The first time I saw General Sherman was at Rome, Georgia, during the
Civil war. I was in the field hospital there at that time and was in the
dispensary one day when my attention was called to some military
procession on the street. It turned out to be only General Sherman and
his staff, the general riding alone in front, his orderly a few yards
behind, and a few yards farther back the general staff officers. The
procession, if it could be so called, impressed me; first the isolated
position of the commanding officer. I thought of pictures I had seen of
Napoleon, always alone, and while I could not see the general's face to
advantage, for he looked neither to the right or left, I thought him a
stern, unbending, self-centered, iron-hearted military despot, without
sentiment or generous impulse. I saw him often thereafter, for I was
with his command from "Atlanta to the Sea" and up through the Carolinas,
and he was always alone on horse-back and in the order mentioned. I
never saw him in company with anybody. I had occasion to change my
impression regarding him somewhat at the battle of Bentonville. We had
marched all night to reach the battlefield in time to take part in the
engagement, and arrived on the ground early in the afternoon. As it
happened, we stopped near the general's headquarters. The battle was in
progress and as we could not go into the trenches until night, I had a
good opportunity of observing him during the afternoon. He was walking
back and forth along a space of ground a hundred feet or more in extent
and when there was a lull in the firing he would slow up to a very
moderate walk, but when it became heavy his pace would increase and when
it became a roar, as it did several times in the afternoon, he would go
at great strides back and forth, back and forth, until it would again
quiet down, when he would slow up in harmony with the lull in the
battle. From this I learned that he was at least impressionable.
Officers would arrive from different parts of the field and report, and
instantly receive orders and return at full speed as they came.
From that time I never saw him until at Fort Sill at a "hop" given by
Colonel Carpenter in his new quarters at the post. Here I had to again
change my impression of the general. He was one of the most cordial of
men; he seemed to know everybody, and I was told seldom forgot a name or
a face. He had the remarkable gift of making everyone feel that he was
an old acquaintance, and he entered into the amusements of the evening,
mostly dancing, with zest, and after supper went with the officers to
the front porch to smoke and talk. He ridiculed the idea of being a
candidate for the presidency, saying he did not possess the temperament
or disposition that seemed necessary to qualify one for holding an
office where there were so many adverse interests to consider, and where
they were so frequently presented from questionable motives, but as far
as I remember he admitted no preference for political parties. However,
he did express a desire to pass his old age in a quiet way, and free
from political strife. He left the crowd on the porch before all were
through smoking, and joined the ladies with whom he seemed to enjoy
himself as much or more than with the men. I though him a rather awkward
dancer but he took part with apparent enthusiasm.
After General Sherman and his party had left the post the feeling of
uneasiness increased in the camp, and General Grierson ordered the
remaining officers into the new post which was being built. It fell to
our lot to be quartered with Mr. Spencer and wife and except for losing
a good servant we found it a pleasant change, and were relieved of all
apprehension regarding Indians.
There was a band-stand in the center of the parade ground and the Tenth
Cavalry band was an excellent one, and in the summer evenings when
retreat had been sounded by the buglers and the signal gun fired "just
as the sun went down," the band struck up and gave us very delightful
music for an hour or so. At such times the families of the officers
would be sitting on the front porches of their quarters or visiting with
others and chatting and listening to the music.
The bugle calls at the army posts were always interesting to me, and
seemed to convey the idea intended almost as well as words. A number of
them have words set to the music, if it can be so called, as "Give your
horses some corn and some hay" for stable call, and "Take your quinine"
for sick call. Reveille had a rousing, get-up quality about it. Sick
call was for those who had only slight ailments and were treated at the
hospital and returned to duty, or if found to be something serious
enough, were sent to one of the wards in the hospital for treatment.
Maybe a so-called bilious condition or a scratch on the hand, or if a
colored soldier a "misery," or he was "powerful weak." There were not
many maligners, and they were soon detected. In the cavalry drill there
are many bugle calls for the different evolutions. The bugler rides near
the commanding officer and receives the orders and transmits them by
bugle to the command. Of all the bugle calls in the service "Taps" the
last call at night, affected me most. It has all the quality of our
good-bye or goodnight, but to me it had much more. To me our good-bye
conveys only the idea of separation, and I like the Spanish word "Adios"
much better. It not only conveys the idea of separation but also the
sentiment "God be with you" and so "Taps" always impressed me
"Good-night, and God be with you," and as the last prolonged note died
away the lights went out and everything was still. This did not apply to
the officers when at the post, and they and their families could enjoy
themselves in their own way, and could put out their lights early or
late.
