
punishment and then endure the same himself. Both of the boys were
about seventeen years of age and served out their enlistment. One of
them I met during the Civil War as a lieutenant of a volunteer
regiment. The trembling and sobbing boys were reconducted to the
guard-house, and we marched back to quarters after this distressing
scene.
The summer passed away, the cholera, both in the city and on the
island, was almost extinct. Leave of absence was again granted and I
went to the city a few times during the fall and early winter. One
morning I felt ill and reported at "doctor's call." I was taken before
the surgeon, who examined me and ordered me to bed in the hospital,
thinking, no doubt, that I was about to have an attack of fever. I did
not expect this and hoped that I would simply be marked "sick in
quarters" and excused from duty. I was put to bed in a ward that
contained about eight beds occupied by soldiers with all sorts of
ailments, some of them very disagreeable. Some of the boys who had
been in the hospital had told me that tea and toast was served there
to the sick. I hankered for some of it, as I had not tasted any for a
long time. I got it twice a day and a little thin gruel, but nothing
else. On the third day, I begged to be let go. I was disgusted with
the hospital and its inmates. As no serious complications had
developed, I was sent back to quarters and excused from duty for a few
days.
As the winter approached we were obliged to give up many of our little
outdoor diversions and confine ourselves more to our crowded quarters.
As there was no place indoors for exercise or amusement, our condition
became more melancholy and dejected. Our clothing we found
insufficient to keep us warm. Many of us bought woolen knit jackets,
which we wore instead of a vest and which gave us some protection
against the fierce cold winds that blew across the island and chilled
us to the marrow when we were on parade. When we began to have severe
frosts, the bandsmen did not appear at guard mounting on the plea that
their instruments would freeze. The fifes and drums furnished the only
music. Often our fingers were so numb with the cold that we could
hardly play a note. The drummers could manage to beat a march with
gloves on their hands and suffered less.
One cold night late in November there was an alarm of fire which
proved to be in the sutler's row near the hospital. It broke out in
several places at once. There was some excitement in getting out the
soldiers' wives and children who lived there, but none were injured.
There were no fire extinguishing appliances on the island, save fire
buckets. The soldiers formed lines to the nearest pump and cistern and
passed the buckets along. But they could make no impression on the
fire, and the row was a mass of ruins in little more than an hour.
Long before a ferry boat brought some firemen and a hand engine from
the city there was nothing left to save.
Two of the older boys were accused of setting the houses on fire. They
were arrested and confined in the guard-house on charges of arson and
were still awaiting trial when I was ordered away shortly after.
The winter had set in early. It was very cold at times and there was
snow on the ground. We felt generally depressed and miserable, when
quite unexpectedly, one day in the early part of December, 1854, two
other boys and myself received orders to prepare to depart to Carlisle
Barracks, at Carlisle, Pa., there to be assigned to the Second U.S.
Infantry. I do not know why I was selected to go. Quite a number of
the boys had been on the island longer than I, and some were more
proficient. But I felt glad. Surely any kind of a change would be for
the better. The next day I and my companions, Peter Moritz and Edward
Young, both a year or two older than I, received a pass to go to New
York and say farewell to our parents or relatives, whom we were not
likely to see again for years.
A trusty corporal was placed in charge of us. He had orders not to
allow us to separate nor to lose sight of us and to return with us to
the island before evening. In this way we were obliged to witness each
other's leave taking in the presence of our conductor. There were
tears and lamenting, and the corporal, who was kindly, but did not
like his task, was importuned when about to leave one house for
another to "let the poor boy stay just five minutes longer." When he
acceded it generally extended to fifteen minutes or more. As none of
us had any intention to desert this painful way of parting might have
been spared us. There was no special need to hurry us away, and
sufficient time could have been given to notify our relatives to come
to the island and bid us farewell there. I always looked upon this as
unnecessarily harsh treatment.
We all had some lunch in an eating house, made a few small purchases
and in due time returned to the island, angry at the way we had been
humiliated by the orders of either the commanding officer or the
adjutant. Next morning we packed our kits and started for the boat
landing shortly after noon, accompanied by some of the boys and
another corporal who was to take us to Carlisle. We boarded the barge
in which I had come to the island on the day of my enlistment nearly
nine months before. Sergeant Brown, who soon after became a member of
my company at Carlisle, was still cockswain. We pushed off amid the
cheers of our comrades and passed over the East River to New York.
No one seemed to have any clear idea as to where Carlisle was or how
long a time it would take to get there, so they loaded us with three
days' rations of boiled salt beef and bread, which filled our
haversacks to bursting. This, together with a canteen filled with cold
coffee, made no inconsiderable load. We wore our overcoats, and our
knapsacks were packed with a five-pound blanket, an extra jacket and
trousers, underwear and stockings, an extra pair of shoes, clothes and
shoe brushes and knick-knacks. A tin wash basin was strapped onto the
back of the knapsack. All this made a load enough for a man to carry.
We passed through Battery Park and staggered along West Street in the
direction of the Jersey City Ferry, making occasional halts for a
rest, when crowds would collect about us and ask us many questions. No
doubt we three small boys looked ridiculous to them, overloaded as we
were. I overheard a longshoreman remark that he'd "be damned before
he'd make a pack horse of himself for Uncle Sam."
We reached the ferry, crossed the North River to Jersey City and were
put on a car that had wooden seats without any cushions. It was the
first time that I had ever been away from New York on a railroad train
and I was much interested in watching the scenery all the way to
Philadelphia, where we arrived about dusk and changed trains for
Harrisburg. I opened my haversack, ate my frugal supper and went to
sleep, tired out with the day's excitement. About midnight the
corporal woke us up at Harrisburg to change cars for Carlisle, but we
found that there would be no train to Carlisle until eight o'clock
next morning. The station master kindly allowed us to stay in the
waiting room of the depot for the remainder of the night. There was a
good fire in the stove and some benches to lie on, so we passed the
night quite comfortably. We all had a little money and got some hot
coffee and rolls at the depot next morning before we left on the eight
o'clock train for Carlisle. We arrived there in less than two hours,
with our three days' rations almost intact. There was snow on the
ground, through which we trudged laboriously towards the garrison
about a mile away.
I was glad to leave Governor's Island. Its narrow limits impressed me
as a place of confinement. The quarters were overcrowded, the food was
bad and insufficient, the discipline very strict, and there was little
time or opportunity for recreation. It was monotonous and depressing,
and although later during my service I suffered much hardship and
encountered many dangers, I never wished myself back on the island
again. Among the many boys whom I knew on the island I saw but few
again, outside of those in my own regiment. They were scattered all
over the country, serving at distant posts and often changing.
Probably but few are living now, and I know the whereabouts of only
one, who served in the Seventh U.S. Infantry for many years and now
resides in New York, where I see him occasionally and talk over old
times.
PART II.
AT CARLISLE BARRACKS, PA., IN 1855.
After a tramp through the snow with our heavy loads from the Carlisle
depot, we reached the barracks tired out. The corporal reported our
arrival at the adjutant's office, and we were assigned to companies.
Moritz went as drummer to Company I, Young as fifer to Company A, and
myself as fifer to Company D of the Second United States Infantry.
The regimental headquarters were there together with the field and
staff, and the band, companies A, G and I had been recruited to their
full strength, but Company D, to which I was assigned, had no real
existence as yet. There were only two officers, a few sergeants and
corporals, together with three or four privates, some of whom had
served in the Mexican War, which was all that was left of Company D on
its return from the Pacific coast, where the regiment had served for a
number of years. All of these men were attached to other companies
until such time as recruits would be received to fill up the ranks. I
was ordered to duty temporarily with Company I.
The Second Regiment of the United States Infantry was one of the
oldest in the service. It was organized by act of Congress on March 3,
1791, and was engaged with the Indians on Miami River, November 4,
1791. It had fought in other Indian Wars, principally against the
Seminoles in Florida. It took part in the War of 1812, and
participated in the engagements of the Mexican War from Vera Cruz to
the City of Mexico. After the Mexican War, and at about the time of
the discovery of gold in California, it was sent there, where its men
built Benicia Barracks near San Francisco, Fort Yuma and other posts.
About 1850 it became known that the Government was enlisting many
recruits at Governor's Island for service in California. The gold
fever was at its height and hundreds of soldiers were deserting to the
mines. Men who had served their terms scorned re-enlistment when they
saw so many digging wealth from the hills or dipping it up from the
mountain streams. For the same reason it was impossible to get
recruits in gold-mad California.
But no such difficulty was experienced in the East. There were plenty
of recruits, but the sudden increase in enlistments brought into the
army some of the worst men that ever joined it. They put on the
uniform solely for the purpose of getting free transportation to
California at the Government's expense. I had the story from some of
the survivors of the eventful trip made by these recruits from New
York to San Francisco.
A steamship was chartered, loaded with army supplies and some hundreds
of the recruits. They were under the command of Brevet Major George W.
Patten, of the Second United States Infantry, with whom I served later
on the frontiers. Major Patten had served in the Mexican War, where he
had lost two fingers of his right hand, and was brevetted for
gallantry. By the rank and file he was called "Three-fingered Jack,"
and was known as an easy going soul who hated any sort of trouble, of
which he and the young and inexperienced lieutenants with him got
plenty before they reached their destination.
Almost the first day at sea the bad element among the recruits began
fighting with the sailors. They stole all the provisions they could
lay their hands on. Fortunately they had no arms; these were packed in
armchests, and stowed in the hold of the ship. Only some of the
sergeants carried sidearms.
The first stop of the steamship was at Kingston, Jamaica, for coal.
There the recruits overran the guards, got possession of a coal pile
and had a pitched battle with a strong force of negro police, who were
trying to keep them on the dock. They soon routed the police, swarmed
all over the town and committed many depredations. It required several
companies of white British troops to round them up, drive them back to
the ship and keep them there while she was coaling.
All the way to San Francisco the unruly element made trouble. They
laughed at the mild way in which the good old major disciplined some
of them. I was told that when one of the ring-leaders was brought
before him he asked his name and promised to make him a sergeant in
his own regiment when they arrived in California, if he would only
behave himself. After their arrival in San Francisco, most of these
ruffians deserted as soon as opportunity offered. Many of them made
their way to the gold diggings, and very few of them were ever
recaptured.
In 1854 the Second United States Infantry had become greatly reduced
in numbers from various casualties, and what remained of the regiment
was ordered East. Some companies were consolidated, and the skeleton
organizations of others filled up with recruits. A few were entirely
re-enlisted. Companies A, D, G and I were at Carlisle, Pa., and the
remaining six companies were at Forts Snelling, Ridgely and Ripely on
the upper Mississippi and Minnesota Rivers, protecting the settlers
from the Indians.
I found Carlisle barracks a very agreeable change from Governors
Island. It had been built to serve as a dragoon barracks, and had
quarters and stables enough for a regiment, but during my time, was
used only for the Infantry. On July 1, 1864, a part of the Confederate
Army, on their march to Gettysburg, fired some shells into the town of
Carlisle and set fire to the barracks, but they succeeded in
destroying only a part of the buildings. On a recent visit there I
found some of the former officers' and soldiers' quarters still
standing, also the commanding officer's house, the adjutant's office
and guard-house, all of which, together with a number of new
buildings, are now used as a Government Indian school and have been
for many years.
The soldiers' quarters were three-story buildings with a wide veranda
at every floor, facing the parade ground. There company roll calls
were held in bad weather. The rooms were large enough not to be
crowded; but the bunks were the old-fashioned two-tier kind. Two men
slept in each of the lower and upper bunks, and it was uncomfortable.
The rooms were heated by stoves in which we burned wood. They were
comfortably warm during the winter, which I found less severe in
Southern Pennsylvania than in New York.
Our rations were much improved. We were able to add many extras from
the company funds. We were in the midst of a fine farming region and
could purchase all kinds of vegetables, and other products very cheap
from the farmers who came to the barracks for that purpose. When
spring came we took long walks. We were allowed to go anywhere within
a mile limit without a pass, but generally went much further. Few
depredations were committed, and many of the farmers were delightfully
hospitable, often giving us milk, and other things, on our tramps
about the country.
Carlisle, the county seat of Cumberland County, Pa., was then a town
of about seven thousand inhabitants, having churches, schools, hotels,
banks, stores, some saloons and many good private houses. There also
was Dickinson College, a Methodist institution of renown, which is
still flourishing. The town was easy of access for the soldiers, who
often went there without the formality of a pass. It was but a mile
away from the barracks, and considerably less for those who used a
favorite route, crossing a small creek on a log, and cutting across
the intervening fields.
Unfortunately for some of the soldiers, there was a distillery on the
outskirts of the town quite near where the log crossed the stream,
where newly made whiskey was sold for a shilling (twelve and a half
cents) per quart, or eighteen cents for a canteen full. Shillings were
still in circulation, and there was no high tax on spirits. This cheap
and easy way to procure liquor was the means of sending many a soldier
to the guard-house.
Occasionally, during the winter, there was a theatrical performance in
the town, which a limited number of soldiers received leave of absence
to attend. Another favorite amusement was a dance at a tavern or
road-house outside of the town where we had a chance to meet some of
the farmers' daughters. I borrowed a gun sometimes, and got a few
rabbits. I also had some sleigh rides. Indeed, our liberty contrasted
so favorably with the narrow confines of Governor's Island that the
mild winter passed very quickly.
In about a month after my arrival at Carlisle, the complement of
recruits required for Company D was sent on from Governor's Island,
and the company took up quarters by themselves in a new two-story
building, with a mess-room in the basement, on the easterly side of the
barracks. The recruits were all young men, twenty to twenty-five years
old, hailing from various parts of the country. A considerable portion
were foreign-born, mostly Irish, although there were some Germans and
a few other nationalities. Their previous occupations ranged all the
way from a school teacher to farm laborer. Some were fairly well
educated and others ignorant to the point of illiteracy. There were
many mechanics of all sorts among them who had worked as journeymen at
their trades. Also there were some runaway apprentices. We found those
of a mechanical experience very useful later on at the frontiers.
