DEPARTURE FROM THE FIELD AND LAST DAYS OF SERVICE, 1865.
The voyage to New York was uneventful. We had the usual transport
discomforts with some rough and cold weather and, on the second day
before the election, we reached New York Harbor. The small battalion
of the Second United States Infantry, consisting of half a dozen
officers, about seventy-five men and a dog, landed at Fort Hamilton
dock, along with about half the other troops on board. The remainder,
as well as those on another transport, were distributed among various
forts in the vicinity of New York. We marched to the fort with flying
colors, but we had no band; the few remaining members of our band were
doing other duty and Sergeant Lovell, the big drum-major, had been one
of the color sergeants for more than a year. My company was quartered
in one of the damp and gloomy casemates which had but a single window,
or porthole, overlooking the bay.
On election day we were not allowed to go outside of the fort. Extra
ammunition was issued and a thorough inspection of arms was held. A
large ferry-boat remained at the dock the entire day to transport us
to the city in case of a serious riot which, however, did not occur.
A few days later several soldiers in the company, including myself,
secured passes to visit the city. We had to walk a long distance
before reaching a horse-car line to take us to one of the ferries from
Brooklyn to New York. While on this leave I visited my old friend,
Sergeant Major Milligan, who was ill with consumption at his mother's
house. The hardships of field service had been too much for his
somewhat delicate constitution. It was the last time I saw him. He
died within two weeks, much beloved, and his death greatly regretted
by his comrades, who erected a modest but appropriate monument to his
memory in New York Bay Cemetery.
During our short stay at Fort Hamilton, we performed regular garrison
duty. I was sergeant of the guard a couple of times and one of these
occasions I am not likely to forget. We mounted a strong guard and had
sentinels posted all around the fort and the adjoining redoubt. The
guard-room and prison were in casemates on the east side of the fort,
on each side of a sallyport. At that time nearly fifty prisoners were
in confinement--the toughest element I ever saw in the army. Some were
general prisoners undergoing sentences--they wore a ball and chain;
others were awaiting trial for various crimes; and there were, also, a
small number of ordinary "drunks." It was customary to parade and call
the roll of the prisoners in the morning when the guard was changed,
and again at retreat in the evening, before they were locked up for
the night.
A few of the prisoners had escaped at times, which made a young and
inexperienced lieutenant, who was officer of the day on my first tour
of guard, so nervous that he ordered most extraordinary and unwise
precautions against a recurrence of escapes. He ordered me to turn out
the guard and all of the prisoners at eleven o'clock at night and at
three o'clock in the morning--hours at which the sentinels were not
relieved. The officer of the day was present at eleven, when I called
out the two relieves of the guard, not on post, and formed ranks in
the sallyport. Then with a corporal and two files of the guard, we
started to turn out the prisoners. They objected strenuously at the
unusual proceeding and cursed and swore dreadfully. It took a long
time to turn them all out and count them, by the aid of a lantern.
They were left standing in the ranks, half clad and shivering, while
the officer of the day ordered me to accompany him for an inspection
of the prisoners' quarters. More than half an hour had been consumed
in the parading of the prisoners.
At three o'clock, when we turned them out for the second time, there
was almost a riot. Some swore they would kill the lieutenant, others
refused to get up and I had to bring in more help to drag them from
their bunks and push them into the ranks, with only a blanket to cover
them. They yelled and shouted and began to throw things at the guards
in the semi-darkness--the only light being from a few lanterns. The
lieutenant drew his sword and threatened to run it through the body of
any prisoner who refused to obey orders, but he prudently remained
outside the doorway. Now all this trouble was needless. A sentinel was
posted outside the prison door and another at the only window. The
prisoners' chances of escape by slipping away in the darkness, while
outside, were better than when locked up. When the post commander
heard the next day about the turning out of the prisoners in the
night-time he ordered that it should not be repeated, and it may be
assumed that the over-zealous lieutenant was admonished to use more
discretion in the future.
