CHAPTER XXXIX. RETROSPECT OF THE CAMPAIGN--SHERMAN'S MOVEMENTS--PROPOSED

MOVEMENT UPON MOBILE--A PAINFUL ACCIDENT--ORDERED TO REPORT AT CAIRO.

Volume one begins:

CHAPTER I.

ANCESTRY--BIRTH--BOYHOOD.

My family is American, and has been for generations, in all its

branches, direct and collateral.

Mathew Grant, the founder of the branch in America, of which I am a

descendant, reached Dorchester, Massachusetts, in May, 1630. In 1635 he

moved to what is now Windsor, Connecticut, and was the surveyor for that

colony for more than forty years. He was also, for many years of the

time, town clerk. He was a married man when he arrived at Dorchester,

but his children were all born in this country. His eldest son, Samuel,

took lands on the east side of the Connecticut River, opposite Windsor,

which have been held and occupied by descendants of his to this day.

I am of the eighth generation from Mathew Grant, and seventh from

Samuel. Mathew Grant's first wife died a few years after their

settlement in Windsor, and he soon after married the widow Rockwell,

who, with her first husband, had been fellow-passengers with him and his

first wife, on the ship Mary and John, from Dorchester, England, in

1630. Mrs. Rockwell had several children by her first marriage, and

others by her second. By intermarriage, two or three generations later,

I am descended from both the wives of Mathew Grant.

In the fifth descending generation my great grandfather, Noah Grant, and

his younger brother, Solomon, held commissions in the English army, in

1756, in the war against the French and Indians. Both were killed that

year.

My grandfather, also named Noah, was then but nine years old. At the

breaking out of the war of the Revolution, after the battles of Concord

and Lexington, he went with a Connecticut company to join the

Continental army, and was present at the battle of Bunker Hill. He

served until the fall of Yorktown, or through the entire Revolutionary

war. He must, however, have been on furlough part of the time--as I

believe most of the soldiers of that period were--for he married in

Connecticut during the war, had two children, and was a widower at the

close. Soon after this he emigrated to Westmoreland County,

Pennsylvania, and settled near the town of Greensburg in that county.

He took with him the younger of his two children, Peter Grant. The

elder, Solomon, remained with his relatives in Connecticut until old

enough to do for himself, when he emigrated to the British West Indies.

Not long after his settlement in Pennsylvania, my grandfather, Captain

Noah Grant, married a Miss Kelly, and in 1799 he emigrated again, this

time to Ohio, and settled where the town of Deerfield now stands. He

had now five children, including Peter, a son by his first marriage. My

father, Jesse R. Grant, was the second child--oldest son, by the second

marriage.

Peter Grant went early to Maysville, Kentucky, where he was very

prosperous, married, had a family of nine children, and was drowned at

the mouth of the Kanawha River, Virginia, in 1825, being at the time one

of the wealthy men of the West.

My grandmother Grant died in 1805, leaving seven children. This broke

up the family. Captain Noah Grant was not thrifty in the way of "laying

up stores on earth," and, after the death of his second wife, he went,

with the two youngest children, to live with his son Peter, in

Maysville. The rest of the family found homes in the neighborhood of

Deerfield, my father in the family of judge Tod, the father of the late

Governor Tod, of Ohio. His industry and independence of character were

such, that I imagine his labor compensated fully for the expense of his

maintenance.

There must have been a cordiality in his welcome into the Tod family,

for to the day of his death he looked upon judge Tod and his wife, with

all the reverence he could have felt if they had been parents instead of

benefactors. I have often heard him speak of Mrs. Tod as the most

admirable woman he had ever known. He remained with the Tod family only

a few years, until old enough to learn a trade. He went first, I

believe, with his half-brother, Peter Grant, who, though not a tanner

himself, owned a tannery in Maysville, Kentucky. Here he learned his

trade, and in a few years returned to Deerfield and worked for, and

lived in the family of a Mr. Brown, the father of John Brown--"whose

body lies mouldering in the grave, while his soul goes marching on." I

have often heard my father speak of John Brown, particularly since the

events at Harper's Ferry. Brown was a boy when they lived in the same

house, but he knew him afterwards, and regarded him as a man of great

purity of character, of high moral and physical courage, but a fanatic

and extremist in whatever he advocated. It was certainly the act of an

insane man to attempt the invasion of the South, and the overthrow of

slavery, with less than twenty men.