As usual, they had enlisted for various reasons. Some had the
"Wanderlust"; others had a taste for adventure and hoped to satisfy it
in a soldier's life. Some had joined from sheer necessity, or
inability to find any other occupation to support themselves. This
last was a very common cause. There were also a few "ne'er-do-wells"
who were of no use anywhere, and a detriment to the army. It took
months to drill and discipline these men, and to make serviceable
soldiers of them. But after a time their awkwardness disappeared. They
carried themselves erect, and there was a marked improvement, except
in a few who seemed too stupid to be taught and strained the drill
sergeant's patience to the breaking point. Every company seemed to
have a few members so awkward as to disarrange any well drilled
company. Whenever possible these were detailed to some special duty,
which kept them out of the ranks.
The men were left to choose their bunkies, and pair off as they
pleased. I bunked with one of the sergeants of the company who had
served in Mexico and in California. He was a middle aged man of
exemplary character, who took a sort of fatherly interest in me. He
taught me many things useful in a soldier's life.
I met with one great disappointment on joining Company D. I had hoped
to have as a companion a drummer-boy of about my own age, with whom I
could chum. This desire was strengthened by the knowledge that the
fifer was considered to rank the drummer and in the absence of special
instructions could order the drummer to play such tunes or marches as
he chose. But I found myself associated with a man who was a dozen
years my senior. He was serving his second enlistment, and had been
transferred from some other regiment and sent to Carlisle. He was a
married man without any children, and lived in another part of the
garrison away from the company. His wife, a rather attractive and
genteel young woman, was one of the four laundresses which the army
regulations allowed to each company, and provided free with a
soldier's daily ration, quarters, transportation, and medical
attendance.
My drummer was a tall, haggard man with a sallow face. I was still a
few inches short of having attained the height of five feet, and when
my tall drummer and I marched at the head of the company we were
called the "long and the short of it," which greatly annoyed me as I
was very sensitive to ridicule. Another annoyance was the fact that he
was not a very good drummer, and would not take the trouble to learn
any new and fancy pieces, as we boys did. Whenever I had to play with
him alone I was obliged to content myself with the old repertoire.
Aside from these differences, we managed to get along well enough, as
he was a sober and solemn man who kept very much to himself. But I
always missed the companionship of a more youthful spirit.
The commander of my company at this time was Captain and Brevet Major
Samuel P. Heintzelman, a native of Pennsylvania who during the Civil
War commanded an army corps in the army of the Potomac, and became a
major general. His grey hair and beard gave him a fatherly appearance,
and he was well liked by the men. He was fond of bean soup, the kind
that only soldiers can make. He frequently sent his servant to the
company kitchen for a quart of bean soup. Captain Heintzelman remained
with us but a few months when he was promoted to Major of the First
Regiment of Infantry. We regretted to lose him. The first lieutenant
was Thomas W. Sweeney, a native of Ireland, who had lost an arm in the
Mexican War. He retired from the service in 1870, with the rank of
Brigadier General. He was a good soldier. The second lieutenant was
John D. O'Connell, of Pennsylvania, a tall, fine-looking man, somewhat
given to swearing when he got angry, but a fair and just man. I do not
know what became of him after the war. We had three efficient officers
who took good care of the company. Captain Heintzelman and Lieutenant
O'Connell, were both West Point graduates. The commander of the post
was John J. Abercrombie, lieutenant colonel of our regiment. He was
also a West Pointer and had joined the army in 1822. He was a good
tactician and a very proud and dignified officer.
In March, 1855, great changes took place. The U.S. Army, which then
consisted of only eight regiments of infantry, two of dragoons, one of
mounted rifles, four of artillery, of which but two companies in each
regiment were batteries, and a few engineer and ordnance soldiers, was
authorized by act of Congress on March 3, 1855, to be increased by the
formation of two additional regiments of infantry, the Ninth and
Tenth, and two of cavalry, the First and Second. The old names of
"Dragoons" and "Mounted Rifles" were dropped, and those regiments were
thereafter known as the Third, Fourth and Fifth Cavalry. General
Scott's infantry tactics were abandoned for Colonel Hardee's.
The old smooth bore musket, which carried a ball and three buckshots
at short range, was replaced by a long range rifle with a barrel of a
dull finish and a sword bayonet. The old fashioned cross belts were
done away with, and the cartridge boxes made smaller. The heavy shakos
and clumsy fatigue caps were replaced by a lighter and neater uniform
hat, and a Képi, after the French army style. The cut of the dress
coat was altered and made to look smarter, and polished brass epaulets
were worn. All this made a decided improvement in the appearance of
the soldiers on parade.
The change in tactics made extra drilling necessary. The old had to be
unlearned and the new acquired. After we had become proficient in the
new drill, Colonel Abercrombie sometimes marched the four companies,
with the band and field music ahead, through the town to the Dickinson
College grounds which were on the side nearly opposite to the
barracks. There he put us through a battalion drill. These drills and
marches through the town took place on fine spring days, much to the
delight of Carlisle's citizens, who turned out in great numbers to see
the spectacle and to hear the band play.
I had a very easy time at Carlisle barracks. I attended the roll calls
at reveille, retreat, tattoo and guard mounting; drilled and practiced
for an hour each day except Saturdays, and served as orderly at the
adjutant's office about once a week. I had a great deal of spare time
which I spent in roving around the country. I also went to town quite
often. There was no school so I bought some books and did some
studying evenings with the assistance of some of the men in my
company. I began to like "soldiering." I wore a fine, showy uniform
dress coat of dark blue cloth with the standing collar, cuffs and
breast faced with light blue cloth, which made it very conspicuous and
distinguished the musicians from the non-commissioned officers and
privates. The trousers were of light blue cloth, and the Képi (cap) of
dark blue ornamented with a small brass bugle and the regimental
number above a straight visor. I had a pair of brass epaulets, or
"scales," as we called them, which, together with my coat buttons and
cap ornaments, I kept highly polished. I also had a bright sword, for
each musician, and the first or orderly sergeant of each infantry
company carried a straight sword. The sword belt was made of black
leather and had a brass clasp ornamented with an eagle and a wreath of
white metal. My sword was rather long for me at this time, and it used
to get between my legs at first when marching, and trip me up. It took
some time to become accustomed to it.
My pay was twelve dollars per month, with everything found and I
looked pityingly upon citizen boys of my age who had to slave for a
couple of dollars per week.
I was approaching my fourteenth year, and outside of my military
obligations felt that I was my own master. This, I suppose, made me
think I was a man in spite of my youth. I fear that at this period I
felt "a little cockey" or vain, and showed it. This feeling, however,
I got rid of after I experienced real service in the frontiers. I
bought some white shirts, "boiled shirts," as we soldiers called them,
also neckties and "bear's grease" for my hair. With all this I arrayed
myself gorgeously when I went to town. Sometimes I wore a red sash
instead of my belt and sword which I was not allowed to carry into
town. I began to correspond with some of the town girls, who admired
the soldiers, and I made calls on some of them.
We music boys patronized a small ice cream and candy store kept by a
widow and her daughter. There was a back room where we often met and
were served with soft drinks and cake. Between pay days, when we had
run out of money, the widow gave us credit.
The freedom I enjoyed here was a great contrast to my unhappy
experience on Governor's Island, where I had but little liberty, was
half starved and was badly treated in many ways. I look back with
pleasure to my six months' stay at Carlisle, whose citizens were
always friendly to the soldiers. There was but little of the rough
element in that staid old Pennsylvania town, and I cannot recall that
any serious difficulty or encounter ever took place between the
citizens and soldiers during our stay there.
While at Carlisle barracks, I was obliged to take part in a
disgraceful scene--the drumming out of two soldiers. They had been
tried for desertion by a general court martial, found guilty and
sentenced to be indelibly marked on the left hip with the letter D,
four inches in height, to have their heads shaved, to be dishonorably
discharged and drummed out of service. This sentence was executed one
cold winter morning, directly after reveille. The companies who had
just answered roll call were kept formed while all of the fifers and
drummers marched to the guard-house. There we formed ranks, the two
prisoners in front, bare headed, closely followed by four privates and
a corporal, their guns at a position of "Charge bayonets." The field
music was behind, playing what is called "The Rogue's March." In this
way the prisoners, whose closely shaved heads presented an absurd
appearance, were marched around the four sides of the parade ground,
past the companies standing in ranks, back to the guard-house and
through the gate adjoining. There we halted, their caps and small
bundles containing their little belongings were handed to them, also a
dishonorable discharge, then we watched them for a while as they
hastened down the road towards the town. They did not enter it,
however, but cut across the fields and soon disappeared from sight.
This spectacular exhibition of a brutal punishment seemed to me like a
relic of barbarity. It was conceived in the virulent minds of some of
the officers who tried the prisoners. The sentence was duly approved
by a higher authority, although it was not in accordance with the
punishments as prescribed in the army regulations. Young as I was, I
felt ashamed and indignant at being compelled to be an actor in this
disgraceful scene.
A company of soldiers, after they have served together for some
months, become like a large family. My own company was a fair sample.
We soon knew each other's good points, failings and weaknesses. It
took but a short time for the company to separate itself into two
parties; the larger of which contained the men who kept themselves
clean, and took some pride in soldiering. The other contingent,
happily small in numbers, were often slovenly, disorderly, and
sometimes vicious. They were given to quarreling, and occasional
fighting. Though they banded together, they were not able to create
much trouble while in the quarters, as they were so largely
out-numbered. It became necessary sometimes to teach one of them a
severe lesson, and I remember one case wherein a man of filthy habits
was taken to the creek by his comrades, stripped and washed with soap
and sand until his skin was raw.
As we had no way to lock up anything we owned we were particularly
severe on petty thieves, taking the law into our own hands, by giving
the guilty one a sound beating. This had a good effect. Of those we
punished none ever complained of their treatment to the officers,
knowing that they would receive small consolation from them. After a
few rigorous punishments it was seldom that a soldier missed anything.
Tricks were played upon us boys once in a while. We played our calls
at the flag staff in front of the commanding officer's house, where,
when commencing to play, some fifer would nearly burst himself trying
to blow his instrument. Upon investigation he would find it stuffed
with paper or rags. Sometimes a drummer would find the drumhead
greased or the snares loosened. The bandsmen also had their troubles.
Their brass instruments were filled with water or stuffed with rags;
these experiences soon taught us to examine our instruments before
going to the parade ground.
Early in March, 1855, Major Edmund B. Alexander of the Eighth
Infantry, arrived after having been promoted to colonel of the Tenth
Infantry, one of the new regiments. As he ranked Lieutenant Colonel
Abercrombie he took command of the post. The headquarters of the Tenth
Infantry were established at Carlisle barracks. Officers and recruits
for the new regiment began to arrive, and the post took on a more
lively appearance as company after company of the new regiment was
formed. We began to be somewhat crowded. The parade ground within the
barracks proved to be too small for drilling all the companies at the
same time, and some of them were obliged to exercise in adjoining
fields.
The addition of four new regiments to the United States Army, and the
necessary increase of more than one hundred and fifty officers brought
joy to the hearts of many of the old officers, who had long waited for
promotion. Advancement in time of peace is naturally very slow. Many
grey haired first lieutenants became captains, some elderly captains
became majors, and a few majors were promoted to colonels. The second
lieutenants were supplied from West Point as far as possible. There
was a very scanty promotion from the ranks, but quite a number of
appointments from civil life--many of these through political
influence more than for any merit the candidates possessed.
Before the raising of the four new regiments the number of officers in
the army who had been appointed from civil life was very small. Most
of them dated from the war with Mexico. These men had seen service and
were experienced. We did not take kindly to the newly appointed
lieutenants from civil life. Few of them knew anything of military
work, and for some we had contempt. But we respected the young
officers from the military academy, who understood their business.
The various promotions caused many transfers of officers to serve in
higher grades in other regiments. My company lost Captain and Brevet
Major Samuel P. Heintzelman, who left us, much to our regret, to
become a Major of the First United States Infantry; William M.
Gardner, a native of the State of Georgia, and a West Point man,
became our next captain, having been promoted and transferred from
another regiment. He was an ardent Southerner who most cordially hated
the "Abolitionist"--a haughty, high-spirited, irritable man, more
feared than liked by the soldiers. He was middle-aged and unmarried,
slight and of medium size with a swarthy complexion. His delicate
physique caused him to suffer much from the severe hardships endured
while on the frontiers, but he bore them courageously and without a
murmur.
He remained captain of Company D until his native state seceded from
the Union, when he resigned his commission, and joined the
Confederacy. There, I have been told, he became a brigadier general
and lost a leg during the war. I remember Captain Gardner with the
kindest of feelings, and I am grateful to him for special acts of
kindness and indulgence. He never was harsh or hasty to me, and often
he gave me good advice, which to my regret I did not always follow.
We had a mild winter at Carlisle, as I have said, and spring opened
early. In May it was warm enough to bathe in the deep holes of the
small creek, near the garrison, and we often enjoyed swimming in a
river some miles away. There was a large cave in that vicinity into
which we often went for the pleasure of shouting and hearing the
echoes. The country was beautiful. There were large farms, with
prosperous-looking houses. I never tired of wandering about on the
good roads that stretched in all directions.
I found much amusement in watching the drilling of the raw recruits of
the Tenth Infantry, for we of the Second considered ourselves trained
soldiers now and laughed at their awkwardness as others had probably
laughed at us.
A certain Irish sergeant had a most peculiar way of his own of
elucidating the tactics to the recruits, and often lost his temper
when things were done wrong. One day, after he had patiently explained
and demonstrated to his squad that, when given the command, "Forward
march," each man must step off with his left foot, about half of the
squad advanced the right foot.
"Didn't I tell y'es the roight fut's not the roight fut?" he shouted.
"The lift fut's the roight fut."
Sometimes it happened that some inattention of the instructor himself
would cause amusement when drilling some of the larger squads in
marching. At the command "By the right flank, right face, forward
march," one-half of the squad misunderstanding the command, would face
to the left, and march on until brought up against a fence or other
obstruction. At the same time the other half marched with the
instructor at their flank in the opposite direction, until he
commanded, "Halt, front face," and discovered the missing half on the
other side of the parade ground "marking time," and waiting for a
command.
An old soldier of my company named Coffey was married and had several
children. One of them was called "Kitty." She was a little
freckled-faced four-year-old who had the most astonishing red hair
that I ever saw. Kitty had a roving disposition, and wandered all over
the garrison, and into the soldiers' quarters. Everyone played with
her, and she was a general favorite. She loved the soldiers, and the
only way we could make her go home was to say to her, "Kitty your
hair's on fire, run home and tell your mother." Kitty would then
scamper off crying.
