far from any settlement, and we had no liquor, so Garrells got along
very well until, one Sunday morning, he obtained two bottles of bay
rum from the post trader, with which he got gloriously drunk, smashing
things right and left in the quarters. The sergeant detailed several
men to restrain him (there being no guard house), reported the damage
and asked what to do with him. I told him to get a cavalry lariat,
about one hundred feet long, and with two strong men carry Garrells to
the river bank. They were to divest him of clothing and throw him into
the stream until the chill (it was January) should sober him.
I followed Garrells and his party on the opposite side of the stream.
Arrived at the bank, about ten feet high, Garrells exclaimed,
"Sergeant, here's a river! 'Twill require some engineering skill to
pass this river!"
"Never mind," said the sergeant, "we'll cross it, Garrells." The men
took off his hat and coat, and one of them reached into his pocket for
his money, when Garrells became alarmed and began to shout, "Murder!
Robbers! Help!"
By this time they had the rope around his body, and one man seizing
his head, another his heels, they tossed him far out into the stream.
When Garrells rose he spouted like a whale, and swam for the opposite
shore. Every few yards of progress he was checked by the rope, which
threw his head under water. When he came near the bank on which I
stood, he exclaimed, "Major, damn you, do you think I'm a goldfish or
a dolphin?"
I signaled to the sergeant to pull him back, and by the time he
returned he was thoroughly sobered.
I had heard very little from my brother. The stage line was irregular
on account of hostile Indians. One evening when it drove up, it
brought my brother, W. W., and Judge Watts, neither of whom I had seen
for four years. They could only remain the night with me, but shortly
after I procured leave and joined them in Washington.
Judge Watts and my brother had an interview with President Johnson in
regard to Federal appointments in New Mexico and Texas. The President
had a Texas vacancy on the board of visitors to West Point, and
proposed to appoint W. W. Both Judge Watts and my brother preferred I
be given the place, as I was a military man; and I was appointed.
Adjutant General Townsend protested to the President that my
appointment was illegal because the regulations of the academy
provided that no one who had failed at West Point should be made a
member of the board for ten years after such failure.
Learning this failure was nine years past, the President sent for
Colonel Townsend and asked if there was any other objection to me
except my failure at the academy, and what my standing was. Townsend
had no other objection, and said my standing was good, when the
President said, "Well, if the faculty discharged a man who nine years
after has become a captain in good standing in the regular army, I
think it best that Captain Mills should be sent there to see what's
the matter with the academy!"
General Grant was anxious to have the superintendency of the
military academy (by law confined to officers of the engineer corps)
opened to the line of the army, and Senator Nesmith, a member of the
board, promised to try to secure a recommendation from the board
to this effect. I felt the engineer corps conducted the academy
too much as a purely scientific institution. While they made every
effort to produce high-grade engineers, less attention was given
the absolute requirements of officers of the line, so I was glad to
promise General Grant my assistance. At his suggestion, I made the
acquaintance of Senator Nesmith, who set about the accomplishment of
his task immediately upon the organization of the board of sixteen
members. An animated and somewhat bitter discussion continued during
our whole session, finally resulting in a vote of eight to eight, so
the resolution was lost. General Grant later submitted the matter to
Congress, which changed the law so that any line officer could be made
superintendent.
While the board was at the academy, General Scott died there, and the
board as a body were his pall-bearers.
At the expiration of my leave, I was ordered to the command of Fort
Bridger, Utah, where my company had arrived in my absence.
The volunteers, under General P. Edward Connor, were being relieved.
The posts and the territory were both in a chaotic condition, the
soldiers harassing the Mormons and encouraging the Gentiles in
unlawful persecutions.
Among the volunteers at Fort Bridger was Patrick Tully, who had come
over from Ireland with General Connor. These friends served their
first enlistment together. Connor took up the study of law, became
prominent, and, when the war broke out, was colonel of a volunteer
regiment from California, afterwards brigadier general of volunteers,
and assigned to the command of the District of Salt Lake.