Toward the latter part of June, 1871 a command came up from the
Department of Texas on its way to the military posts in Kansas. The
medical officer accompanying it returned from Fort Sill to his own
department and post, and I was ordered to accompany the command to
Kansas. My recollection is that there were three companies. In this
command were two young officers, lieutenants, not long out of West
Point, who proved very charming companions. One was a Mr. Reese from
Kentucky and the other was a Mr. Parker from Connecticut, a son of the
maker of the famous Parker shotgun, generally thought to be the best to
be had in those days.
The first thing of special interest on this march was when we had gone
into camp about sixty miles north of Fort Sill, which was the second day
out. This was about four o'clock in the afternoon, to give the horses
and transportation mules a chance to graze. I happened to look back in
the direction of our march and saw a small black object far in the
distance that I could not make out. I borrowed field glasses of one of
the captains and discovered it to be a horse and buggy. I became quite
curious about it, as I did not think any sane man would travel through
that Indian country alone for any consideration. I would not have done
so for all the money in the mint unless in military dress. He came
directly to our camp and I walked out to meet him. He proved to be
Father Poncelona of Osage Mission, now St. Paul, Kansas, who had been
down to Fort Sill to baptise the children and give what comfort he could
to the followers of his faith at that post. He was very tired for he had
started before daylight, and had driven all day hoping to find our camp
somewhere, but he did not know where. I took him to my tent and insisted
on him lying down on my cot, which he did under protest, and I brought
him some brandy which he drank with seeming relish, and by the time
dinner was ready he was ready to join us. I asked him how he came to
take such chances alone. He said it was part of his work and that there
was a higher power (pointing his finger upwards) that would take care of
those who were doing God's service. He was past middle age and had spent
most of his life since taking orders as a missionary among the Indians.
He had a benign faith-abiding expression of face, such as I have never
seen on any other man, and his voice was low and musical, and his manner
most winning. I had some difficulty in getting him to take my cot for
the night, he insisting that he was used to sleeping on the ground and
did not mind it. I finally told him that I was boss of the ranch, and he
must do as I told him. To this he smilingly assented, and said that if
it was orders he would have to obey. We always had breakfast and broke
camp early in the morning and aimed if a suitable campground could be
found to go into camp by four o'clock in the afternoon. The priest had
expressed a wish for an early start, and I had ordered his horse and
buggy to be ready for him, and he had breakfast with us and went his way
across the prairie and was soon out of sight in the direction of Camp
Supply where he intended going. I have often thought of this and
wondered at it. Why did he do it? It was not for money for he was poor
and had spent years at the work. What motive had he? What guardian angel
accompanied him and kept him from harm? If it is true that there is a
divinity that shapes our ends, why are they shaped so differently, and
why is it that some are immune where others fear to tread? Right here I
think it proper to say that the Catholic priests have always been the
pioneers in religious matters on the frontier.
During this trip Mr. Reese and Mr. Parker and myself rode ahead one
afternoon to select camp. We went at good speed and were soon out of
sight of the command when Mr. Reese discovered he had lost his pocket
book. He was quartermaster and it contained about fifteen hundred
dollars of government money. He was sure he had taken it from under his
pillow in the morning and he became quite nervous about it. He referred
to his loss several times before the command came up with, "Well, if I
am mistaken and Andy (his old negro servant whom he had brought from
Kentucky) got it I am all right, and I will quit talking about it." But
he was ill at ease and went out to meet the command as it approached and
we could see the old darky take something from his pocket and give it to
Mr. Reese who came back smiling and told us Andy said, "Oh yes, Massa, I
just got it right down here, I done found it under your pillow" and this
illustrates a phase of negro character quite in contrast with my
political experience with Stanton.
Mr. Reese, Mr. Parker and I generally rode together on this march and
were seldom out of sight or hearing of prairie dogs. It was suggested
one day that maybe they would be good to eat. Knowing that they were not
dogs at all but rather a kind of marmot, and sometimes called so, and
are strict vegetarians, we killed a young one and had it for dinner. I
was quite pleased with the experiment before trying it, and was not
particularly enthusiastic about it afterwards. It was not very bad but
was not very good. It tasted something like rabbit but I think mostly
like prairie dog. At one time in my life I wanted to try almost
everything that was brought to bag in my hunting experiences and I have
tested worse things than prairie dogs, and I think that if one were
hungry enough he might relish it.