She dearly loved to hear the band play, and often got in the way on
the parade ground. One day at guard mounting, Lieutenant O'Connoll, of
my company, who had a keen sense of humor, was acting as adjutant. He
was about to march the guard in review, when he discovered Kitty
directly in front of the band, gazing at them with admiration. He
changed the customary words of command to "Column forward, guide
right--Kitty Coffey get out of the way--March!" all in the same tone
of voice.
I have seen Lieutenant O'Connoll, a big raw-boned, black-whiskered
Pennsylvanian, whom we learned to like in spite of his very forcible
language, fly into such a passion at drill that he would plunge his
sword into the ground half way up to the hilt and hold up his hands in
despair, vigorously berating the company for some false movement.
Sometimes, however, he would laud them when they did their work well.
About the first of June, 1855, orders arrived for the immediate
departure of the four companies of the Second Infantry stationed at
Carlisle to Fort Pierre on the Missouri River in Nebraska Territory.
We were to form a part of the Sioux Expedition, under Brigadier
General William S. Harney, for the purpose of chastising one of the
tribes of the Sioux nation, who nearly a year before had massacred
Lieutenant John L. Grattan, and his escort of twenty-one soldiers, who
had been sent out from Fort Laramie to hold a parley with them. As the
Government had but a handful of soldiers at Laramie, vengeance had to
be delayed until a sufficient number of troops from our small army
could be gathered for the purpose.
General Harney had been made leader of the expedition because he was
an old experienced Indian fighter, known and feared by many of the
Indians. We made our preparations quickly, paid some farewell visits
in the town and in a day or two were ready to start as soon as
transportation could be provided.
I had some regrets at leaving Carlisle Barracks, where I had
experienced none of the ennui of a soldier's life, but had thoroughly
enjoyed myself. I think, however, that my regrets were more than
counter-balanced by the prospect of new scenes far away from
civilization in a country inhabited only by savages, and which at that
time had been but imperfectly explored.
PART III.
JOURNEY FROM CARLISLE TO FORT PIERRE, NEBRASKA TERRITORY IN 1855.
Companies A, D, G and I left Carlisle Barracks about the first week in
June, 1855. We formed on the parade ground for the last time on a
Saturday afternoon in full marching order, our haversacks filled with
three days' rations of hard bread and boiled salt pork. At the command
of Col. Abercrombie we started off in a quick step, the band playing
alternately, "The Girl I Left Behind Me" and "The Bold Soldier Boy,"
both old-fashioned tunes that it was customary to play on such
occasions. We marched past the guard-house where the officer of the
day and guard of the Tenth Infantry saluted us with a "Present arms."
We passed down the road to a point on the railroad track leading into
the town where a special train awaited us on a siding. The train was
made up of a few baggage cars, a passenger car with upholstered seats
for the officers, and "emigrant cars" with bare wooden seats, for the
enlisted men and the wives and children of the married soldiers. None
of the officers' wives and children went with us; two years or more
elapsed before they saw them again.
Lieut. Sweeney of my company was left behind, detailed for some
special duty. Capt. Gardner and Lieut. O'Connell, both bachelors, were
with the company. The last farewells were said, and amid tears and
cheers from some of the soldiers of the Tenth Infantry and the
citizens from the town, we started on our long journey.
I had a seat at a car window and was greatly interested in the
constantly changing scenery. We had to go back to Harrisburg to get
to the main line to Pittsburgh. Traveling by railroad was slow at that
time, particularly so in our case as we had to keep out of the way of
passenger trains. We put in a bad night on the hard seats and in the
morning were at Altoona, where hot coffee was brought into the cars
and served to us from milk cans. Arrangements had been made to give us
coffee two or three times per day while en route.
We made slow progress over the Allegheny Mountains, sometimes having
an extra locomotive to push us along, and it was late Sunday afternoon
when we reached Pittsburgh. We had to change trains here, and as we
marched through the streets to another depot, a crowd of people
followed us. There were four companies with a band and colors,
probably more regular soldiers than they had ever seen at one time
before. We were delayed a long time at the depot; but finally we
started, and after another miserable night on the hard seats, we left
the cars in the morning, crossed a river on a ferryboat and were in
Toledo, Ohio. Stacking arms in one of the streets, we sat on the curb
stones and ate our meager breakfast of hard bread and pork, together
with hot coffee served in our quart tin cups.
A crowd of citizens watched us with interest. They asked many
questions and made remarks, some not very complimentary to our
appearance. We had been two nights on the dusty cars with no
opportunity to wash ourselves or to clean our clothing. I remember
overhearing a stylish young lady say to her dudish escort, "Oh! John,
see how dirty they are and look at the big shoes they wear."
We waited for some hours and then left for Chicago on another train.
Next morning, stiff and sore from our cramped seats, we were outside
of Chicago on the Illinois prairies, going south towards Alton on the
Mississippi. During this third night on the cars, as many as could
find room lay down on their blankets in the passage-way, securing a
few hours of fitful sleep at the risk of being stepped on.
Towns and villages were far apart in Illinois at that time. We
traveled many miles without seeing a tree or a bush. It was my first
view of a prairie. Towards evening we arrived at Alton and detrained
on the outskirts of the town. There we took shelter in some empty
barns and other vacant buildings, on the floors of which we were glad
to get a night's rest. Next morning we were greeted by a furious rain
which continued for two days and nights. During all that time we were
kept in the barns. Sentinels were posted to allow no one to go into
the town; nevertheless, some of the men succeeded in obtaining
whiskey.
On the morning of the third day the sun was shining bright and warm.
We received orders to "fall in" and marched down to the wharf where
four steamboats were awaiting us. One company went on board each boat,
the headquarters, field and staff and the band going on the largest
boat with one of the companies. The boats cast off at intervals of
about a half an hour each and got under way. They carried no other
passengers. My company embarked on the "Australia," which was the
third boat in the line. The steamboats were of the usual style of
light-draft river craft, built to carry freight and passengers. They
were all equipped with high pressure engines which noisily ejected a
great puff of steam through exhaust pipes on the top deck at every
thrust of the piston. They were sidewheelers and each had two tall
smoke-stacks.
On each side of the foredeck rested the butt end of a great spar,
hanging forward at an angle and secured at the top with tackle. These
long spars were used in working the boats off sand bars, I found out
later.
Freight was carried on these boats in a very shallow hold and on deck
behind the boilers, which were located well forward. Above the boiler
deck was the cabin or passenger deck, containing the staterooms, and
over that, the "Texas" or hurricane deck, on which was the pilot house
in front, and back of that the officers' cabins. The crew was provided
for on the boiler deck. The construction was very frail above the
boiler deck. The boats shook and shivered when under way, and as
everything was constructed of light joists and thin boards, the danger
of fire was always present.
Our boats had been very heavily loaded at St. Louis, Mo., with a cargo
of military and sutler's stores and material for portable wooden
houses. The company was quartered in the forward staterooms on the
cabin deck, two to each room. We found the rooms stripped of every
article of bedding and furniture. Even the slats in the bunks had been
taken out, and we had to lie on our blankets on the floor. For our
morning ablutions we went to the lower deck and threw overboard a
bucket at the end of a rope. In these pails of muddy Missouri River
water we washed ourselves. The company cooks prepared our meals in a
kitchen on the lower deck and we ate them wherever we could find room
to squat down on the deck among the deckhands, who were all whites.
While on board we got no fresh bread and only salt meats. The boat's
crew, or "roust-a-bouts," had better food than we, plenty of it and a
variety. They often guyed us about it, but we had the laugh on them
when the boat landed at a wood pile and the burly mate chased them
along with a club or rope's end while they loaded cord wood.
We drank from barrels in which the muddy river water had stood until
the mud had settled. It became fairly clear, when undisturbed for
about twelve hours, and was not unpalatable.
We had a citizen doctor on board, hired by the Government for the
trip. There was no work for him just then, but when we got to Fort
Leavenworth he was kept busy.
On leaving Alton we went down the Mississippi to its junction with the
Missouri, the "Big Muddy," where we could see the distinctly marked
line of the two rivers for miles before the waters seemed to blend.
The water of the Mississippi was comparatively clear and seemed loath
to mingle with that of its murky companion. The Missouri was high at
this time, during the usual June rise. The current was strong, and our
heavily laden boats made but slow progress. This, however, did away
with the necessity for sounding and enabled us to run at night, at
least as far as Fort Leavenworth or further.
Except for three daily roll calls I had nothing to do. The weather was
fine. I watched the engines occasionally but spent most of the day
sitting in the front of the cabin deck looking out upon the mighty
river whose windings disclosed constant changes of scenery. I was
enchanted with it, and it never became monotonous to me. Sometimes a
steamer carrying many passengers passed us, for no railroads then
connected any of the river towns, except one inland from St. Louis as
far as Jefferson City, the capitol of Missouri. A few of the passenger
boats were equipped with a calliope, or steam organ, and would play
old plantation melodies on approaching or departing from a town. To
hear "Suwanee River," "The Old Folks at Home" or "Susannah"
reverberating from the hills on a calm summer's evening was charming.
There were not many towns on the Missouri in 1855; the principal ones
that I remember were St. Charles, Hermann, Jefferson City, Booneville,
Glasgow, Kansas City, Leavenworth and St. Joseph, which was then about
the end of civilization and the white settlements. Smaller places, not
yet even named, were starting up, and some of them are prosperous
towns now. I had a good school atlas with me so that I could locate
the direction of the river and its principal tributaries. It proved to
be an interesting and useful companion, giving me general information
about the country and the distances between various points.
All of the steamboats used cord wood for fuel. This was supplied from
wood yards along the river as far north as the white settlements
extended. They were generally located in the wilderness far away from
any town, but were well known to the pilots, who, when running short
of wood, would sound a warning whistle on nearing a wood yard, which
would bring out of the woods to the river bank a bushy-whiskered,
matted-haired individual in a red shirt, with one suspender holding up
his corduroy pants, the bottoms of which were thrust into cowhide
boots.
The pilot would run the boat close in to shore and slacken speed while
the captain opened a parley with the man in the red shirt about the
price of the wood per cord and haggle about it until a bargain was
made. If the price was low a large quantity would be shipped, or on
the contrary, only enough to reach the next yard. Occasionally it
happened that the captain would not take any fuel at the price offered
and would start away to take his chances at the next wood pile, if he
was sure he had enough fuel to get there.
When it was decided to take in wood, the boat tied up to the trees.
Two gang planks run out, and the captain, the chief engineer and the
purser of the boat went on shore and inspected and measured the wood.
If satisfactory, they gave the word to the mate, who had his crew
ready, and with a shout started them off on a run. Each man rushed to
the pile, grabbed as many sticks as he could carry and ran into the
boat on one gangway and out on the other. The mate, in the meantime,
shouted and swore at them on the run, sometimes giving a slow man an
unfriendly rap over the shoulders, to hurry him along. This was kept
up without a moment's rest until all the wood wanted was on board. The
poor devils of deck hands and firemen were exhausted and dripping with
perspiration when their hard task was over. When this scene was
enacted at night time under the fitful blaze of pitch-pine burnt on
shore in iron baskets, it had a weird, unearthly aspect.
We made fair progress, without delay or accident, until we were within
a few miles of the village of Booneville, Mo. It was noon, the weather
was beautiful and the boat was making her best speed. I was sitting on
a barrel on the lower deck forward, and had just finished my dinner
and was talking to some comrades, when suddenly a crashing shock threw
me down to the deck some distance away. I could hear the timbers and
upper wood work of the boat crunching and straining. I looked up and
saw the two tall smoke stacks wobbling dangerously and straining at
their guys. The two great spars at the bow of the boat were swinging
to and fro, and threatened to fall to the deck.
Finding that I was not injured, I rushed to the upper deck and looked
down upon the scene of confusion below. There were cries of "Snag!
Snag!" that dreaded obstruction to river navigation that had wrecked
so many steamboats. In a moment the forward lower deck was crowded
with hurrying boat hands and shouting officers. A hatchway was
uncovered and half a dozen men jumped down into the hold. Mattresses
and blankets were dropped to them with which they tried to stop the
leak. But the inrush of the water was so strong that their efforts
were futile and in less than five minutes they scrambled hastily on
deck.
In the meantime, the pilot tried to back away from the snag, but the
boat seemed to be caught in a trap. Fortunately, some one now gave
orders to draw the fires and to blow off steam to avoid an explosion
of the boilers. The roar of escaping steam and steady shriek of the
big whistle added to the excitement and confusion. The soldiers' wives
and children ran about the cabin deck, screaming with terror. We
soldiers were made to understand, despite the noise, that we were to
take the life preservers from our staterooms and assemble on the
hurricane deck. This was promptly done. There I noticed that we were
seventy-five to a hundred yards from the east bank of the river, with
no habitation nor any other boat in sight.
There were some life boats on this deck which our officers had ordered
us to help the crew to launch when word came that this would not be
necessary, as soundings had shown that there was no danger of the boat
being entirely submerged. This quieted the frightened ones, and when
the steam had about escaped from the boiler and the noise lessened, we
were ordered to descend to the cabin deck again to pack our knapsacks,
take our arms and reassemble on the upper deck. There we saw five or
six miles down the river the steamboat, _Grey Cloud_ with Company
A on board hastening to our assistance.
During all this time the boat had been sinking steadily, but not so
rapidly as I expected. We could plainly hear the air pressure in the
hold force off some of the hatchway covers and noticed a hissing sound
when the water reached the still hot boilers. But there was no danger
of explosion; the steam had been let off just in time. Occasionally
the boat gave a sudden lurch and listed alarmingly to one side and
when the water had entirely submerged the boiler deck and the boat
began to sink more rapidly, we laid down our knapsacks and arms and
began to put on the life preservers, as we feared the water would lift
off the cabin deck and float us out into the river to drown, in spite
of the assurance that the river at this point was too shallow for that
to happen.
We watched the final struggles of the boat filled with the fear that
she might break in two. Then with a huge straining and a terrifying
tremor she settled on the bed of the river. Her bow was much higher
than the stern, she had a strong list away from shore and the water
was about three feet below the cabin deck.