Tully left the regular service and joined a volunteer regiment. He was
one of those soldiers who, either by misfortune or bad conduct, was
constantly in the guard house. At inspections, the general generally
found Tully confined, and Tully never failed to plead the ground of
their former friendship for release, Connor as constantly granting it.
Somewhat ostentatious, General Connor, when leaving one post for
another, invariably telegraphed, "I leave for your post today. Have
quarters prepared for me on my arrival," being always careful to sign
himself "P. Edward Connor," leaving out the Pat or Patrick, by which
both he and Tully were known.
All the volunteers at Bridger were ordered to Salt Lake to be mustered
out--Tully among the rest.
When Tully was ordered to make preparations for the march, he sent a
request from the guard house asking to send a telegram. Arrived at the
telegraph office, he dictated the following:
"_To General P. Edward Connor, Commanding District of Salt Lake_:
"Sir: I leave here for your post today. Have quarters prepared
for me on my arrival.
P. EDWARD TULLY."
It is needless to say that Connor honored the requisition and had
secure (if not ample) quarters, prepared for "P. Edward Tully."
I was prejudiced against the Mormons, but found they were the best
people in the country, and the only ones who would fill contracts
fairly. The Gentiles practiced every device to beat the government,
but the word of a Mormon was his bond. With Major Lewis commanding
Fort Douglas at Salt Lake, I called upon Brigham Young. He looked
like General Grant, and was an earnest and, I believe, a sincere and
conscientious man. He said he was glad to meet a regular officer,
because the regular army always treated them well, but that the
volunteers under Connor had been demoralizing to those of the Mormon
faith. Discussing my prejudice against his people, about which he
asked and I answered frankly, he said, "You have doubtless heard we
are disloyal to the Union." Pointing to the flag flying over his
Tabernacle, he said it had waved every day since the war began. Upon
his invitation I attended his church and heard him preach the next
Sunday. I visited the Tabernacle in company with his son-in-law
and saw open on the pulpit the inspired volumes from which they
preached--the Old Testament, the New Testament, and the Book of
Mormon. He presented a copy of the latter to me, inscribed with his
name, which I still have. My experiences changed my mind regarding
the Mormon people. I believe their church the equal of any in the
inculcation of those qualities which make the Mormons law-abiding,
industrious, economical and faithful to all their agreements.
Christmas Eve, Judge Carter, the sutler, gave a dancing party. While
the officers and ladies were dancing, I received a dispatch announcing
the massacre of Fetterman and his command, part of my regiment, at
Fort Philip Kearny. We were all of the same regiment. I stopped the
band and read the despatch, which cast the garrison into gloom, and
presaged a general war with the Sioux.
Jim Bridger, a well-known frontiersman, who had been with the Indians
since he was fourteen years old, was the post guide. He was reticent
and hard to know, but a genius in many ways.
One day the Overland stage from Omaha arrived, and an English-looking
gentleman stepped out and inquired in the "sutler's store" for both
the post trader and for me. He delivered letters of introduction from
General Sheridan, stating that he was a captain in the British Army on
a journey around the world for the purpose of writing a book, and that
he wished to see Jim Bridger. (Cut, 154.)
We took him to call on Bridger, who lived alone in one of the
officers' quarters. We found the old man looking grave and solemn.
Our English friend plied him with questions, stating he had been told
by General Sheridan that he, of all others on the Western plains,
could give him the most thrilling reminiscences regarding the exciting
scenes of the settlement of the frontier.
Bridger made no advances, appearing like a child, reluctant to "show
off." The captain continued his conversation in his most winning
way and earnestly requested the old scout to tell them something
interesting. Finally, Bridger told the following story:
"Well, I think the most thrilling adventure I ever had on the frontier
was in the winter of 1855, when Jack Robinson and I went trapping,
about two hundred miles down the Green River in the Ute country.