We crossed the line into Kansas about the last of July and soon saw a
new house away to the front, a thing we had not seen since leaving Fort
Sill. It proved to be a kind of business and residence combination and
was the first house in what is now known as Caldwell, Kansas, now the
county seat of one of the famous wheat counties of Kansas, and a
thriving city. The contrast between the two sides of the land separating
Kansas and the Indian territory was very pronounced. Small houses of
settlers and little patches of broken ground and other evidences of an
inhabited country on the one side, and nothing but absolute vacancy on
the other.
At Wichita we remained three or four days, having our transportation
repaired. As I remember it, we had a long stretch of sand before
crossing the Arkansas and forded the river below the town and then
turned to the west. It was a little village of one main street and I
think they called it Douglas avenue. The houses were small but neat, and
being the first town I had seen for a year or two it looked very
attractive. We were there over the Fourth of July and I remember a
delightfully clean, attractive little place where they sold ice cream.
We had camped just north of the village and Mr. Reese, Mr. Parker and I
frequently visited the ice cream parlor. If there were any saloons in
the place I do not remember them for if there had been it would have
probably shown on the enlisted men of the command.
I do not remember which one suggested it, but we concluded that it would
be some fun to visit the real estate offices, of which I think there
were two in the town, and hear what the agents had to say. They treated
us most cordially and were anxious to show us around and told us what a
wonderful city it was going to be. All the southwest was going to be a
great wheat country, although we saw no wheat, and would be tributary to
their town and they were going to vote bonds the following Monday for a
railroad from Newton, then the terminus of the Santa Fe. If not the
terminus it was the great cattle shipping point for the immense herds
that came up the Chisholm trail from Texas, the trail we had followed
some distance from Fort Sill. Everything would eventually come to
Wichita and it would be a second Chicago. One agent offered us a corner
lot centrally located for one hundred dollars, and out farther to the
west, or north, whichever it might have been, I don't remember, on down
to fifteen dollars a lot. We approved of the wonderful prospects for the
town and told them we would consider the the matter of investing, and
then went back to our tents and laughed about it. We at least had an
enjoyable hour or so.
I have had occasion to think about it since, not with any particular
feeling of hilarity, but rather one of regret that I did not grasp the
wonderful possibilities of the country. Either of the three of us could
have invested a little money if we had known enough. After we had again
started on the march I stopped and talked with a man standing by the
roadside and he told me each alternate section of the land was offered
by the Santa Fe railroad at two dollars per acre. It was a beautiful
valley and the land looked rich but the country generally looked very
primitive.
One company left our command near here and I think went to Fort Larned
or Fort Dodge, Kansas, the other two going on to the railroad at Fort
Harker, where one company remained, and if I remember right, one company
went on to Fort Hayes. I remained with Captain Kerin's company at Fort
Harker for a day or two during which time the paymaster came and paid us
for June. Captain Kerin was a typical Irishman and his company, almost
without exception were Irish, and they were very much devoted to each
other. The captain looked on his men very much I thought, as a father
would look on a bunch of wayward children. The payment was made by the
middle of the afternoon and by night I think most of the men were
drunk, the few on guard duty being about the only sober ones, and the
captain told me they would stay that way until their money was all gone.
A funny thing occurred that evening. The captain and I were sitting in
his tent talking when there was a scratch at the tent cloth and when the
captain said, "Come!" the flap was thrown back and one of the sergeants
saluted and said: "Report for duty, captain." The captain said:
"Sergeant, have ye got any money?" "Yis, captain, a little." "Go and
spend it, go and spend it." The sergeant saluted and dropped the tent
flap and walked away and the captain turned to me and said: "No use
trying to do anything with them until the money is spent, and the
whiskey is out of them." Two or three hours afterwards the sergeant
returned, scratched on the tent, threw the flap back as before and
saluted, and again said in a rather husky voice: "Report for duty,
captain." "Sergeant, have you got any money?" "Not a cint, captain."