I have no clear idea as to the time that elapsed between the striking
of the snag and the grounding of the battered hull on the river
bottom. But I know that the _Grey Cloud_, which we were anxiously
watching, drew up alongside of our wreck about an hour after we had
sighted her, and took us on board. No one was lost or injured. We
saved the company books and papers and our own private property,
except our dress coats and uniform hats, which had been packed away
where we could not get at them. For these we were reimbursed later on.
The sun was still high when we cast off aboard the _Grey Cloud_ and
started up the river again. We took a couple of the _Australia's_
officers with us and landed them at Booneville, a few miles away, to
seek help. The captain and crew remained on board and were launching
one of the life boats as we left. The last we saw of the wounded
steamboat before a bend in the river hid her forever from our view, was
her upper deck, with her paddle boxes and smoke stacks sticking out of
the water. We learned later that she soon went to pieces and was a
total wreck.
Snags, such as that which caused us so much trouble, are trees which
have been washed away by freshets. They float down the river and the
largest of them frequently become fixed with the heavy butt and great
roots fast in the river's bed where they are held until one of the
constant shiftings of the channel releases them. The branches of these
trees in time drop off, leaving only the solid trunk, invisible at
high water. It was such a one that sunk the _Australia_. We saw
thousands of snags on the upper Missouri when the water was low. The
pilots when descending the river pay but little attention to the
smaller ones. They are pointed downstream and the boats often run
directly over them without any injury as they readily bend under the
impact.
The addition of my company crowded the _Grey Cloud_. We had to
put up on the floor of the saloon for a few days until we reached Fort
Leavenworth, where we disembarked and were to remain until another
steamboat could be loaded and fitted out at St. Louis to take us up
the river to Fort Pierre. The remainder of our little fleet had
already passed on. The soldiers' wives and children of my company were
left on board with Company A, fortunately for them. Their husbands,
however, were ordered to disembark and serve with the company.
It was in the early forenoon that we marched up the steep hill from
which Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, overlooked the river. We were assigned
to quarters in an old two-story building close to some vacant cavalry
stables on the western side of the fort, near some brush and woods.
Fort Leavenworth was an old frontier post and its buildings were
dilapidated. Its garrison at that time consisted of two companies of
cavalry and a large number of unmounted recruits for one of the new
cavalry regiments that was being formed there. The place was crowded
and the cholera was raging. The hospital had long been overcrowded and
one of the largest barrack buildings was also used as a hospital where
the sick filled both of its large floors.
We had not been there many days before the dread disease made its
appearance in my company and soon we had a dozen men sick of it. They
were placed on straw beds on the floor of one of the old stables near
our quarters, which had been hastily cleaned up for the purpose,
although it was so infested with rats that they ran over the helpless
sick even in the day time. There were no conveniences of any kind. The
weather was intensely hot. The only drinking water to be had was
brought from the Missouri River in barrels, into which each one dipped
his tin cup. There was no ice, not even for the sick, and medical
attendance was altogether inadequate.
After a day or two of illness one of our men died and was soon
followed by another. During our short stay the company lost four
members, as well as Brevet Second Lieutenant Samuel T. Sheppard, who
died June 27, 1855. He was assigned to duty with us after our arrival.
Lieutenant Sheppard was a fine young officer and had only lately been
graduated from West Point. As there were no musicians at Fort
Leavenworth except my drummer and myself and a few buglers of the
cavalry companies, we two were ordered to attend all the funerals to
play the "Dead March," and as my company was the only infantry
present, they furnished the escort for the recruits who died in the
hospitals. During our stay of about three weeks I cannot recall more
than two or three days without a funeral, held usually in the morning,
but often followed by another in the afternoon or evening. I
frequently saw two or three coffins carried at one time in the two
horse, covered delivery wagon which did duty as a hearse.
These funerals were simple affairs. A funeral escort of a corporal,
eight privates and my drummer and myself appeared at one of the
hospitals and waited until the coffin or coffins were loaded on the
wagon. Sometimes we were kept waiting rather long, while the corpses
were being placed in the coffins, and nailed up in the presence of the
sick and dying. There was no dead houses or separate place for the
bodies; they were left lying where they died on their straw beds on
the floor, simply covered with a blanket until the time for the next
funeral.
When the coffins were brought out the escort presented arms, and when
they were loaded on the wagon, the corporal commanded, "Shoulder arms,
right face, reverse arms, forward march." Then we marched off in slow
time, playing the solemn "Dead March," which could be plainly heard by
the unfortunate patients in the hospital. We continued the slow march
and music, until a short distance outside of the fort, when we ceased
playing, and marched at the "Route Step," until we entered the
cemetery, which was more than a mile away. There we resumed the slow
step and doleful music, until we arrived at the grave. The coffin was
lowered without any further ceremony, except the firing of three
rounds of blank cartridges by the escort, across the grave. We then
marched back to the garrison, while the grave diggers filled in the
earth on top of the coffin.
One morning, while waiting at the temporary hospital on our usual sad
duty, I was seized by a strong desire to see with my own eyes the
awful conditions in the building, of which I had heard much. I entered
the hallway and passed through a wide open door into a large barrack
room. On the two long sides of the room, lying on the floor upon
bedsacks stuffed with straw, were about three dozen men in all stages
of the terrible disease. Some were unconscious of their surroundings;
their features had turned to a bluish black color. Flies in great
numbers swarmed around them, and settled on their open lips and
staring eyes. Others, in the earlier stages, feebly tried to free
themselves from these pests. The doors and windows were all open, but
the heat and stench were terrible. There was no furniture in the room,
except a table for medicines, and a few chairs for the soldier-nurses.
Two rude oblong boxes rested on the floor near the door. They were of
pine, and not even stained any color. Into these two almost nude
bodies of men who had died during the night were being placed or
packed--literally packed, for one of the bodies was that of a very
large man for whom the coffin was too short. When his head and feet
were in, his chest bulged up, which made it necessary for one of the
attendants to sit on the cover while it was being nailed down. All
this was done in plain view of the patients. What a sight for those
who were conscious! What must have been the thoughts and feeling of
the unfortunate sufferers?
I turned with horror and indignation from the room, sickened and
shuddering at the sight I had seen. What should be said of the
commander of the post, an officer of high rank? And what of the chief
medical officer? They permitted this brutal and inhuman treatment of
the sick to continue, while there was plenty of space and tents to
shelter the stricken, to separate the convalescent from the sick and
to remove the dead from their proximity?
I am aware that medical science, at that time, knew but little
concerning either the prevention or cure of cholera, but at Fort
Leavenworth absolutely nothing was done to prevent the disease from
becoming epidemic. No orders, caution or instructions were ever given
to us in regard to it, and it was left to each man to guard himself as
his intelligence might dictate.
The afflicted of my company fared a little better than the poor
recruits. They were not crowded, and our little fat citizen doctor did
his duty conscientiously. After about two weeks no more new cases
developed in my company, and those still under his care were
convalescent.
There was a man in the company at this time, who claimed to know of an
infallible preventative of cholera. Before enlisting he had worked in
some of the Mississippi river towns, as far south as New Orleans,
where cholera and yellow fever were prevalent. He claimed to have
acquired his knowledge from an old negro doctor. He said all he needed
was a gallon of whiskey, and he could furnish the rest of the required
ingredients. He talked so much and so earnestly about this, that he
finally persuaded another and myself to put up the money for the
liquor, as he had none himself. He went down to Leavenworth City, a
few miles away, and bought a gallon demijohn of corn whiskey, which he
secretly carried into the woods back of our quarters. Then he dug up
some roots. These, with some bark, he cut up and put into the whiskey.
After digging a hole among the bushes deep enough to hold the
demijohn, he concealed it with brush-wood.
Every morning between reveille and breakfast, we sneaked away to the
woods by divers routes. Careful to be unobserved we pulled out the
demijohn and each took a drink of the mixture. It was vile and strong
stuff. One of the ingredients, I think, was sassafras, but I do not
know what else it contained, for we were never told. We did this
regularly every morning during our stay. I do not know whether the
stuff had any real merit, but none of our syndicate had any symptom of
the disease, and we succeeded in keeping our cache a secret.
After we had been at Fort Leavenworth about three weeks, we received
the heartening news one morning that the steamboat _Genoa_ had
arrived from St. Louis, and was ready to take us aboard. We embarked
in the afternoon, and at once started up the river. It was on the
third day of July, a date impressed on my memory by the joy of getting
away from a pestilential place, and the fact that we hoisted the
United States flag and fired a salute at noon next day, with the
little one-pounder cannon on board of the boat.
The _Genoa_ was almost a duplicate of the _Australia_, on which we had
been sunk near Booneville. Our accommodations were about the same,
except that the slats had been generously left in the berths, so that
we did not have to lie on the floor. I had my first view of Indians a
short distance above Leavenworth. They belonged to the Kickapoo tribe
and did not impress me much. There were half a dozen of them loafing
around a wood pile where we had stopped. They looked sad and lazy and
begged for tobacco. They lived near the white settlements, and appeared
to have degenerated by contact with the whites.
The June rise of the river was over, and the water was much lower; we
could no longer run in the night, but tied up at the river bank as
soon as darkness fell. In a few days we passed St. Joseph, Mo., which,
save for a few small settlements a little further on, marked the end
of civilization. Council Bluff, Omaha, Nebraska City, Sioux City, and
others, had no existence as yet. St. Joseph was one of the starting
points for emigrants, who went to Utah and overland to California. It
was also the place of departure on the Missouri from the United States
Mail Route and the Pony Express.
We had not yet seen the last of the cholera. A sergeant of my company
was stricken, on the second day out from Leavenworth, and was
immediately isolated on the lower deck of the boat. Fortunately, it
proved to be a mild case, and under the doctor's care he recovered in
a short time. This case was the last we had.
At this time I shared my cabin with Corporal Clifford of my company,
who was my bunkie. We had been on the river but a few days, when one
night while I was preparing to lie down in my bunk, after tattoo roll
call, he told me he was going down to the lower deck and would be back
directly. When he failed to return within a reasonable time, I
reported his absence to the first sergeant. A thorough search of the
boat and the shore revealed no trace of him. It was concluded that he
had fallen overboard and drowned, though no outcry had been heard.
Some months later we read in a newspaper of the finding of a soldier's
body in the river, away down near Kansas City. The description seemed
to fit Corporal Clifford. Everyone liked him and his loss was deeply
felt.
The captain of the _Genoa_ was named Throckmorton, an experienced
Western riverman. He had his son with him, a lad about my age, with
whom I spent a good deal of time. The boy had a shot gun, and once or
twice he took me with him shooting birds and small game on shore,
while the boat laid up for wood.
There were no wood yards beyond St. Joseph, and we encountered no more
steamboats, except those which had taken Companies A, G and I to Fort
Pierre, and were now returning laden with furs. When wood ran short,
the boat made a landing at a suitable place, and all the firemen and
deck hands went on shore to cut down trees and chop them up to
cordwood size. A quantity of logs were also taken on board to be sawed
and split on deck, while the boat was under way. This saved time, for
the "wooding up" of the boat consumed many hours, and had to be
repeated every few days. The wood was of poor quality, mostly cotton
wood, and of course, very green for firing. Some of the soldiers
voluntarily assisted at the wood chopping, tempted no doubt by the
small pay per hour, and a drink of whiskey, which was also served to
all the boat hands.
Navigation became more difficult as we slowly advanced up the tortuous
stream which often seemed to double on itself. At times we were
heading south instead of north, and appeared to be going down the
river instead of up.
It was the mid-summer period of low water in the Missouri, and no
improvement could be expected before the fall rains. There was no well
defined channel, for the erratic river was constantly changing its
course. Islands that had existed the previous year were washed away by
the spring floods, or so changed in contour as to be unrecognizable.
New islands were formed, and soon covered with a growth of willows and
brush. Land was washed away from shores and added in other places. No
reliable chart of the upper river existed. The pilot was guided only
by his own judgment of the current, the appearance of the water, the
visible sand bars, and the numerous snags that showed their branches
above the water's level.
Appearances were sometimes deceptive and caused the pilot to run the
boat up on the wrong side of a long island, only to find that the
channel was too narrow to get through or too much obstructed by snags.
He would then have to back out and run back for miles in order to try
the other side of the island. Many times each day we heard the pilot's
single toll of the bell on the forward deck. This was the signal to
take soundings on the starboard side, and was usually followed by his
ring to the engine room to slacken speed. A man would commence to
"heave-the-lead" attached to a line, that had marks in various colors
at intervals, to indicate the depth of water. He would cry out
measurements, such as "No bottom, mark-twain, half-twain,
quarterless-twain, six feet, five feet," then perhaps suddenly "Nine
feet," or "Three feet," when we could feel the boat slide onto a sand
bar, if the pilot had not reversed the engines in time. Soundings were
sometimes taken in a row boat at some distance away.
We frequently ran onto sand bars lightly, and managed to get off by
reversing the paddle-wheels, but often it took many hours or several
days to float the boat again. When it was found that the steamer was
hard and fast, the great spars carried forward were brought into use.
The butt end of one of the spars was lowered over the side into the
water well forward. It sunk firmly into the sandy bottom by its own
weight. A double set of strong pulley blocks, attached to the top of
the spar, were connected by a cable which wound around the drum of a
powerful capstan on the forward deck. The capstan bars were manned by
as many of the deck hands as could find room. Then they began turning,
very slowly after the strain was on, going around in a circle and
keeping up a kind of a chant, such as sailors often sing on ships when
raising the anchor by hand. It was exhausting labor, but the soldiers
often volunteered to help.
By this operation a part of the boat was practically lifted, and by
placing the spar at the proper inclination, it was also sheered away
from the bar at the same time. Progress seemed to be made by inches.
Many times the spar had to be lifted and reset in a new position, and
often a portion of the deck freight had to be shifted before the boat
could be freed. During all this time the sand in the river kept on
drifting against the boat and added to the difficulty. If the boat ran
into a bar near the shore, where a cable could be fastened to trees,
we could get off again with much less trouble, and without the use of
the spars.