About a week after the election, my company (C) received orders to be
ready next morning in full marching order and proceed to Governor's
Island to escort a detachment of Rebel prisoners from there to Elmira,
New York, where the Government had established a large prison camp. As
the other company remained at Fort Hamilton, we supposed that we would
return there when our duty had been performed. We embarked on a
steam-boat and soon arrived at the Governor's Island dock, where about
two hundred ragged and hungry "Rebs," who had been confined in Castle
Williams for a few days, were awaiting us. Each prisoner, as he
stepped on board, received a loaf of bread and a piece of boiled beef
to which he immediately did ample justice. The boat started for Jersey
City where we put the prisoners on the cars of the Erie railroad. It
was a special train, made up of emigrant cars, which made but few
stops. I had charge of one of the cars in which every seat but four
for the guard was occupied by a prisoner. With me were six privates as
guards. I stationed three at each end of the car with their loaded
rifles. When the train halted, one of the guards was stationed outside
on each side of the car, and I also descended.
At Goshen and some other stations where we halted for a brief time,
some of the citizens gave the prisoners fruit, cigars and tobacco,
which we allowed to be passed to them through the car windows. It was
quite late at night when we arrived at Elmira and turned our prisoners
over to some guards, who marched them to the prison camp two miles or
more away. The company passed the remainder of the night in some
freight sheds, while the captain and lieutenant put up at the nearest
hotel.
Next morning we were vexed and disgusted at learning that we were not
to go back to New York, but were to remain at Elmira to guard
prisoners. The general desire was to go back to the field and see the
close of the war, of which a part of the Second Infantry had seen the
beginning. We had made up our minds that the end was near; prisoners
at the front had told us of the dire straits of General Lee's army for
food and clothing and the rapidly diminishing forces. We felt angry
with the authorities who had condemned us to such an inglorious duty,
after our long and faithful service in the field, where we had lost
more than a third of our number. But there was no help for it. As
soldiers, we had to obey orders. We were not the only ones thus
treated. The companies of the Twelfth and Seventeenth Infantry, who
had left the field at the same time, had arrived here a few days
before and were then doing duty. Subsequently we learned that the
First Battalion of the Eleventh and the Second Battalion of the
Twelfth were returned to the Army of the Potomac, where they remained
to the end and were present at the surrender of General Lee's army.
The company left at Fort Hamilton, together with our small "field and
staff," was sent to Newport Barracks, Kentucky, there to recruit and
reform the Second Infantry for future service.
The company marched from the Elmira depot a long distance beyond the
suburbs of the town to the prison camp, near which we encamped,
alongside of other troops. We put up "A" tents and raided some
hay-stacks for bedding. It was cold, and as wood was furnished for
cooking purposes only, we crowded around the kitchen fire, which had
no shelter, to warm ourselves. All the troops, except the recently
arrived regulars, were sheltered in temporary barracks.
The force guarding the Rebel prisoners, who were all of the rank and
file, was composed of a battery of artillery, nearly a thousand
regular infantry, several regiments of the Veteran Reserve Corps and a
few others. The Veteran Reserve Corps was a new organization,
something like Home Guards. It was composed of men considered unfit
for field duty. In its ranks were a considerable number of men who had
for a time served at the front. The active soldiers named this
organization "The Invalid Corps." Colonel Moore of the Veteran Reserve
Corps, the ranking officer, was in command of all the troops of the
prison guard.
The prison camp near Elmira was established in July, 1864, and, at the
time of our arrival, contained upwards of ten thousand prisoners. They
had been in tents all summer but were then in barracks, within a
stockade enclosing about forty acres. The main front with the
principal gate and guard-house was close to and faced the road leading
into Elmira, the back was near the Chemung river. A platform, from
which the sentinels could overlook the prison yards and dead line,
surrounded the entire stockade.
The site was badly chosen, there was a swamp within the enclosure and
much of it was liable to be overflowed by the Chemung river. A great
amount of sickness prevailed--at times five hundred were inmates of
the prison hospital and as many more sick in quarters. More than ten
per cent. of the prisoners died, while this prison existed; two
thousand, nine hundred and seventeen were buried at the base of the
hills about a mile from the prison. The greatest mortality was during
the hard winter of 1864-'65, when often a dozen or more died every day
and were removed every morning to be buried in trenches without any
ceremony.