My father set up for himself in business, establishing a tannery at

Ravenna, the county seat of Portage County. In a few years he removed

from Ravenna, and set up the same business at Point Pleasant, Clermont

County, Ohio.

During the minority of my father, the West afforded but poor facilities

for the most opulent of the youth to acquire an education, and the

majority were dependent, almost exclusively, upon their own exertions

for whatever learning they obtained. I have often heard him say that

his time at school was limited to six months, when he was very young,

too young, indeed, to learn much, or to appreciate the advantages of an

education, and to a "quarter's schooling" afterwards, probably while

living with judge Tod. But his thirst for education was intense. He

learned rapidly, and was a constant reader up to the day of his death in

his eightieth year. Books were scarce in the Western Reserve during his

youth, but he read every book he could borrow in the neighborhood where

he lived. This scarcity gave him the early habit of studying everything

he read, so that when he got through with a book, he knew everything in

it. The habit continued through life. Even after reading the daily

papers--which he never neglected--he could give all the important

information they contained. He made himself an excellent English

scholar, and before he was twenty years of age was a constant

contributor to Western newspapers, and was also, from that time until he

was fifty years old, an able debater in the societies for this purpose,

which were common in the West at that time. He always took an active

part in politics, but was never a candidate for office, except, I

believe, that he was the first Mayor of Georgetown. He supported

Jackson for the Presidency; but he was a Whig, a great admirer of Henry

Clay, and never voted for any other democrat for high office after

Jackson.

My mother's family lived in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, for several

generations. I have little information about her ancestors. Her family

took no interest in genealogy, so that my grandfather, who died when I

was sixteen years old, knew only back to his grandfather. On the other

side, my father took a great interest in the subject, and in his

researches, he found that there was an entailed estate in Windsor,

Connecticut, belonging to the family, to which his nephew, Lawson Grant

--still living--was the heir. He was so much interested in the subject

that he got his nephew to empower him to act in the matter, and in 1832

or 1833, when I was a boy ten or eleven years old, he went to Windsor,

proved the title beyond dispute, and perfected the claim of the owners

for a consideration--three thousand dollars, I think. I remember the

circumstance well, and remember, too, hearing him say on his return that

he found some widows living on the property, who had little or nothing

beyond their homes. From these he refused to receive any recompense.

My mother's father, John Simpson, moved from Montgomery County,

Pennsylvania, to Clermont County, Ohio, about the year 1819, taking with

him his four children, three daughters and one son. My mother, Hannah

Simpson, was the third of these children, and was then over twenty years

of age. Her oldest sister was at that time married, and had several

children. She still lives in Clermont County at this writing, October

5th, 1884, and is over ninety years of age. Until her memory failed her,

a few years ago, she thought the country ruined beyond recovery when the

Democratic party lost control in 1860. Her family, which was large,

inherited her views, with the exception of one son who settled in

Kentucky before the war. He was the only one of the children who

entered the volunteer service to suppress the rebellion.

Her brother, next of age and now past eighty-eight, is also still living

in Clermont County, within a few miles of the old homestead, and is as

active in mind as ever. He was a supporter of the Government during the

war, and remains a firm believer, that national success by the

Democratic party means irretrievable ruin.

In June, 1821, my father, Jesse R. Grant, married Hannah Simpson. I was

born on the 27th of April, 1822, at Point Pleasant, Clermont County,

Ohio. In the fall of 1823 we moved to Georgetown, the county seat of

Brown, the adjoining county east. This place remained my home, until at

the age of seventeen, in 1839, I went to West Point.