We proceeded in this laborious way, until we were fifty miles or more
north of where Sioux City is now located. There a series of very bad
turns in the river made Captain Throckmorton decide that the
_Genoa_ was too heavily laden to pass, and that at least one-half
of her freight must be put on shore. A place deemed suitable was
selected on the east bank of the river, and the unloading was
commenced. The freight consisting of all manner of commissary,
quartermaster and sutler's stores. It was put ashore on skids by the
deck hands and piled up under tarpaulins.
The company went on shore, including the citizen doctor, and put up
so-called "A" tents, which we found among the quartermaster's stores.
Thus we established a camp, where extra ammunition and other
necessaries were provided. A guard of a half a dozen men under a
corporal remained on board, and the _Genoa_ resumed her journey
towards Fort Pierre, a few hundred miles away. But, when something
more than half way there, and just below the upper "Big Bend," the
captain unloaded another part of his freight and left it on shore
without any guards.
Along the entire distance from St. Joseph to "Camp Gardner," our
destination, which the soldiers named after our captain, we saw no
indications of white settlements, except at the mouth of the Big Sioux
River, a few miles north of the site where Sioux City was founded the
following year. There, as we passed, we noticed some white men
erecting a saw-mill. They ran down to the river bank and motioned to
us to stop, but we kept on our course. We saw no Indians, for,
according to their custom, they had departed in the spring to hunt
buffalo and other game on the plains and would not return to the river
until late in the fall.
We saw a few herds of buffalo grazing on the prairies some miles away
from the river. But when they became aware of the steamer, they rushed
away, and soon disappeared from sight.
We were greatly annoyed by mosquitoes at night. So persistent were
these pests on a few occasions that men from the company were detailed
to remain on shore all night and tend small fires whose smoke
enveloped the boat.
One night there was an alarm of Indians. The sentinel on shore
reported to the corporal of the guard that he had seen moving lights
some distance away, that appeared to be signals. The company was
quietly called under arms, and the lights on the boat extinguished. We
remained on the alert until daylight, but nothing happened. It seemed
to have been a false alarm.
While at Leavenworth, a married soldier had joined our company, and he
and his wife went up the river with us. She was the only woman on
board. A girl baby was born to her before we reached Camp Gardner, and
it was named Genoa Harrison, after the steamer.
We had not been more than a week on the river, when I became very ill
and had to take to my berth. I had not felt well for some days, and
now had a throbbing headache and a high fever, being part of the time
delirious. I was furnished with a mattress to lie on, and a man was
detailed to wait on me. The doctor was very attentive, and managed to
pull me through. When I got so that I began to eat a little, the
doctor got Captain Throckmorton's permission to have my meals served
from the cabin table. They were brought to me by the captain's colored
boy, who served me cheerfully. He was a happy, grinning young darky,
about my own age, and so black that the soldiers said charcoal would
make a white mark on him. I had no money to reward him, but when we
got to the end of our journey, I gave him one of my jackets and a
soldier's cap, which made him very proud and happy. As for the doctor,
I remember him most gratefully; but I never saw him nor heard of him
again, after he left us. I was able to be up about a week before we
got to Camp Gardner, and was convalescent, but still weak. I suppose
now that I had typhoid fever, although the doctor did not tell me so
at the time.
It was about a month after we had left Leavenworth that we encamped,
and in all that time we had accomplished less than five hundred miles.
The camp was on a knoll close to a ravine, in which were some trees
and bushes. The country round about was hilly, and without any woods.
I think the captain chose the position as one of good defense against
Indians, in case our rich booty of freight should tempt them to attack
us. We never saw an Indian while there, but sentinels were posted in
the day time, where they could overlook much of the country, and were
withdrawn nearer to the camp at night.
It was August and the weather was intensely hot. To escape the sun we
spent much time in the shady ravine. We also went swimming often, and
fished for cat-fish in the Missouri. Rattlesnakes, which were
numerous, were a cause for anxiety, but we escaped being stung by them
and killed many.
It was at Camp Gardner that we first made use of some of the
mechanical talent of my company. A couple of masons built a bake-oven,
near the river bank, out of stones found there. It had a stone bed and
was regularly arched on a wooden center made of barrel staves, and was
provided with a smoke flue. The builders had no lime or cement, so
they covered it all over, about a foot thick, with earth and sods. It
worked well, and in a few days a practical baker of the company made
such good use of it that we all had bread which tasted delicious after
eating "hardtack" for a month. We had plenty of flour, but I do not
know how he made yeast. Perhaps that was found in the shape of powders
among the sutler's stores.
Tobacco had become very scarce among the men. Some of them smoked tea,
coffee or dried leaves, until the captain, who, I think wanted some
himself, authorized the first sergeant to search the sutler's stores
in the freight pile. Boxes of plug tobacco were found, and a plentiful
supply was distributed, for which the sutler was reimbursed. Later on
we learned to make use of the Indian's substitute for tobacco, when in
want of it.
We had been without any fresh meat or vegetables, since we left
Leavenworth, but at Camp Gardner we caught plenty of large catfish, of
which our cooks made a very palatable chowder. It was an agreeable
change of diet. In some of the ravines we found quantities of wild
plums, smaller than the domestic fruit, and yellow, but fairly sweet
and deliciously flavored. There were also plenty of wild grapes, but
not yet ripe enough to eat. We had an easy time in camp, performing no
duties except guard. A stone cutter among the soldiers wiled away part
of his spare time carving deeply into the soft rock face of a cliff on
the river's edge: "Camp Gardner, August, 1855. Here was caught a
fifty-pound catfish by John O'Meara, Company D, Second U.S. Infantry."
The man who caught this great fish was henceforth called "Catfish
O'Meara."
After nearly three weeks, the _Genoa_ returned from Fort Pierre.
The freight was reloaded and Camp Gardner abandoned. The company's
baker baked an extra supply of "soft bread," which we took with us
when we resumed our slow, monotonous journey up the river.
Evenings, when the mosquitoes were not too numerous, we gathered at
the bow of the boat and sang songs to the music of a mouth harmonica,
which one of the soldiers played, or told stories and tried to be
cheerful. But we were again overtaken by a calamity, about the third
day after leaving camp.
The boat was tied up to get fuel one afternoon, and some of the
soldiers took a swim in the river.
A sergeant named Schott, a strong, athletic young man and a good
swimmer, took a dive from the shore into the river, at a point about
two hundred feet ahead of the boat, and in plain view of many on deck.
We saw one of his hands appear above the water twice, near the place
he went in. But, as the minutes passed, his head did not appear, and
we gave the alarm. By the time the place was reached, there was no
longer any hope of rescue. Some hours were spent in grappling for the
body unsuccessfully. The small cannon was brought on shore, and fired
over the place where he was last seen, a half-dozen times; but it
failed to raise the body, which was never recovered. This event cast a
shadow of gloom over us. It was the second case of death by drowning
since we had been on the _Genoa_.
The river was now at its lowest. The summer had been unusually dry,
and when we got to the mouth of the L'Eau qui Court River, now called
the Niabrara River, it was found to have formed a sand bar across the
Missouri. This new barrier made a lot of trouble, although we had only
half a load of freight. So, when Captain Throckmorton reached the
place just below the Big Bend, on the way up, where he had left a part
of his freight, consisting of a lot of barrels of salt pork, he
decided that he could not make his way through the Bend. The freight
was once more divided, and we went into camp on the east side of the
river, while the boat steamed on to Fort Pierre again.
This camp was named "Camp O'Connell", after our lieutenant. It was in
the woods, where we were sheltered from the hot sun, but we found the
ground rather damp. We cleared away the underbrush and covered the
floors of our tents with brushwood and leaves. When this did not keep
out the moisture, we built bunks about a foot high. We did not build a
bake oven this time, as we expected the boat to return in a week. We
were now only about one hundred miles from the end of our journey. By
this time we had become more indifferent about Indians, as we had
encountered none at Camp Gardner, and wandered further from camp, in
small squads, always taking our rifles and ammunition. A few men got
permission to go hunting. One of them shot a small deer, but they had
little success with rifles on small game and prairie hens.
One day some of the men discovered a large cornfield in the bottom
land near the river. The stalks were tall enough to hide a man on
horseback, but there were many weeds. The ears of corn seemed as large
as a man's forearm, and were just about ripe enough to eat on the cob.
Next day I was one of a party that brought a kettle from camp, and we
boiled corn on the river bank. For a few days we had a daily feast of
this delicious corn. Many of the ears were red or blue or mixed in
color. We did not let the officers know about our find, fearing they
would forbid us to take any of it. We learned later that this corn
belonged to some of the Yankton tribe, whose squaws had planted it in
the spring before the Indians started on their summer buffalo hunt. No
care was taken of it, but it grew to immense size in the rich soil,
despite the weeds. On their return, late in the fall, the Yanktons
gathered it.
In about a week the _Genoa_ returned, and once more we reembarked. In
taking down our tents, it was found that some snakes had lodged in the
brush and leaves under some of the low bunks, and it made some of the
occupants turn pale on learning that they had peacefully slept so close
to the dangerous reptiles. As the boat now carried only about one
quarter of the amount of freight she had started with, we made better
progress, and were only delayed by frequent soundings. I think we
reached Fort Pierre on the morning of the fourth day from Camp
O'Connell, about the middle of September, 1855, just fifty-one years
since the Lewis and Clark expedition had passed that way on its long
journey across the continent.
As I look back over this long, weary and unfortunate journey, I
realize that it took about three and a half months to go from
Carlisle, Pa., to Fort Pierre, Nebraska Territory. Of this time, we
were more than seven weeks on the Missouri River, and it had cost the
company seven lives--one officer and four privates, by cholera, and
two non-commissioned officers, by drowning--a rather mournful
remembrance for this early period of my service.
PART IV.
FORT PIERRE AND THE SIOUX INDIANS, 1855-1856.
Fort Pierre, situated on the west bank of the Missouri River, about
fifteen hundred miles above St. Louis, Mo., was an old trading post
belonging to the American Fur Co., which also had another post or two
higher up the river and one on the Yellowstone River. Fort Pierre was
the headquarters. It was a stockade structure, built of split logs
firmly set in the ground and twenty feet or more in height. There were
sheltered and protected turrets at the corners on top, which afforded
a look-out over a large area of flat country. The fort set back a
short distance from the bank and had a large gate on the river side.
There were also one or two smaller gates. The stockade enclosed a
square space, containing several well built log houses for the
traders, trappers, hunters and others. There were also storehouses and
a central vacant space of considerable size within the barrier. The
fort was built in 1832 by Pierre Chouteau, Jr., and recently sold to
the Government.
The stockade was built on high bottom land, well placed for defense
against the Indians. The prospect was uninterrupted for miles up or
down the river, and to the west the land was level and bare for some
miles to the foot-hills. To the east was the Missouri with a large
island opposite the fort and hilly land on the other side of the
river. To the north, on the bank of the river, less than half a mile
away, there was an Indian settlement of about twenty-five lodges. It
was there that the Indians who came to trade usually camped. The
surroundings were bleak and dreary to the extreme. One saw nothing but
prairie or a few stunted bushes in some shallow ravines near the
river. Wood for fuel had to be hauled a long distance.
We found here the three companies that had preceded us, also companies
"B" and "C" of my regiment who had marched across the country from
Fort Ridgely, Minnesota Territory. They were the first soldiers that
had ever been stationed in that part of the country. They brought a
herd of beef cattle and mules in charge of herders, who had managed to
get them there during the summer season with small loss.
During the six weeks or more that these five companies had preceded
us, they had been very busy setting up the portable houses that had
been brought up on the steamers. These houses were placed a short
distance behind the stockade, around three sides of a large
parallelogram, forming the parade ground--officers' houses on one
side, company quarters opposite and other houses on one end. The
necessary store houses were erected on the river front. The company
houses were intended to hold half a company each without crowding. We
moved into two of them on our arrival and had a little less than
thirty men in each house. They were single-story affairs with but one
room and of the flimsiest wood construction. The sills and floor beams
were entirely too light for the live weight to be carried, the upright
studding was about three by two inches, grooved on two sides to
receive panels made of three-quarter inch boards, which was all the
protection there was against the intense winter cold of that latitude.
There was no interior finish of any kind. The roof was of thin boards
covered with tarred paper and had a low pitch from a ridge to the
sides. The houses were set on wooden posts about two feet above the
ground.
Each house was furnished with two sheet iron stoves for burning wood,
and had stove pipes passing through the roof. The officers' houses
were the same, except that they were smaller and were divided into two
rooms by a thin board partition. These houses were very easily set up.
There was but little work on them except driving nails. They had been
previously painted a dark red color, both inside and out. Whoever
designed these cardboard houses--for they proved to be but little
better--had but a small conception of the requirements of that
climate. The winters were long, with deep snow and frequent blizzards.
The architect of these shelters was indirectly the cause of much
suffering. We built log huts for company kitchens, but we had no
mess-rooms.
On the day before the steamboat _Genoa_ left on her return trip
to St. Louis, partly loaded with furs, a paymaster, who returned on
her paid us for four months. We did not see a paymaster again until
the following May or June. A sutler had established a store, with a
miscellaneous stock of goods such as soldiers needed, also goods for
trading with the Indians. But the prices were so high that we could
not afford to buy much. This was due to the high cost of steamboat
transportation, which amounted to about fifty dollars per ton from St.
Louis.
About two weeks after our arrival at Fort Pierre, a courier from
Brigadier General William S. Harney, commander of the Sioux
expedition, arrived from Ash Hollow with an order for four companies
of the Second Infantry to be sent to him as re-enforcements.
It appeared that General Harney had fought a battle with the Brulé and
Ogalalla tribes of the Sioux, on September 3rd, 1855, at Ash Hollow on
the Blue Water creek. This is a tributary of the Platte River, about
two hundred and fifty miles south-west of Fort Pierre.
These were the Indians who had massacred Lieutenant Grattan and
twenty-one soldiers more than a year before, and for whose punishment
the Government had organized the Sioux expedition.
General Harney had started out from Fort Laramie with six small
companies of infantry and two of cavalry. After a march of nearly one
hundred and fifty miles, he skillfully approached the Indians' camp,
without the presence of his troops being suspected.
The Indians had been buffalo hunting during the summer, acquiring many
skins, and much dried buffalo meat. About seventy lodges had encamped
on the Blue Water in a sheltered valley, where they probably expected
to pass the coming winter.
