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.