We knew the Utes were unfriendly, but we did not think they were
war-like, so we got two horses and a pack outfit, and in December
went into camp on the Green River. We had spent two months trapping,
and were about ready to return, when early one morning we saw a large
party of warriors coming up the stream. We had only time to saddle our
horses, gather our rifles and ammunition and mount. We estimated their
party at about one hundred, and started up the river at full speed,
abandoning everything we had in camp.
"As we became hard pressed, one of us would dismount and fire, then
mount and pass the other, and he would dismount and fire, and so
continuing, checking our pursuers until we gained some ground. Their
horses were not only fresh, but they had lead horses with them, which
gave them great advantage over us, who had but one horse each.
"We continued this method of defense all day, and by night had killed
thirty of the Indians. But our horses were so tired we feared the
enemy would take us.
"At the foot of a mountain, where there was dense timber, we took
shelter about dusk, knowing the Indians would not follow in the dark.
We spent the night in great fear as to what would become of us the
next day. Knowing that at dawn they would be after us, we started to
lead our horses out of the valley, but had no sooner started than we
heard the Indians behind us.
"We continued our defense until about two o'clock, when we had killed
thirty more of the Indians. This left only about forty to continue the
pursuit, but they did not seem at all discouraged. If anything, they
were more active than ever.
"By this time, our broken horses began to give way at the knees.
Observing a narrow canyon, we concluded to follow it as it gave us a
better chance of defense than the open. This canyon was narrow, with a
swift stream running down it, and we made our way as fast as we could
for two or three miles, when, looking around, we saw immediately in
our rear the whole force of Indians.
"Matters were desperate. The canyon walls were perpendicular, three
hundred feet high, and growing narrower every mile. Suddenly, around
a bend in the canyon, we saw a waterfall, two hundred feet high,
completely blocking our exit."
Here Mr. Bridger paused. The captain, all aglow with interest, cried
anxiously, "Go on, Mr. Bridger; go on! How _did_ you get out?"
"Oh, bless your soul, Captain," answered Bridger, "we never did get
out. The Indians killed us right there."
This closed the interview. Though I have never heard of his book, I
dare say the captain did not include this story in it.
While I was at Fort Bridger, the regular army was increased from
thirty to sixty thousand men, making each of the three battalions of
the nine new regiments a full regiment. The vacancies thus created
were filled by meritorious volunteers, so that many regular officers
were set back many years in prospective promotions. The first
battalion of my regiment remained the 18th, the second battalion the
27th, and the third battalion the 36th, which resulted in many changes
of stations and locations, but I retained my company, H, of the 18th.
In my administration and discipline of the garrison at Fort Bridger I
adopted as far as I could the moral suasion ideas of Charlie Naylor.
Instead of punishing the men by confining them in the guard house
for trial, I had the post carpenter construct a very unprepossessing
wooden horse and a wooden sword about six feet long, with its business
end painted a bloody red. Any man reported for any disorderly
conduct had to ride this horse for a certain period, dismounting
occasionally to curry and water it with currycomb and water bucket.
This method of punishment proved most efficient, as the men soon came
to dread "riding the horse" a great deal more than they did spending a
month in the guard house.
[Illustration: MORAL SUASION HORSE AT FORT BRIDGER.]
[Illustration: SIOUX TEPEE CAPTURED AT SLIM BUTTES, WITH KEOGH'S
GUIDON AND CAPTURING OFFICERS.
(Text, 171.)]
While at Fort Bridger, about a thousand Shoshone Indians came in,
camping near the post for a couple of months. Having a telegraph
line and a military operator, I sent for the most intelligent of the
Indians, and told them we would talk over the wire. They were much
mystified, and could not understand when I told them I sent the words
over the wire. Finally I gave one the wire to hold so he could feel
the message going through him. While the Indians are stoics and their
outdoor life prevented the shock from affecting them as it would a
white man, they threw their hands up when the current passed through,
understanding for the first time there really was something that went
over the wire. Later they used this knowledge in cutting down and
burning the poles and destroying the wire to keep the whites from
telling where they had been in mischief, and to prevent the soldiers
from following.