The troops surprised the camp at day break, and attacked it
simultaneously from two sides. The Indians, unable to make any
organized resistance, fled in the direction where their ponies were
herded, but were pursued by the cavalry. Many were killed, among them
a number of squaws, for in the confusion it was difficult to
distinguish them from the warriors.
The chief, Little Thunderer, made his escape. The soldiers lost few in
this action, but the punishment to the Indians was very severe; and it
had its effect, for as long as we remained among the Sioux, only small
skirmishes took place.
The loss of all their lodges, provisions, arms, furs and other
property, which the general caused to be burned, was a severe blow to
them. They were also deprived of many of their ponies. After the
battle, the troops were encamped in a stronger position nearby. There
they awaited re-enforcements from Fort Pierre, where they intended to
winter, as the general deemed it imprudent to march his small force to
the fort, across the enemy's country, fearing that other tribes to the
north and east might form a coalition with the vanquished Indians.
My company was one of the four ordered to join General Harney, at Ash
Hollow; but I and a few more of the young boys were not taken along.
We were left at Fort Pierre with the two companies retained there. The
march proved to be very severe. Part of the route was across the
"Mauvaises Terres" (Bad Lands), where there was no vegetation. It was
a desert, where wood and water had to be carried in the waggons from
one camp to another.
Many curious specimens of fossil remains, picked up in the Bad Lands,
were brought by the soldiers to Fort Pierre. There were petrified
fish, lizards, frogs, etc. But nearly all were imperfect, and more or
less broken.
After a short rest, the united troops under General Harney, twelve
companies in all--quite a little army for those days--took up their
march for Fort Pierre, and arrived there early in November, without
any molestation from the Indians.
I have often regretted since that I was not allowed to go on this
march. I wanted to see that part of the country, through which but few
white men had ever traveled before.
General Harney's additional troops went into camp near our quarters.
The weather was getting cold; winter was approaching; firewood was
scarce, and had to be hauled a long distance. There was but a small
supply of forage for the cavalry horses, and scarcely any grass in the
vicinity of the fort. That had been eaten up by the mules and Indian
ponies. Water also had to be carted quite a distance from the river.
In view of these conditions, and as there were not enough portable
houses to shelter them, it was decided to put the six companies of the
Sixth Infantry, and the two companies of cavalry into cantonment. They
were accordingly sent about six miles up the river, where they built
log houses in the woods on the east bank of the Missouri and remained
there until the following spring.
General Harney took quarters in one of the buildings in the stockade.
Whenever it was my turn as orderly at the adjutant's office, one of my
duties was to bring the general, in a sealed envelope, the
"countersign," or watchword for the night. When I approached him,
saluted, and said: "General, the countersign," he would reply in his
gruff, stentorian voice, "Lay it on the table." I was always glad to
hustle out of his presence.
The general was very tall and powerfully built. He wore a long white
beard, and his white hair was also long. In spite of his age, he was
erect--a remarkably commanding figure. Many of the Indians knew and
feared him. Among them he was known as the "Great White Chief."
General Harney had been in the Seminole, and other Indian wars. He was
colonel of the Second Dragoons, in the war with Mexico, and was
promoted to Brevet Brigadier General.
During the absence of my company on the march to Ash Hollow and
return, I had but little to do and spent much of my time in wandering
about the environs of Fort Pierre. With others I crossed the river in
a canoe, and on the opposite side we found great quantities of wild
grapes, which were fairly good to eat, though somewhat tart. We
squeezed the juice out of them, and with the addition of sugar and
water, made a very palatable drink.
There were some prairie-dog villages on the plain west of the fort,
and it was interesting to watch these alert and nimble animals, no
larger than a squirrel, running about and having sentinels posted on
some higher point near their underground dwellings. These sentries sat
upon their haunches, and watched carefully in all directions. Whenever
we got within a certain distance of them, they gave a shrill, sharp
bark, which started all the others running for the various holes. No
matter how quiet we kept, or how long we remained, they did not come
out again until we were a long distance away.
I became acquainted with some of the employees of the American Fur
Company, who were mostly French-Canadians, with a few half-breed
Indians among them. Some of them were married to squaws and lived at
the Indian camp close by. From these men, who were mostly hunters,
trappers or guides, I heard many interesting stories of their
hazardous lives and their experiences among the Indians, whose
language most of them spoke. They were often useful as interpreters.
To me, the most interesting people at Fort Pierre were the Indians,
among whom I passed the greater part of my leisure time. This intimate
association with the savages continued all through my service on the
frontiers, a period of about five years in Nebraska and Minnesota
Territories.
I have read the beautiful stories of Fennimore Cooper and other
writers of Indian romances. I have also read some of the stories of
explorers and the able and interesting works of men who lived among
the North American Indians and studied them. But I do not intend to
quote from any of them. I shall simply relate here what I learned
about the Indians from persons living in close contact with them
during my time and the impressions they made on my youthful mind, as I
can remember them now, after a period of fifty years since I left the
Indian country to take part in the Civil War, in 1861.
Nebraska Territory in 1855, extended from Minnesota Territory, on the
east, to the Rocky mountains, on the west; and from Kansas Territory,
on the south, to the British possessions, on the north. It has since
been partitioned into North and South Dakota, Nebraska, Wyoming and
Montana. The greater part of this immense territory was claimed and
inhabited by the Sioux Indians, a name given to them by the
French-Canadians, who also gave French names to some of the tribes
composing the Sioux, such as the Gross Ventres, Brules, etc. These
Frenchmen also named the rivers, streams and mountains, many of which
have since been re-named.
The Indians called themselves Dakotas, and did not recognize the name
of Sioux. They were divided into a number of tribes, each ruled by a
chief. The following are the names of some of the tribes, with the
most of whom we came in contact: Poncas, Yanktons, Yanktonnas,
Uncapapas, Blackfeet, Rikarees, Minnikanye, Ogallalas, Brules. Certain
tribes were sub-divided into bands, such as the "Two-Kettle-Band," and
"Smutty-Bear-Band," both of whom were Yanktons.
Lieutenant Gouverneur K. Warren, of the Topographical Engineers,
U.S.A., who made surveys in the Dakota country in 1855, 1856 and 1857,
and to whom we furnished an escort, estimated the Dakota Indians at
about three thousand lodges, which would represent a population of
twenty-four thousand, of which five thousand were warriors.
During a decade, their numbers had decreased from wars with the
Chippawa Indians and other tribes in the north, while in the south,
near the white settlements, the mortality from the small-pox had been
very great among Poncas and Yanktons. I noticed that many of them were
pock-marked, and some had become blind in one eye from the disease,
which their medicine-men could neither cure nor prevent from becoming
epidemic.
It was obvious that the more northern tribes of the Dakotas, who had
seen but a few whites, were superior to those of the south, near the
settlements, whose contact with the whites had degraded them. The
Indians who inhabited the more northern and western parts of Nebraska
were fine specimens of their race, for they still lived in their
aboriginal way. Game was yet abundant. They were proud and warlike and
possessed many ponies. Their tepees were larger, finer and more
decorated. They were rich in furs of all kinds, which they bartered
with the traders for guns, powder, lead, beads, calico, knives,
tomahawks, etc. Many of them had guns, but most of these were old
flint-locks. Bows and arrows were by no means abandoned and they
continued to manufacture and use them. They also had many dogs, which
closely resembled wolves, except in color. These dogs, some of them
very large, they used in many ways, often as beasts of burden--and as
a choice article of food on festive occasions.
The distinctive features of the Dakotas were their broad faces with
high cheek bones; their high, broad, receding foreheads and coarse,
coal-black hair, slightly wavy like a horse's mane. The men, or bucks,
as we called them, wore no beards. The very little hair that grew on
their faces, they carefully removed. I often saw them engaged in
plucking out hairs from their faces with tweezers and the aid of a
small mirror. Some of them even plucked the hair from their eyebrows.
The men were generally tall, or looked so because of their erect
bearing. Sinewy and slender as a rule, quick and active, they seemed
better looking than the women. They wore buckskin leggings and
buckskin shirts in winter, fringed and ornamented, moccasins,
elaborately beaded, and colored blankets or soft buffalo robes. They
wore no head covering, simply a few eagle feathers. Hats or war
bonnets were only worn on special occasions. They were fond of wearing
large brass rings in their ears, the weight of which pulled the lobes
so far down as to be grotesque. Many wore armlets and wristlets of
heavy brass wire, wound around many times, and a necklace of bears'
claws.
The complexion of the Dakotas ranged all the way from a pale saffron
to a deep copper color. When they were decked out in their full
paraphernalia, with their faces and upper parts of their bodies
painted in various colors, knives and tomahawks thrust into their
belts, and bows and quivers slung over their shoulders, they presented
a formidable and picturesque appearance.
I saw but a small proportion of very old bucks or squaws among them.
Possibly they had a way of getting rid of them when they became old
and helpless. Neither were children very numerous, although they
practised polygamy. I suppose many of these died in infancy.
Of the many Indian chiefs whom I saw at Fort Pierre, I can only recall
the names of two, Struck-by-the-Ree and Smutty-Bear, who were there
frequently and in whose tepees I smoked the pipe. Both were well along
in years.
Of the squaws but few could be called handsome and it would be
flattery to say that many were even good looking. While they were
generally lithe and graceful in their youth, laborious work and severe
hardships aged them early. They inclined to stoutness more than the
males, and many of the elder ones had backs that were bent from
carrying heavy burdens.
The squaws planted corn, dug up edible roots, gathered and dried
fruit, skinned the game which the men killed, cut up and dried the
buffalo meat, tanned the skins, made moccasins and garments, did the
cooking, fetched water and carried fire wood or buffalo chips for long
distances on their backs. They put up and took down the teepees,
loaded the ponies, and did all kinds of other work, frequently with a
papoose or two fastened to their backs.
The males did little more than hunt and fish, make bows and arrows,
and carve pipes and stems. The young Indians herded and took care of
the ponies and some few horses which had probably been stolen from the
settlers. Sometimes they helped the squaws in setting up the large,
heavy teepees. This is about all I ever saw them do, save for playing
polo with a ball and crooked stick, while mounted on their fleet and
active ponies, very much the same as the game is played among the
whites to-day.
The squaws' clothing closely resembled that of the bucks. They wore
buckskin moccasins, leggings and a skirt, but they were very fond of
gay colored calico garments, which they wore in the summer time. The
material for these they obtain from traders or soldiers. We often
bought calico of the sutler and traded it with the squaws for
moccasins or furs. We could always make a better bargain if the calico
had glaring colors and fantastic figures. The squaws also wore a
blanket or robe, and when they covered up their heads with that,
leaving only their broad faces exposed, they looked so much like the
young bucks that it was difficult to distinguish the sexes by sight.
This was the cause of some ridiculous mistakes by the soldiers.
Observance of ceremonies and duties toward the dead was also the
performance of squaws. When an Indian died the squaws sewed up the
body in several wraps of buffalo hide together with his personal
belongings--his gun, his bow and arrows, his knife, tomahawk, pipe
and, in fact, all his minor property. Some ears of corn and other food
were always placed inside the shroud to provision him for the journey
to the spirit land.
The Dakotas did not bury their dead. They either secured them in the
branches of trees or on a rude, strong scaffold made of forked sticks
and poles, set atop some hill, where it was plainly visible for miles
around. Among the Ponca tribe, however, I saw bodies placed on the
ground on top of a knoll with a pediment-shaped structure of split
logs over them. They were encased in stones and sods to secure them,
but many had fallen into decay and were partly open to the ravages of
wolves and other animals.
Sometimes on marches through the country we had a few Indian guides
who took some of their squaws with them. Whenever the squaws sighted
an Indian burial place they rode towards it, dismounted, and set up a
mournful howl. Then they deposited some ears of corn or some pemican
at the foot of the tree or scaffold.
On a hill within sight of Fort Pierre, there was a large, high
scaffold, on which some dozens of Indians' bodies were lashed with
strips of buffalo skins. I visited the place one day with some
companions. We found that a recent storm had demolished a part of the
old structure, and nearly a dozen of the bodies had fallen to the
ground. In many cases the dry, brittle wrappings of skins had been
broken open by the fall, exposing the contents to plain view.
It seemed to me most singular that the bodies had not putrified, but
appeared to have simply shriveled up in that pure, dry atmosphere. It
was as if they had been mummified by nature. There appeared to be no
flesh, but a parchment like skin clung to the bones, and the raven
black hair adhered to the skull.
The bodies were all fully dressed and had on all their ornaments. I
noticed one among them that wore a British officer's red uniform coat
with epaulets and gilded buttons. I regret to say that some of the
soldiers committed the sacrilege of appropriating some of the articles
inclosed with the bodies, such as knives, tomahawks, flints and steel,
and made practical use of them.
A group of squaws sometimes visited the fort with cunning looking
little papooses' heads peeping out over their shoulders followed by
small children who were afraid of the soldiers. They meandered around
until they found the huts where the soldiers' wives and families
lived. There they would squat on the ground and spend hours watching
the white women at their domestic work. By way of diversion they
occasionally placed one of their children between their knees, and set
to work picking small insects out of the child's hair. They had a very
original and effective way of disposing of the captive. They held him
between the thumb and finger, placed him between the front teeth and
bit him to death.
The squaws wore their black, coarse hair in two long braids. The
parting in the center was generally made conspicuous with vermillion
paint. The color of their cheeks was heightened by the same material,
with perhaps a yellow ring around the eyes. If in mourning, a simple,
irregular patch of white paint on the forehead seemed to be all that
was needed. They greased their hair liberally with buffalo fat which,
when rancid, emitted an unpleasant odor.
It was interesting to watch the arrival of a band of Indians at a
military post. This happened often at Fort Pierre except in winter.
Sometimes they came with a grievance against white settlers or
hunters, or with a complaint against a neighboring tribe who were
violating a treaty. But often they visited us simply out of curiosity.
They came in large and small parties, sometimes several hundred or
more, including squaws and children.
I often watched the long line coming down the hills or across the
prairie, the men riding in advance two by two on their unshod ponies.
After them came squaws riding straddle and leading pack horses. Next
came a line of ponies in single file, with a number of long lodge
poles lashed to their sides. One end of the poles dragged on the
ground behind, making what is called an Indian trail. On these poles,
behind the pony, there was fastened a network on which were piled the
teepees, furs, cooking utensils, and other articles used by the
Indians. The ponies were led by boys or girls mounted or on foot.