The Government allowed a soldier's rations for each prisoner, but that
was considered too much for men who had practically no exercise, and
it was left to the discretion of the prison commander, as to how much
of the ration was to be issued. The saving was to constitute a fund
for building quarters, hospitals, clothing, bedding and other supplies
for the prisoners. At Elmira the prisoners received about two-thirds
of a ration, served to them in two cooked meals daily. This kept them
somewhat hungry, but they were far better off than our starving and
shelterless prisoners in the South. When the inhuman treatment of our
soldiers in the Southern prisons became known in the North, there was
a hue and cry for retaliation; but I think none of it was practised in
the Northern prisons. The suspension of the exchange of prisoners
during 1864 by our Government caused increased suffering and many
deaths of our soldiers in the Southern prisons.
Opposite the prison pen, on land not leased by the Government, several
open-timbered observation towers had been erected by citizens. They
were about forty feet in height with a flat deck on top, which had
stairs leading up to it. From the top of these towers a good view of
the interior of the prison and its teeming inmates could be had for
the payment of ten cents admission fee. On clear days, and especially
on Sundays, many of Elmira's citizens availed themselves of this
opportunity to see the Rebel prisoners. The lower part of these
structures were enclosed and used as groggeries, mainly patronized by
soldiers. These places and some others along the road to town made
trouble for the provost guard and provided inmates for the
guard-house.
On the second day after our arrival, Colonel Moore ordered that one of
the regular sergeants be detailed to act as post sergeant major. I was
selected for the position and ordered to report to the post adjutant
for duty. The adjutant's office was in a temporary building near the
prison gate. It consisted of one large room, furnished with a number
of desks and a stove. There were three clerks employed, all of whom
belonged to the Invalid Corps. I performed the duties of a sergeant
major at the guard-mount parade every morning which was no small
affair, as the daily guard numbered more than two hundred. After
guard-mount, Colonel Moore and the adjutant spent a few hours at the
office, while the clerks and I were busy consolidating the morning
reports of the troops and making out guard details from rosters for
the following day. In the afternoon I was generally free to do as I
pleased, go to town or to my cold camp, for I had to mess with my
company and sleep in my tent. I had a standing pass to go anywhere
about Elmira; but when the weather was bad, I usually remained in the
adjutant's office until it closed in the evening. The hot stove there
had an attraction for me.
One night there was a noisy disturbance and fighting among the
soldiers in one of the groggeries. The provost guard arrested every
one there, including Quinn, the proprietor. Next morning a boy came
into the adjutant's office and handed Colonel Moore a dirty, crumpled
piece of paper on which was scrawled in pencil--
Kurnell Moore sir i am in the gard hous sir and i dunno for wat
sir im a sitisen sir and me name is Patrick Quinn sir.
The Colonel was an elderly man with a good sense of humor; he was much
amused by this note and pinned it up on the wall over his desk where
he often called some of the visiting officers' attention to it. As for
"Patrick Quinn sir" he had to be released, as he had a city license
and was not located on Government ground.
On Thanksgiving Day, the ladies of Elmira provided a turkey dinner for
all the soldiers. We marched by detachments to a temporary hall,
neatly decorated for the occasion. There was a band and an abundant
dinner served by the ladies themselves. At its close we gave thanks to
the ladies of Elmira in speech and in rousing cheers.
After Thanksgiving Day we had deep snow, and it became so cold that we
suffered greatly in our camp. Temporary quarters were being erected
for the regulars, but they were not ready until the first week in
December. My company did not occupy them; we were sent to Barracks No.
2, which was on the opposite side of the town, on the outskirts, more
than three miles from our camp. Owing to this move I lost my position
of post sergeant major, which I had held for only three weeks. At
Barracks No. 2 we were fairly comfortable. We had stoves and bunks in
the quarters. A few other companies were quartered there, but no Rebel
prisoners. We did the ordinary garrison duty and had much spare time
to walk around the town, going sometimes to a theatre, when a troupe
came to town. The shows were held in a hall on the second floor of a
building on the principal street. I particularly remember a piece
called, "The Sea of Ice," in which, owing to the limited height of the
pasteboard icebergs on the stage, the actors were forced to stoop low
when trying to conceal themselves from the bloodthirsty Eskimos.