"Very well, report to the first sergeant for duty." The captain told me
this was a fair illustration of his experience on every pay day. It is
hardly necessary to say that the captain was not a West Point graduate,
but he was a royal good fellow and a good soldier and I observed while
in the service that officers promoted from the ranks were the most
devoted to the interests and comforts of their men. The trip back to my
post was east by rail to Junction City and thence on the M., K. and T.
to its terminus in the territory. The railway was then under
construction and the terminus was changed every month or so. From the
railroad I went by stage to Fort Sill. Nothing of interest occurred on
the way until we arrived at the last stage station east of the fort. We
had breakfast there and were told we had better get in the stage as they
were about ready to start. We found a bunch of men hitching up a pair of
mules to a light stage-like vehicle, and were told that they were just
breaking them in and that it was better to get in the stage first. The
driver was already up in his seat and Mr. Stearns, a very large man and
owner of the ranch where we had breakfast, was up beside the driver, and
was going with us some three or four miles to where they had made a
cut-off that took us by a large spring of water, the last we could get
before reaching Cache creek, some eighteen miles away. When all was
ready and the driver had the lines well in hand the word "Go" was given,
and away we went at full speed, much like a horse race. The driver's
efforts being wholly devoted to keeping the team in the road. They ran
full speed most of the way to the springs but when we arrived there they
were going in a quiet little trot, seemingly satisfied with the fun they
had had on the way. Mr. Stearns got down and held their bits and the
driver got down and we got out of the stage--another man and myself
being the only passengers--and walked toward the springs. I do not know
how it happened, but when one trace was unfastened the mules broke away
from Mr. Stearns and struck out over the prairie. My first thought was
that we would have to walk back and wait for some other means of
conveyance, but the off mule having one trace unfastened had the
advantage in the race and out over the prairie they went in a great
circle, round and round at full speed, scattering luggage from the hind
boot of the stage until they ran themselves down, the driver and Mr.
Stearns cutting across and trying to catch them. At last they succeeded
for the mules were pretty well winded by this time and ready to go slow.
We found nothing broken and soon had our luggage gathered up and the
mules watered and were on our way. We got into Fort Sill a little later
than the usual stage time, nothing the worse for the wear.
I do not remember whether it was before or after my trip to Fort Harker
that I was called to the Indian agency near Fort Sill to see Black
Beaver, the chief of the Delawares, who was sick and had come there for
treatment. I found him suffering from dysentery and was seriously ill,
and as he was an old man I had serious doubts as to his recovery. He was
neither able nor disposed to talk although he knew enough English to
make himself understood, but after a few days he began to feel some
interest in life and gradually improved until he was convalescent. I
felt particularly interested in him because of a story I had read about
him as interpreter in an early day for Colonel Marcey who was one of
General Sherman's staff officers when they visited Fort Sill a short
time before. When the colonel was a young officer in the service and had
been sent out to make talks to the Indians, the story ran that the young
officer had a pow-wow day appointed with the Kiowas and Comanches, and
when they had assembled and gone through the preliminaries of such an
occasion Captain Marcey told them of the great benefits the great father
at Washington wished to confer on them, and wound up by saying: "We wish
to put up poles across the country and string a wire on them and then
you can talk over that wire to the Great Father in Washington and not
have to wait until some of your people travel such a great way to see
him." When he had finished he waited for Black Beaver to get up and tell
it to the Indians, but Black Beaver did not move but hung his head and
sat there. "Why don't you tell them," asked the captain. Black Beaver
shook his head and said: "It's no use to tell them, I don't believe it
myself." I was anxious to hear Black Beaver's report of that pow-wow, so
when he was well enough I said to him one day: "General Sherman and
staff were here a short time ago and Colonel Marcy was among them. I
understand you knew Colonel Marcy a good many years ago." He brightened
up and said: "Yes, I heard Captain Marcy was here and I wish I could
have seen him." By careful questioning I got the story from him
practically as Colonel Marcy had recorded it in his book. I said to him:
"Well, do you believe it now?" He replied: "Oh, yes, I know it now, I
know it can be done, but I don't know how." How much more ignorant was
he than the most of us?
I find I have not made my sketch of the events at Fort Sill in order of
their occurrence and must now refer back to the winter of 1870 and '71
and we were still under canvas in the camp. It was an unusually cold
winter. The thermometer fell to fourteen degrees below zero and the snow
was a foot or more deep on the ground. I mention this incident both for
the purpose of showing some of the hardships that officers and their
wives underwent and also to show the self-sacrifice and loyalty and
devotion of the enlisted men in an emergency. Doctor Brown and his
young wife were on their way to Fort Sill where he was to become post
surgeon, a position I had held since Doctor Forward had been transferred
to another post, and they were at the half-way camp between Fort
Arbuckle and Fort Sill when the storm broke. The doctor's wife was
confined there and the escort accompanying them devoted themselves night
and day to making the camp as comfortable as possible, getting water,
bringing wood, building fires and cooking, and this they kept up until
the weather moderated and Mrs. Brown was sufficiently recovered to make
it safe for her to travel. As the result of such heroism and devotion
some of them were badly frost bitten, and all suffered more or less. I
removed all the toes except one from one man's feet--only one of the
large toes being left--and others lost a finger or two or parts of
fingers and were otherwise frost bitten. In these cases nature sets up
the line between the healthy and dead tissue and the amputation is made
in the healthy part and far enough back to get a flap sufficient to
cover the bone if possible.