Frontiersmen called these conveyances "travoys." Bringing up the rear
were a number of large dogs dragging smaller travoys in which children
rode. Old squaws or invalids rode as best they could on top of the
baggage on the larger travoys.
When a suitable camping place near the post was reached, there was a
halt and a closing up of the long column. The bucks had a short parley
with the squaws. Then they dismounted and sat down on the grass in
groups and commenced smoking their pipes, while the squaws unpacked
the ponies, and began to put up the teepees in line and at regular
intervals. Some of the larger teepees, with their long poles, were
heavy to raise and required the assistance of the younger bucks. When
the ponies were all unpacked and unsaddled, they were driven off to
water and graze on the prairie. The tired dogs lay down, and went to
sleep. The squaws continued at their tasks. Some in search of
fire-wood, others went off with kettles for water or were busy within
the teepees. When the teepees were ready, the Indians entered them and
after a time emerged, if the sun was not too low, dressed--or rather
undressed--in full war paint. They were naked from the waist up. Some
wore feathered bonnets; others had eagle feathers in their hair. But
the faces of all were grotesquely painted in colors that suited their
fancy. Some were hideous.
They also painted part of their bodies, particularly the ribs. When
this was done alternately in white and black it made them look like
living skeletons. They were unarmed, except for a knife or tomahawk
carried in their waist belts. A few squaws, their faces also painted,
and each with a small drum like a tambourine, joined them.
By this time an interpreter had appeared. They donned their robes or
blankets, and without any regular formation, started for the parade
ground. In front of the commanding officer's house they came to a
halt. The commandant with other officers was ready to receive them. A
lot of the soldiers not on duty and citizen employees soon formed a
group of spectators. The Indians threw off their robes and blankets
and formed a circle. The squaws stationed outside of the circle
commenced a monosyllabic chant in a low voice at first, but gradually
rising. This was responded to by the bucks in a like manner, while the
squaws beat a tom-tom on their drums. Then they began to dance around
the circle, slowly at first, with heads and bodies thrust forward,
backs curved, feet moving stiffly up and down, elbows against the
sides, forearms extended straight forward and fists doubled. In this
way the dance went on for five or ten minutes, increasing in speed
until it ended in a furious beating of the drums and an ear piercing
yell or war-whoop.
After this interesting ceremony had been repeated once or twice, the
Indians advanced in a body towards the officers, headed by their
chief, who commenced a "talk," which was interpreted to the commanding
officer, and was frequently assented to by a grunt from the other
Indians. When the chief had concluded, his place would be taken by
another, a real orator perhaps, whose language was fluent and gestures
dramatic.
The complaints of the Indians were often about settlers encroaching on
their lands, or about a party of white hunters who had caused the
buffaloes to migrate to other parts. If they had no particular
grievance, they would tell that they were good Indians and loved the
whites, especially the soldiers. Then they would ask for food. When the
Indians had finished the commanding officer's reply was interpreted to
them, and received with grunts of satisfaction or dissent. Sometimes
another talk was held on the following day, but they all ended by an
order on the commissary for several days' rations for every member of
the party. Sometimes the Indians prolonged their stay and induced the
commanding officer to grant them a second issue of rations. By the time
they reached the commissary store house, a number of the squaws were on
hand ready to receive the rations which consisted of bacon, flour or
hard bread (biscuits) in barrels, rice, beans, ground coffee and sugar.
No salt, pepper, vinegar, candles or soap was issued to them. They had
no use or desire for these--particularly the soap.
To watch the distribution of the rations, which were given to them in
bulk and in the original packages so far as possible, was very
amusing. At first everything received was carried to a clear place
some distance from the store house. The barrels were carried as well
as the boxes, for the Indians did not understand about rolling them
until some of the soldiers showed them how to do it. The squaws, who
represented families, spread blankets or robes on the grass into which
to receive their share. Some of the Indians opened the barrels and
boxes awkwardly with tomahawks and knives and commenced the division
under the supervision of the chief, with a lot of jabbering from the
squaws. They seemed to get along fairly well with articles that could
be counted, such as sides of bacon or biscuits; but coffee, sugar,
rice, etc., they divided in small cupfulls for each individual, until
the supply was exhausted. The squaws then shouldered the bundles and
followed the bucks back to their camp with happy expressions.
I have also seen one of our beef cattle issued to a large party. The
Indians would drive the frightened animal near to their camp and kill
him by shooting. Then the squaws skinned him and cut him up, utilizing
many parts of the carcass that a white man would throw away.
On the night when rations had been issued there was a feast in camp.
They gorged themselves, beat their drums, and sang long after we
soldiers had to retire after tattoo.
I distinctly remember my first visit to the Indian camp at Fort
Pierre, accompanied by some other soldiers. There were about two dozen
lodges. Half of them were visitors. The others remained there
permanently, and lived on what they got from the soldiers and fur
company employees. The latter were a rather lazy lot and did but
little hunting, so long as they could get enough to eat around the
fort. The first salute we received was from a pack of wolfish-looking
dogs of all sizes which barked furiously but did not attempt to bite
and were easily shooed away.
We walked all through the camp and noted that there were large,
fine-looking teepees, decorated with Indian paintings of animals,
etc., on the exterior. These had an air of opulence about them that
seemed to indicate the owner to be the possessor of many squaws and
ponies. There were also many more teepees that were less pretentious
and a few small, old and tattered ones that showed the poverty of the
owner. It was much like other villages the world over. The palace and
the hovel were in close proximity. Back of the teepees squaws were
cooking something in kettles hung on a pole, supported over the fire
by two forked sticks. They always cooked outside until the weather got
cold. Some children played and ran around just as white children do.
The teepees were of tanned buffalo hides, closely sewed together with
a strong thread made from the sinews of the same animal. They were
conical in shape and were upheld by a number of long, slender but very
strong poles, placed in a circle on the bottom at regular intervals
and meeting on top where they were interlocked. There was an opening
above for the smoke to escape. The entrance was through a slit on the
side, high enough for a man to pass through nearly upright and spread
apart on the bottom to make the passage easier. Over this opening a
piece of tanned hide was usually hung to keep out the weather. These
teepees could be kept warm and comfortable in the coldest of weather,
and were far more durable than the best canvas tents.
We entered one of the best lodges without the formality of knocking
against the side of the opening and saying "How-ko-ta," as we had not
yet learned Indian etiquette. The interior appeared dark at first
after the bright sunlight; but we distinguished the inmates to consist
of several Indians, some squaws and a few children. They all squatted
onto robes spread around the sides of the lodge, which formed their
bedding. We were apparently received in a friendly manner, and by
words and signs were invited to sit down among them. We squatted like
our hosts with our legs crossed. The Indians did not appear to have
been doing anything but conversing. Some of the squaws, however, were
sewing beads on moccasins.
The smaller children shrunk back and stared at us. Presently one of
the bucks produced a long wooden stemmed pipe of polished red stone,
which he filled with kinnikinic, the Indians' substitute for tobacco,
from a buckskin pouch and lit the pipe with a piece of punk ignited
from a flint and steel. He took five or six whiffs of the pipe very
deliberately, and swallowed all the smoke. Then he handed the pipe to
a soldier on his left. As he did this he began to exhale all the smoke
he had in him slowly through his nostrils. The soldier imitated the
Indian in taking a half a dozen whiffs, but he did not swallow the
smoke. In this way the "Pipe of Peace" passed around the circle from
Indian to soldier, and soldier to Indian, myself included. We
understood enough not to offend against the Indian custom of passing
the pipe from mouth to mouth by wiping the mouth piece. After the
smoke there was an attempt at talk of which neither party understood
anything. The young squaws watched us closely and giggled
occasionally. I tried to make one of them understand that I wanted a
pair of moccasins. She brought out a bundle of them, and showed me
some handsome ones. But we failed to make a bargain. I had to make a
few visits with an experienced person before I learned to trade with
them.
The kinnikinic that the Indians smoked was the bark of a red willow
that grew along the streams. They first removed the outside red bark,
then carefully scraped off the greenish second bark with a knife
without cutting into the wood. These shavings were dried in the sun or
before a fire. When crisp they were rubbed into small particles
between the hands. The Indians were fond of mixing a little tobacco,
cut up small, with the bark, but I never saw them smoke pure tobacco,
as they could not inhale its smoke. The bark of the red willow, when
mixed with tobacco, made an agreeable, fragrant smoke. The soldiers
often used it.
Before we left the teepee we gave the Indians a generous piece of plug
tobacco which seemed to please them very much and caused them to say,
"Was-te-da," which means "good."
We entered several other lodges on this, our first visit, and had more
smokes. But I learned later that the smoking ceremony only took place
on the first visit, and not on subsequent calls, unless we brought
with us a stranger who had not visited the lodge before. We were
received in a friendly way in most of the lodges, yet once in a while
we heard an ominous growl from within and thought it best to keep out.
While many of the older Indians were very austere and dignified in
their intercourse with soldiers, the younger ones were inclined to be
droll, particularly the younger squaws, with whom, on account of my
youth I suppose, I seemed to become a welcome visitor. I went to the
Indian camp almost daily, sometimes with a companion but more often
without one.
Many of the soldiers became as much interested in the Indians as I
was. We began to imitate them. We wore moccasins when not on duty. We
sometimes built a council fire back of our quarters, around which we
squatted after dark wrapped in blankets like Indians. We smoked the
"pipe of peace," and we had "talks." There were some good mimics among
us, who could deliver a speech to the rest of the "warriors," which
neither the orator nor anyone else understood. We painted our faces
and imitated war dances with their accompanying drum beats and chant,
not forgetting to yell furiously at the end. We called each other by
the most ridiculous "Indian" names. Mine was, "Why-a-so," but that was
a real name given to me by some of the young Indians and squaws. It
meant "musician."
We got up imitation war parties and scalped our helpless prisoners or
burned them at the stake. In fact, we were like a lot of boys, and got
plenty of fun out of it while the novelty lasted.
I soon became interested in the Dakota language and tried to learn all
I could. I got a memorandum book and pencil. When in a teepee I asked
the names of various objects to which I pointed. When these were given
to me, I wrote them in my book in phonetic spelling. When I read them
off to the Indians on my next visit they were much interested and
laughed when I mispronounced a word. In this way I picked up quite a
vocabulary, but when it came to pronouns, adjectives and verbs, my
progress was slow. This was partly due to the various meanings of the
same word. Numbers were easy for the Dakotas could not count above
ten. After that it was so many tens and units. They generally kept a
tally for any considerable number that was to be remembered by making
notches on a stick. I never attained any considerable proficiency in
the language, but I learned enough to ask simple questions and make my
wants known. I could understand the meaning of much of what they said
after I became a little familiar with the many signs used when
talking. Some of the Indians evinced a desire to learn English and
easily acquired some nouns. But beyond that they could only imitate
sounds without understanding their meanings. This was taken advantage
of by some wags among the soldiers, who taught them to utter the most
ridiculous phrases. This never failed to provoke a laugh, which seemed
to please the Indians.
About the first thing I remarked in the Dakota language, was that the
vowels a, e, i, o, and u, had the long Italian sound in pronunciation,
and that the greater part of the words, whether nouns, pronouns,
verbs, or adjectives, ended in a vowel, which was always accented, and
of which the following are examples:
Buffalo Ta-tai-ka
Horse Shun-ka-ka
Dog Shun-ka
Blanket Shin-na-hota
Water Mi-ni
Whiskey Mi-ni-wa-ka
Silver Money Kash-pa-pi
Bread or Crackers Ak-yu-a-pe
Woman Wee-a
Plenty O-ta
Missouri River Mi-ni-tan-ka
Mississippi River Mi-ni-so-ta
I, thou, he Mi-a, Ni-a, Ee-a
Ride Ga-ki-a
Far Te-ha
Large Tan-ka
Many signs were used by the Indians in their conversation, as for
instance, the phrase "Mi-a, ga-ki-a, te-ha, shun-ka-ka," meaning "I am
going to ride far," had to be accompanied by the sign of straddling
the first finger of the left hand with the first two fingers of the
right, to indicate riding on horseback. Each tribe also had a sign by
which the members could make themselves known. That of the Dakotas was
the drawing of the open right hand across the throat from left to
right.
Another peculiarity of the language was the total absence of the
consonant "R." I cannot recall a single word that had any sound
resembling that letter in it.
Early in November ice began to form on the edge of the river in places
where the current was not strong. The nights were cold, and we found
our blankets insufficient for comfort. Buffalo robes and other furs
were still fairly plentiful, and could be had from traders or Indians
at a very moderate price. Many of the soldiers bought them to keep
warm. I got a fine large one in trade for about three dollars, also a
deer skin for two dollars. Old and worn robes could be had much
cheaper.
The Indians who lived near the fort permanently soon learned the value
of money and how to spend it at the sutler's store. They liked the
bright silver dollars, for one of which the squaws would sell us a
pair of nice moccasins ornamented with beads. A plainer pair could be
had for half a dollar.
The army at the present time is very wisely supplied with clothing
suitable to the climate the soldiers are serving in. In my time,
however, the kind and quantity of clothing was the same, whether you
were stationed in Florida or Nebraska. Any additional clothing we
needed in that cold climate we were obliged to provide and pay for
ourselves.
By the latter part of November, the Missouri river was entirely frozen
over with ice thick enough for wagons to cross. We had snow, but no
great quantity as yet. The thin walls of our pasteboard houses were
covered on the inside with a hoar-frost, which stayed there and grew
thicker. We dug deep trenches around the houses and banked up the
earth against them to make the floors warmer. One day we had a furious
wind storm, accompanied by drifting snow. The roofs of some of the
more exposed houses were carried off and the sides blown in,
fortunately without serious damage to the inmates. Other houses were
only saved by the passing of ropes over the roofs and putting braces
against the sides. This was the beginning of a period of suffering,
which lasted until the following spring and was the worst we had in
the Dakota country. After the storm it was realized that the frail
houses, the scarcity of fire wood and the bleak location, made Fort
Pierre an unsuitable place to winter troops. Therefore, one company
was ordered to a well wooded island below the fort, while three
companies, of which mine was one, were sent to build log huts in the
woods on the opposite side of the river, about five miles above and
within a mile of where the companies of the Sixth Infantry and the two
cavalry companies were located. Two other companies, the headquarters
and the band, remained at Fort Pierre. They improved the houses they
occupied with the debris from the houses that the storm had destroyed.