During the winter, which was severe, the first sergeant of my company
reenlisted, receiving a two months' furlough, and in his absence I
acted as first sergeant. I have still in my possession the company
roll, as I then daily called it. Only ten names of soldiers, who had
served on the frontiers, remained; all the others were the names of
men who had joined during the war. Of the officers, there were but
seven in the regiment who had seen frontier service, all of them
serving elsewhere at this time. Not one of these seven officers
belonged to the regiment at the outbreak of the war, they had all been
promoted into it. Captain William F. Drum was in command of Company C,
but left us during the month of February to become the colonel of the
Fifth New York Veteran Volunteers, then serving in the field in the
Fifth Army Corps under General Warren. Captain Drum, whose esteem I
possessed, told me before his departure that, after he took command of
his regiment, he would apply to Governor Fenton of New York for a
commission for me as he desired to have me serve with him after my
discharge, which was soon to take place. A few weeks later he wrote
me, saying he had made the application.
About the middle of March, 1865, we left Barracks No. 2 and again went
into camp near the prison pen, on the same ground we had occupied
previously. The ice in the Chemung river had broken up and melting
snow raised the river until it overflowed its banks and inundated a
part of the prison barrack buildings, causing much suffering among the
inmates. In a few days the first sergeant returned from furlough; but
as I had not many more days to serve, I was excused from guard duty.
At the request of the company commander, Brv't. Captain William Falk,
I devoted the last days of my service to putting the company's books
and papers in thorough order.
On the twenty-fourth day of March, 1865, I received my discharge from
the army for the second time, by no means certain that I would not
rejoin again. I put on my best uniform and disposed of my little
belongings among my comrades. I received my final statements, which I
handed to a paymaster, permanently stationed in Elmira, who paid me in
full. That evening with a few special friends I had dinner at a hotel
in the town, and at about nine o'clock bade them farewell at the
depot. I boarded a train, spent the night on a seat, and arrived in
New York next morning.
I had a letter to Colonel Richard I. Dodge, who was the chief
mustering and disbursing officer in New York city, with the principal
offices at 23 and 25 St. Marks Place. Colonel Dodge employed me at
once as a clerk at seventy-five dollars per month. In a few days I
entered upon my duties under Captain Henry A. Ellis, in whose office
there were half a dozen other clerks, all but one being discharged
soldiers, some of whom I had known in the field. Our duties consisted
in making discharges and final statements for individual soldiers,
regulars and volunteers. Later on, when the army disbanded, we made
out the muster rolls and final accounts for many volunteer regiments,
who were mustered out of the service in New York.
General Grant had put the Army of the Potomac in motion, and on the
first day of April, the battle of Five Forks was successfully fought,
which indicated the end of the Confederacy. All this time I was
anxiously awaiting the arrival of my commission for I ardently wished
to be present at the final stage of the war. General Lee surrendered
on the ninth of April to General Grant, and General Johnston to
General Sherman a week later. Peace was soon declared. The grand
review of Grant and Sherman's veteran soldiers was held in Washington
on May twenty-fourth and, by June first, the Fifth Army Corps had
ceased to exist.
I received the commission from Albany early in June but I wrote to
Colonel Drum informing him that, in as much as the Fifth New York
Veteran Volunteers were likely to be mustered out of service within a
month, I had decided not to be mustered in to join the regiment for so
short a time. I have since regretted that I did not serve as an
officer, even for so short a time. The fact of not having been
mustered in debars me from becoming a member of the Loyal Legion
according to its rules, no matter how much service I had in the field.
We were busy during the summer mustering out troops, and opened a
branch office at the south-west corner of Broome and Elm Street where,
under Lieutenant Netterville of the Twelfth United States Infantry, I
remained for a few months. In the fall I was returned to the main
office, where I continued until the month of January, 1866, when the
mustering and disbursing office was ordered to be closed. This proved
to be my final service for the Government, in or out of the army.
Henceforth I was to be a citizen.
REFLECTIONS.
I sometimes ask myself the questions--Was my army service a benefit or
a detriment to me in after life? Would I have attained a better
condition and standing, if I had not been in the military service?