When I first arrived at Fort Bridger, the volunteer garrison was
equipped with Spencer breech-loading carbines. I turned in my
muzzle-loading Springfields and equipped my two companies with the
Spencers which, of course, had heavy metallic cartridges, Cal. .50.
Our equipment consisted of the regular old-fashioned cartridge box for
paper cartridges to be carried in tin cases inside the leather boxes,
and were wholly unsuited for metallic cartridges. I furnished mounted
guards and patrols to the daily Overland Mail, and the metallic
ammunition carried in these tin boxes rattled loudly, and were even
noisy when carried by men afoot.
So I devised a belt, which the post saddler manufactured out of
leather, with a loop for each of the fifty cartridges. The men
wore these belts around their waists, and they proved much more
comfortable and efficient than any other method of carrying cartridges.
W. A. Carter, the sutler, was going to Washington, and suggested that
he procure me a patent. This patent was the foundation of my various
subsequent patents, which enabled me to change the method of carrying
cartridges, not only in our own army, but in the armies throughout the
world, and by which I eventually made an independent fortune.
I remained in command of Bridger until the spring of 1867, when
I was ordered to escort Gen. G. M. Dodge, chief engineer of the
Union Pacific Railroad, on a recognizance to find a route from the
vicinity of Salt Lake, _via_ the Snake River, to some point in Oregon
or Washington State for a branch road to the Pacific. We were two
months going west of the Rocky Mountain Range _via_ Snake River, and
returning through the south pass at the head waters of the North
Platte River. We finally abandoned the expedition when we reached Fort
Sanders, Wyoming.
General John A. Rawlins accompanied the expedition, on the advice of
his physician, he being afflicted with tuberculosis, and was a very
interesting companion.
From Sanders I reported to Fort Fetterman, where my regiment
established headquarters, after the return of Colonel Carrington's
expedition, abandoning the posts of Reno, Philip Kearny, and F.
C. Smith. The regular route to Fort Fetterman _via_ Fort Laramie
was twice the distance across the mountains, so I took no wagon
transportation, but only the men carrying rations. We had a very
difficult march, but succeeded in arriving long before the wagons
carrying our baggage _via_ Laramie.
I remained at Fetterman during the winter of '67, but in the spring
went to Fort Sedgwick, where Colonel Carrington had a large post of
seven companies, most of them of his own regiment. These isolated
posts were thoroughly cut off from civilization.
I remember a humorous incident that occurred there one day. There
being no chaplain or civil authorities for hundreds of miles in any
direction, their functions were necessarily sometimes performed by
the adjutants of the military posts. One day the adjutant, Lieutenant
Carroll Potter, invited Captain Morris and me to go with him across
the Platte River to Julesburg, where he said he was going to perform a
marriage.
When the ambulance drove up to Potter's porch, Morris and I heard him
call "Lizzie, Lizzie, bring me the prayer book." His wife brought the
prayer book, and he put it in his coat, asking, "Have you turned down
a leaf?"
"Yes, Carroll, I have."
Arriving at the town, we were escorted to a small building where
we found about twenty persons congregated to witness the ceremony.
Drawing the prayer book from his pocket and opening it at a
turned-down page, Potter started out on the service in a vigorous,
solemn and authoritative tone, as follows:
"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord. He that believeth
in me though he were dead, yet shall he live, and whosoever liveth and
believeth in me shall never die."
By this time his voice began to fall, and he said: "Hold on. I think
I've got the wrong place!" Remembering his wife had turned down a leaf
for him to read the burial service a short time before, he turned
quickly to the proper service and finished the ceremony, with many
apologies.
MARRIAGE
Up to this date I had had no thought of marriage and, consequently,
had made nothing of what little opportunity there was to associate
with female society. Now, realizing that I was to settle down in a
quiet way as a captain of infantry, I began to think that it was time
to marry, if I ever intended to do so. I resolved to take a leave for
the purpose of looking for a "household mate."