Mrs. Brown and her beautiful baby came with us when we left the post,
intending to quit the service. She to visit with friends and relatives
in the east.
Another interesting occurrence took place when we were still in camp at
Fort Sill. This was the loss of the quartermaster's mules, which
occurred the latter part of the winter. The Indians--supposed to be--by
some means got the gate of the corral open and with the leader on
horseback rushed into the corral and set up the usual yells and shouts
and soon had the whole bunch of 140 mules under way before the alarm
could be given and the cavalry mounted for pursuit. They had such a
start that they could not be followed in the night, it being very dark.
Different commands of cavalry were sent out in pursuit but returned in a
few days empty-handed. There was one young officer by the name of
Harmon, a second lieutenant in the Tenth cavalry, a tall, rather good
looking young fellow who had said to some officers that if they would
give him a chance he would like to show what he could do. I think he
finally went to General Grierson and expressed a wish to try. The
general promptly gave him a detachment of cavalry, some thirty or more
men, and told him to stay as long as he liked, but to bring back the
mules if possible. Nothing was heard of him for some time but finally
word came from Fort Arbuckle that Mr. Harmon had reported there with a
bunch of horsethieves and that most of the mules were then on their way
back to Fort Sill. I heard Mr. Harmon himself tell some of the details
of the scout. He had got on the trail of the thieves--not Indians at
all--somewhere south of Red river and found two of them in a house he
went to at night for information, believing he was close to their camp.
He took these two prisoners and waited until morning to attack the camp.
The ranchmen where they had stopped and where they had already captured
two of the thieves, knew the country well and acted as guides. Mr.
Harmon and he had exchanged firearms on the way, he taking Mr. Harmon's
pistol and Mr. Harmon his shotgun. They rode along the bed of a little
stream until quite near their camp. Most of the thieves were still in
bed but the negro cook was busy about the fire. Mr. Harmon's horse being
much superior to anything in the command, he was among the thieves
practically alone. He shot and wounded one of the men with the second
barrel of his shotgun, and commanded them all to throw up their hands or
he would kill the last one of them. He dropped the shotgun and reached
for his pistols but of course they were gone. However, the thieves stood
there with their hands up until the command came and they were
hand-cuffed and were soon ready for the march to Fort Arbuckle, the
nearest military post. Not more than a half dozen mules had been
disposed of.
The sequel to this story was interesting to me for it caused me a trip
to Fort Arbuckle and back. The guardhouse at Fort Arbuckle was not
considered safe and it was thought best to send the thieves to the new
guardhouse at Fort Sill until the law could take its course. They were
sent under a guard of colored troops commanded by a sergeant with
instructions to kill them if they tried to escape. The guard claimed
that one man made a break for the brush, but the prisoners claimed that
he did nothing of the kind, anyway one of them was badly wounded and
was taken back to Fort Arbuckle, and as Doctor Brewer, the post surgeon
was sick at that time a request for a medical officer come to Fort
Arbuckle and cut a man's leg off was received at Fort Sill and I was
ordered on that duty. Before I arrived at Fort Arbuckle, Doctor Brewer
considered it too urgent a case to be delayed any longer, and although
hardly able to handle the knife, he had amputated the leg before I got
there. I remained a few days until the doctor was sufficiently recovered
to attend to the medical duties of the post, and then returned to Fort
Sill.
I now come to the last record I shall make of service at this post and
have hesitated about mentioning it at all, and do so now in as few words
as possible, not only because "there are sorrows too sacred to be
babbled to the world" but also because they pull so hard on the heart
strings. Our little boy was scalded to death at this camp. The negro
servant had set a large kettle of boiling water off the stove, and some
way in his play he fell into it. We laid him away in the cemetery on the
hillside and had a stone covering placed over his grave, to mark the
place where his little scalded body lay.