We put up tents near the river bank. A place about a half mile back on
higher ground was selected for the cantonment, where it was not likely
to be overflowed by the rise of the river in the spring. We cleared it
of underbrush and cut down the trees, mostly cottonwoods. There we
commenced to erect log huts.
We had been furnished with a lot of axes, large saws, crow bars, picks
and shovels by the quartermaster's department. Every man not required
for any other duty was put to work on the huts. We worked with a will,
for we suffered severely from the constantly increasing cold in our
tents, which we could not heat. They were not "Sibley" tents, and we
had no iron stoves. The ground was frozen hard and the snow was deep.
Evenings, when our work was done and if the wind was not too strong,
we built large fires in the company streets in front of the tents.
Before these we warmed ourselves before turning in for the night. Soon
nearly every man's blue trousers were scorched brown on the backs from
standing too close to the fires. Our clothing was insufficient. We had
to wear two shirts at one time and two pairs of trousers and
stockings.
Although I was not required to work on the log huts, I did so
voluntarily to keep from freezing. I could not stay in the tent
without being covered up with my bedding, and I did not wish to stand
or sit around a fire all day, to be scorched on one side and frozen on
the other, while my eyes smarted with the smoke.
We built two log cabins for each company in the roughest way, leaving
the bark on the logs, notching them at the angles, and roughly cutting
off the projections at the corners. We sawed out an opening for one
door and one window, and built a wide fire place at one end opposite
the end that was pierced by the single window. We had great difficulty
finding stone enough to build the fire places, which were about six
feet high and had wooden chimneys plastered with mud. These chimneys
gave us much trouble by constantly getting on fire.
The roofs we formed of split logs, laid with the split side down on a
pitch, and reaching from one wall to the other in a single span. On
this we put a thick layer of brush and shrub, covered with about
twelve inches of earth pounded down hard. The cracks between the logs
were chinked with wood and daubed with mud. We had to build fires to
take the frost out of the ground before we could dig for our mud. When
we mixed it with warm water to the proper consistency for daubing, it
froze so quickly that we could not make the walls and roof tight
enough to keep the cold wind out.
The huts had a dirt floor. We constructed rude two-story bunks of
split logs along both sides, with a passage only six feet between
them. There was a little more space around the fire place. There was
no lumber of any kind for doors and no sashes for windows, so we hung
a piece of an old canvas wagon cover over the door-holes, both inside
and out. The window opening we covered with a piece of white muslin
bought at the sutler's store. We built smaller single-room huts for
the officers and the married soldiers whose wives had been left at
Fort Pierre until the huts were ready for them. We also built a
kitchen for each company, with a bread oven in it, some store houses,
a small hospital and a guard-house. We did not build any mess-rooms.
Each soldier had to go to the kitchen for his rations and eat them in
his quarters.
I think it was about the middle of December, when we broke up our camp
at the river and moved into the log huts at "Cantonment Miller," as it
was officially named. The change was for the better, but the huts
proved to be very uncomfortable. The stationary bunks took up so much
of the room that we were uncomfortably crowded and the place was dark.
When we started a fire the ground began to thaw out for some distance
in front of the fireplace and turn to soft mud, but the earth remained
frozen hard at the other end of the room. The fire had little effect
on the cold air of the room in severe weather, except in its immediate
vicinity. We burned green cottonwood, a very poor material for
heating. While the logs burned on one end the sap ran out at the
other. We got some ash and a little cedar wood, which was better,
although we had to go long distances for it. Details of men went out
and dragged in on home-made sleds the better kind of wood needed for
cooking and baking. Cottonwood was plentiful all around us.
In January and February the thermometer sometimes dropped to forty
degree below zero, but when we made an unusually large fire the
chimney caught fire. We had to keep pails of water ready to extinguish
the blaze. On very cold nights the men took hourly turns to keep up
the fire and to watch the chimney. The snow was deep and drifted
through the chinks of our log huts. We often found large patches of
snow covering our bedding in the morning.
At supper-time every evening we got a loaf of bread which the company
baker had made that day. We put it into our haversacks, which were
hung against the wall of the hut. The next morning it was frozen as
hard as stone. We had to knock off chunks with an axe and thaw them at
the fire before we could bite into them. Some of the men took their
haversacks to bed with them to keep their bread from freezing.
Three soldiers at Fort Pierre attempted to desert to the settlements.
They perished before they had gone a hundred miles, and their
skeletons were found the following summer by a scouting party.
We hauled our water from the Missouri half a mile away. The ice was
more than three feet thick and the hole we had cut through it to get
at the water froze over every night and had to be re-opened in the
morning.
By this time we had accumulated plenty of furs. My bunkie, Sergeant
McMillan, and I possessed three buffalo robes, two deer skins and some
wolf skins. With these and four blankets, we had a warm bed on the
coldest nights. I had the company tailor make a sort of a cloak for me
from a buffalo skin, beaver skin mittens and a cap with ear-laps. A
squaw made a pair of buffalo skin boots for me with the hair inside
and large enough to wear over my shoes. Most of the soldiers made
their own fur clothing, such as caps, mittens, coats and boots, and
produced some curious looking objects. One of them made for himself a
complete outfit of boots, pantaloons, jacket and cap of buffalo skin
with the hair outside. He presented a weird picture when dressed in
them and was given the name of "Standing Buffalo."
We were permitted to wear anything we pleased on or off duty, except
at inspection or muster. These, however, took place in the company
quarters during the severest cold. To expose ourselves, even for ten
minutes on parade out of doors, without furs, would have resulted in
frost-bitten ears and noses. The officers clothed themselves about the
same as the soldiers. There was a herd of beef cattle on our side of
the river and when the snow became too deep for them to find any more
prairie grass, and as there was neither forage nor hay for them, they
were driven into the woods to feed on the bark of young trees. They
began to die off rapidly from starvation and exposure after the
change.
The French-Canadian chief cattle-herder, who reported to the
commissary officer each day, would say in his peculiar English,
"M'sieu! One catt ees died! Two catt ees died!" as the case might be.
The carcasses were left where they died, and were quickly devoured by
the wolves. The wolves often came around our quarters at night,
attracted by the offal from the kitchens. They howled hideously. We
caught one occasionally by an ingenious trap. After many of the cattle
died, the remainder were slaughtered. The meat was allowed to freeze
and was piled up in the store houses. There was scarcely any trace of
fat remaining. It was not nutritious. When boiled it showed
greenish-yellow streaks running through it that made it repulsive. I
could not eat any of it. When I needed a change from pork or bacon, I
got some pemican from the Indians. Pemican is buffalo meat cut in thin
slices, without any fat, and dried in the sun without salting. It was
nutritious, but hard to chew. It could be pounded into a kind of meal,
and when mixed with pork-fat and fried in a pan, it was an acceptable
dish. This and a piece of game, when I could get it, made an agreeable
change in diet.
The cavalry companies lost more than one-third of their horses during
the long, severe winter. The shelter for the horses was built of
brushwood and there was no forage. The men removed the snow where long
dry grass was to be found, and stripped the bark from young trees to
feed the horses. Some of the horses lost their ears or tails from
frostbites. The mules stood the hardship better than the horses.
Mortality was not so great among them, but they also lost some ears
and tails.
About mid-winter, scurvy made its appearance. We had been fed on a
salt meat diet for nearly eight months and, with the exception of a
few wild fruits, had had no vegetables. Those who were attacked became
pale and listless. After awhile their gums began to bleed and their
teeth loosened. Their joints swelled and the flesh became soft. If a
finger was pressed hard into the fleshy part of the arm, it left a
dent that remained for hours. We did not suffer so much from scurvy at
Cantonment Miller as did the soldiers at Fort Pierre. The few serious
cases we had we sent to the hospital there. Little could be done for
them, except to give them lime-juice, which was among the medical
stores. With great trouble some potatoes were obtained during the
winter from the "States," as we called it. These were given to the
sick, raw, scraped fine and mixed with vinegar and improved their
condition very much. However, a few men died of the disease in the
hospital at Fort Pierre. In the early spring, when the snow melted, we
dug up roots that grew in the woods, a few inches below the ground as
we saw the squaws do. The roots resembled a thin sweet potato in shape
and were white in color. They could be eaten raw or boiled and were
quite mealy and palatable. Not knowing the proper name for these roots
we called them artichokes. The sick improved rapidly upon eating them,
and as spring progressed, they all recovered.
An Indian camp of about twenty lodges, belonging to the Yonktonna
tribe of the Dakotas, had located within easy distance of Cantonment
Miller and remained there until the following spring. We soon had a
well beaten path through the deep snow leading to the camp. There I
had the best opportunity during my entire service to observe the
Indians closely in their domestic relations. I became known to some of
them myself and made progress in the study of their language. For a
period of more than five months, I went to the camp very often in the
day time and sometimes in the evening. I often remained for hours in
one or two of some half a dozen lodges which I had selected as my
favorites, after having made the round of the entire camp. The lodges
had fires in them and were warmer and more comfortable than our huts
and never ceased to interest me. The Indians seemed to have plenty to
eat and lived quite comfortably. They had stores of pemican, corn,
roots, dried fruits and buffalo tallow, which had been melted and put
into bladders for preservation. They also had some game when the bucks
went hunting.
I was invited to eat with them and did so a few times when they had
cooked meat of some sort; but I excused myself when I saw any
mysterious dish. I brought them some coffee and sugar once in a while
and showed the squaws how to make coffee, of which they became very
fond. When any of them visited the cantonment, which happened almost
daily, I often gave those that I knew, part of my ration of bread for
the papooses, or a piece of tobacco for the bucks. This, in a measure,
repaid their hospitality. A singular thing which I noticed was that
many of their children, from about three to five years of age, had
abnormally developed paunches, which made them look ridiculous when
they toddled almost naked about the teepee.
When the children attained their fifth or sixth year they became
slender and graceful. I was told that an almost constant meat diet was
supposed to be the cause of their curious development.
One day I saw a little toddler step into his father's dish of food.
The man, without a word of scolding, took off the child's moccasin,
scraped it clean with his horn spoon, then dug a hole in the dirt
floor beside his dish, buried and covered up the scrapings and
continued his meal, undisturbed by the incident.
Both parents showed affection for their children, and in my presence,
at least, I never saw the Indians act with brutality toward their
squaws or children. The children had dolls and played much as white
children do. The older boys often practised shooting at a mark with a
bow and arrow. They were very shy with the soldiers and so were the
wolfish looking dogs. It was almost impossible to win the confidence
of either. Nevertheless, a soldier of company I got the consent of the
parents to take an Indian boy to our quarters and keep him there. He
made a suit of soldier's clothes for him and slept with him all the
winter. "Paddy," as we called him, became quite a pet in the company
and was learning English with a comical Irish accent, acquired from
his tutor, when his mother came and took him away in the spring. At
the same time the rest of the Indians went away, and we never saw or
heard of him again.
The Indians played games among themselves, and the soldiers tried to
teach them the use of cards, but they were unable to learn or
understand the simplest of such games. We, therefore, invented a
special game for them, in which the greatest number of spots on a card
took the trick, for they could count up to ten at least. They admired
the Jacks more than the Kings. They were the big chiefs and the Kings
next. Any card could beat the Queen, which was the "Wee-a" or squaw.
They took great interest in this game. I could do a few simple tricks
with cards, which mystified and amused them. Some of them had a
considerable sense of humor and often laughed heartily.
I was shown some Indian scalps, which had long black hair dangling
from them. The skin was soft, and looked and felt as though it had
been tanned. To me it seemed very thick. I do not know if they had any
white scalps. If so, they never showed us any.
Sometimes one of the Indians produced a buckskin bag ornamented with
beads, wherein he kept his most cherished treasures, and drew
therefrom a written paper, which some white trader or hunter had given
to him. This he would proudly hand to us for examination. These papers
were very much of the same tone as this model: "O-kee-ha (red heart)
is a good and trustworthy Indian, and I recommend him to anyone who
wants a safe guide and a good hunter." One of the Indians had several
such papers, one of which he would always show last. This had
evidently been written by some wag or, perhaps, a truthful man, and
ran something like this: "Beware of this Indian, Big Crow, he is a
thief and a liar, and will murder you if he gets a chance. Take
warning!" As this paper never failed to provoke a laugh, he no doubt
set a greater value on it than on all the others he owned.
When the weather was bad I sometimes watched the bucks making arrows
and pipes, while the squaws were industriously employed on moccasins
or some article of clothing. The making of arrows was quite a delicate
operation, with the few tools they had. The stem of the arrow had to
be true, straight and balanced properly. The feathers must be
carefully glued on and the head firmly affixed with sinew, thread and
gum. Metal arrow heads were made by laboriously grinding pieces of
hoopiron, or the like, which they had picked up somewhere, to the
required size and shape. Other heads were made of chipped flint. War
arrow heads were made with sharp barbs to prevent them from being
easily extracted.
Some of the pipes they manufactured were plain, and others handsomely
inlaid with lead. They were made of a dense, fine grained but soft
working stone of a beautiful red color. To obtain this stone they made
long and weary journeys to the Pipe Mountain, which was somewhere in
the northern part of Minnesota Territory. There, it is said, they
prayed to the Great Spirit before removing any of the stone which they
esteemed so highly. The pipes were carefully bored and finished with a
high polish, which took many hours of patient labor. The long pipe
stems were made of some tough, flexible wood, the same that they made
their bows of. They were round or flat in shape, sometimes twisted,
and the wood polished and ornamented. The hole through the stem was
made slowly and carefully with a piece of wire heated red hot. The
mouth piece was neatly tapered and rounded. These pipes were a
valuable article of trade. A fine pipe was worth a pony in trade with
the Indians in remote parts of the country. I bought one and paid a
good price for it. I had great difficulty to persuade an Indian to
sell me a piece of the stone to make a pipe for myself.
I have at times witnessed the entire performance of an Indian feast. A
squaw selected a fat-looking dog, and tied him fast in some secluded
place for several days, giving him nothing to eat, and only water to
drink. She then fed him with a mixt
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