These are questions hard to answer in my case, as I had to struggle
for a living and had no one to give me a helping hand to gain a higher
plane. When I left the army I was not yet twenty-four and totally
inexperienced in earning a livelihood in civil life, which was
rendered more difficult by the fact that a million young men were
released from the army at the same time, all seeking new careers
outside of military service. An element of luck and some of the habits
I had acquired in the army were beneficial to me. The military
training taught me responsibility, promptness and self-control, which
I found useful in my long business career and as an employer. The
out-of-door life for ten years fortified me in health, which has
lasted to the present day and for which I am most grateful. I have
much to be thankful for and little to regret.
I believe that a three years' term of army service would be beneficial
to most young men of good character and habits. To-day soldiers of the
United States Army enjoy many advantages and comforts that were
unknown to the older army in times of peace; the soldiers' pay, food
and clothing are better, and the discipline is less strict. I have
visited a number of home garrisons and those in Honolulu and Manila,
in all of which I found the quarters comfortable, clean and sanitary.
There are libraries, schools and club-rooms; and separate beds with
sheets and pillows are provided for each soldier, a luxury formerly
unheard of in garrisons. I have seen British soldiers serving in India
and those of other nations on foreign service in various parts of the
world; but I think the American soldiers now receive better care and
more liberal treatment than those of other nations. It has always been
a soldier's habit and privilege to grumble. I suppose there is as much
grumbling to-day in the army as there was in former times.
AUGUSTUS MEYERS,
Sergeant, Second U.S. Infantry.
November 17, 1913.
ADDENDA.
On a recent tour of the northwestern states I visited Sioux City.
There, in September, 1913, I found a large and prosperous city with
many fine buildings, where there had been only a wilderness in 1855.
The river-front was unrecognizable to me. The early houses that once
clustered there had been replaced by a railroad yard.
I had the good fortune to meet Mr. J. M. Pinkney, a congenial business
man who had lived in Sioux City almost from its foundation. He was
well informed and we had a long and interesting conversation about the
early days when the city was a mere frontier settlement. Mr. Pinkney
introduced me at the office of the Sioux City Journal where I was
courteously received. I found the Journal to be a large up-to-date
newspaper such as one would expect to find only in a great metropolis.
I was seized with a strong desire to revisit Fort Pierre, although I
had no pleasant recollections of it. To me it brought only thoughts of
suffering. I left Sioux City on a late night train and arrived at
Pierre, the capital of South Dakota, in the middle of the next
afternoon. Pierre, built mainly on hills overlooking the Missouri
River, is a city of only about three thousand inhabitants, but boasts
a large and magnificent capital building surpassed by few in the
western states. There is also a modern fire-proof hotel, a government
post office, a Carnegie library and other buildings worthy of note. A
substantial railroad bridge crosses the Missouri.
The smaller town of Fort Pierre, the county seat of Stanley County,
South Dakota, is directly opposite on the west bank of the river. A
small motorboat makes hourly ferry trips, communication by way of the
railroad bridge being infrequent.
I boarded the motorboat next morning, September eighth, to go to Fort
Pierre, where I had arrived fifty-eight years ago in the same month. I
found the Missouri River just as muddy and treacherous for navigation
as of yore. A large sandbar made a long detour necessary to reach the
channel on the western side of it. The boat ran aground several times,
and finally it was caught so hard and fast that we had to wait for the
other ferry to haul us off on its return trip.
There were two other passengers on the boat beside myself, one a white
citizen and the other a full blooded young Sioux who had been educated
at Carlisle School. I learned from them that the old stockade fort no
longer existed. It had been a few miles further up the river, but they
could not tell me its exact location. They offered to take me to the
office of Mr. Stanley Philip, the owner of a large ranch near the site
of the fort. Mr. Philip was out, but they introduced me to Mr. C. H.
Fales, a prominent business man of the town, who kindly volunteered to
show me the site of the old fort.
As we were preparing to start, Mr. Philip arrived in an automobile and
invited both of us to go to the place in his machine. He soon set us
down at the site of the old stockade about two and one-half miles up
the river. Not a stick remained of the old fort. It had left no mark
save a depression in the ground where a cellar had been. I recognized
the contour of the low hills on the west and of the higher hills
across the river. There was the same bleak prairie extending back to
the foothills with its colonies of barking prairie dogs, who appeared
to me to be somewhat bolder than of old.