Recruiting at Zanesville, I had made the acquaintance of the best men,
but paid little attention to young ladies, though, from my office
window on Main Street, I had observed a quartet known as the "Cassel
girls." Their father was the handsomest man in the city, and one of
the most respected, and the girls were in a class by themselves. They
knew everybody, were accosted by everybody, and were respected and
admired by all. They were all fine musicians, and sang in the church
choir. They were carefully reared, but their position was such that
they felt free to do many things other girls would hesitate to do for
fear of criticism.
Everywhere I sought the acquaintance of girls I thought might fill
my requisition for a wife. I have always believed that women should
have as many rights as men, and that a man and his wife should be
equal partners in all that relates to human affairs. From my first
recollection, I have been a "Woman's Rights" man, although at that
time there were very few, even women, who believed in such rights.
There were a few women at this time who dared advocate such things
as equal rights in schools and colleges, but they were usually
maltreated, insulted, and even made the target for rotten eggs. But
that did not change my opinion as to the kind of woman I wished for a
partner in life.
I had not been long on leave when I visited Zanesville and sought the
acquaintance of the Cassel girls. A friend, Charlie Converse, took me
to call, and I met all four. I was greatly attracted by the brilliancy
of conversation, beauty of features and bright expression of the
second daughter, and asked Miss Hannah Cassel's permission to call
again. I have since learned that while discussing my visit with her
sisters that night, she remarked, "I am going to have some fun with
that fellow."
Although deeply impressed with her beauty and charms, I felt it only
fair to explain my views to her and find out whether she possessed the
qualities I hoped to secure in a wife before asking her to marry me.
We took many rides and walks together, during which I gradually told
her my sole purpose in securing leave of absence was to select a
household mate; I told her my story fully, that I was thirty-four,
born and raised on a poor man's farm until eighteen, and about my
failing at West Point and, ashamed to return to my father, making
a living for myself. I described the subsequent sixteen years of
struggles and the experience which made me a captain in good standing
in the army. I was plain about having no prospective patrimony or
no expectations, save the patent cartridge equipment which, with
persistent work and improvement, I hoped would finally be adopted by
the army to my ultimate profit. I told her, too, of my only other
source of financial expectation, my lots and a house in the town of El
Paso. Although the town had been practically destroyed by the war and
the Mexican War against Maximilian, I believed even then it would some
day become a city and my property become valuable.
It was easy to tell her she had impressed me beyond all others by
her beauty, vivacity, and her apparent courage to fight the battle
of life. In these sixteen years I had satisfied myself I had been
endowed with sufficient physical and moral strength and ambition to
acquire an independence and the respect of the world, provided I
could find a woman endowed with the courage to assist me as an equal
partner in life. I had always believed that women should possess the
same rights as men; that their needs were equal to those of men; that
their aspirations should be in the same direction as those of men;
but I knew that imperious custom had forced woman into an inferior
position in life, so that the best hopes of many mothers were for
their daughters to marry someone who could support them, without
other exertion on their part than to adorn themselves. In spite of
this prevailing idea I was looking for a woman who would disregard
the tyranny of society and undertake to do whatever was necessary in
mental and physical labor to acquire such means and reputation as
would enable us to leave the world better than we found it; all of
this I discussed with her fully and plainly.
She was at this time twenty-two years old. She had had a private
school education, including a year at the Catholic convent in the
city, but, beyond that, she had improved her mind by books and
reading far beyond what was taught at the schools. More, she was
liberal minded, had few prejudices and, like myself, was ambitious
to play some part in the world. She had many suitors, but, luckily
for me, she was heart whole and fancy free. Her parents were in good
circumstances, and she and her sisters had always been provided with
more luxuries than most, so she realized that if she married, she
would have to sacrifice much to become a successful homemaker. Her
views of life came not only from her parents, but from her great aunt,
Hannah Martin, a cultured English woman, for whom she was named,
and with whom she had been associated since childhood. She had the
reverence for her aunt that I had for my great grandmother.