The Indian burial place had disappeared, but the island in the river
below the fort was still there. The most noticeable change was in the
river front. The channel was much further out, and a wide strip of
bottom land, covered with willows and brush, had formed at what was
once an abrupt bank. As I gazed upon this changed scene, I thought of
the time when I had seen the plain dotted with the tepees of thousands
of Indians who had assembled at that very spot to sign a treaty with
General Harney.
After a while we went about a mile up the river to Mr. Philip's large
ranch where he has thirteen thousand acres fenced in for a buffalo
preserve. There are more than three hundred of the animals roaming at
large among the hills and the number is being increased by the annual
addition of some dozens of calves.
Much of the ranch on the high bottom lands along the shore of the
Missouri is under cultivation and is yielding good crops. All this
great estate I had seen as a wilderness that I was glad to get away
from. In those days I would not have taken the whole county as a gift
had I been required to live there. Mr. Philip, who manages his own
ranch, is a young man. His father, a Scotchman, lately deceased, was
one of the early settlers and accumulated the property.
On the way back to Fort Pierre, which is a neat little town of about
one thousand people, with wide streets and cement sidewalks, my
companions told of the discovery on February 17, 1913, of a lead plate
on a hill back of the town, where it had been buried by French
explorers in 1743. It is now the property of Mr. William O'Reilly, a
resident of Fort Pierre. Mr. O'Reilly kindly presented me with a
photograph of the plate and a translation of its inscription. He also
took me to the bank where it is kept in a safe deposit vault and
allowed me to examine it carefully. It is of thick sheet lead about
six by seven inches in dimensions and but little corroded. On one side
is the seal of France above an inscription in Latin. Both are deeply
stamped in the lead and quite legible. A translation of the
inscription follows:
In the twenty-sixth year of Louis XV's reign, in the name of the
King, most illustrious sovereign, for the Governor, Marquis of
Beauharnis, in 1743 Peter Gaultier de la Verendrye deposited this
plate.
On the reverse side is scratched rather irregularly the following
inscription in French:
Deposited by the Chevalier of Laverdendried (Witnesses) Louis La
Louette, A. Miotte. April 30, 1743.
In a Fort Pierre book store I was able to procure "A Brief History of
South Dakota," written in 1905 by Doane Robinson, Secretary of the
State Historical Society. In this interesting book Mr. Robinson says:
"The first white man that we know certainly to have visited South
Dakota was a young man named Verendrye (de la Verendrie on the plate),
in the year of 1743. He claimed the land for the King of France, and
on a hill near the camp planted a plate engraved with the arms of
France and marked the spot with a pile of stones. To unearth that
plate would be a rich find for some enterprising young South Dakotan.
Taking into account the direction traveled and the time spent in
making the trip, it is most likely that this plate rests within fifty
miles of the state capitol."
The book contains many items of special interest to me. On one of the
maps is shown the location of the winter cantonments of "Harney's
troops in 1856." There is a good picture of "Old Fort Pierre in 1855
and vicinity," also a ground plan of the fort drawn to scale, showing
all of the buildings within it. This plan shows the fort to have been
three hundred by two hundred and fifty feet square, somewhat larger
than I judged it to be from memory. The names of some Indian chiefs
and their pictures printed in the book bring the originals back to my
thoughts.
In the afternoon I bade farewell to the two gentlemen who had been so
courteous to me. I was the only passenger on the ferry when the
boatman vainly tried to make her start. He finally went up the street
to get some dry batteries and returned with another man. They
installed new batteries and took much of the machinery apart and put
it together again. Still the boat refused to budge. Nearly an hour had
been lost and I was beginning to get apprehensive about catching my
train, when another boat arrived from the east shore. The boatman
aboard her soon found what the trouble was and we started for the
other side which we reached without mishap save grounding twice on the
sandbar.
A reporter of a local paper caught me there, but I had time to give
him only a very short interview. I caught the train for the east with
little time to spare. A state fair was being held at Huron, S.D., four
hours' ride from Pierre, and many persons got on at the intermediate
stations. Among them were a few Indians and their squaws. To see an
Indian mount the steps of a car, carrying a suitcase, seemed
extraordinary to me. Surely the Indian as I knew him no longer exists.