The schools, at the time of which I write, were very indifferent. There

were no free schools, and none in which the scholars were classified.

They were all supported by subscription, and a single teacher--who was

often a man or a woman incapable of teaching much, even if they imparted

all they knew--would have thirty or forty scholars, male and female,

from the infant learning the A B C's up to the young lady of eighteen

and the boy of twenty, studying the highest branches taught--the three

R's, "Reading, 'Riting, 'Rithmetic." I never saw an algebra, or other

mathematical work higher than the arithmetic, in Georgetown, until after

I was appointed to West Point. I then bought a work on algebra in

Cincinnati; but having no teacher it was Greek to me.

My life in Georgetown was uneventful. From the age of five or six until

seventeen, I attended the subscription schools of the village, except

during the winters of 1836-7 and 1838-9. The former period was spent in

Maysville, Kentucky, attending the school of Richardson and Rand; the

latter in Ripley, Ohio, at a private school. I was not studious in

habit, and probably did not make progress enough to compensate for the

outlay for board and tuition. At all events both winters were spent in

going over the same old arithmetic which I knew every word of before,

and repeating: "A noun is the name of a thing," which I had also heard

my Georgetown teachers repeat, until I had come to believe it--but I

cast no reflections upon my old teacher, Richardson. He turned out

bright scholars from his school, many of whom have filled conspicuous

places in the service of their States. Two of my contemporaries there

--who, I believe, never attended any other institution of learning--have

held seats in Congress, and one, if not both, other high offices; these

are Wadsworth and Brewster.

My father was, from my earliest recollection, in comfortable

circumstances, considering the times, his place of residence, and the

community in which he lived. Mindful of his own lack of facilities for

acquiring an education, his greatest desire in maturer years was for the

education of his children. Consequently, as stated before, I never

missed a quarter from school from the time I was old enough to attend

till the time of leaving home. This did not exempt me from labor. In

my early days, every one labored more or less, in the region where my

youth was spent, and more in proportion to their private means. It was

only the very poor who were exempt. While my father carried on the

manufacture of leather and worked at the trade himself, he owned and

tilled considerable land. I detested the trade, preferring almost any

other labor; but I was fond of agriculture, and of all employment in

which horses were used. We had, among other lands, fifty acres of

forest within a mile of the village. In the fall of the year choppers

were employed to cut enough wood to last a twelve-month. When I was

seven or eight years of age, I began hauling all the wood used in the

house and shops. I could not load it on the wagons, of course, at that

time, but I could drive, and the choppers would load, and some one at

the house unload. When about eleven years old, I was strong enough to

hold a plough. From that age until seventeen I did all the work done

with horses, such as breaking up the land, furrowing, ploughing corn and

potatoes, bringing in the crops when harvested, hauling all the wood,

besides tending two or three horses, a cow or two, and sawing wood for

stoves, etc., while still attending school. For this I was compensated

by the fact that there was never any scolding or punishing by my

parents; no objection to rational enjoyments, such as fishing, going to

the creek a mile away to swim in summer, taking a horse and visiting my

grandparents in the adjoining county, fifteen miles off, skating on the

ice in winter, or taking a horse and sleigh when there was snow on the

ground.

While still quite young I had visited Cincinnati, forty-five miles away,

several times, alone; also Maysville, Kentucky, often, and once

Louisville. The journey to Louisville was a big one for a boy of that

day. I had also gone once with a two-horse carriage to Chilicothe,

about seventy miles, with a neighbor's family, who were removing to

Toledo, Ohio, and returned alone; and had gone once, in like manner, to

Flat Rock, Kentucky, about seventy miles away. On this latter occasion

I was fifteen years of age. While at Flat Rock, at the house of a Mr.

Payne, whom I was visiting with his brother, a neighbor of ours in

Georgetown, I saw a very fine saddle horse, which I rather coveted, and

proposed to Mr. Payne, the owner, to trade him for one of the two I was

driving. Payne hesitated to trade with a boy, but asking his brother

about it, the latter told him that it would be all right, that I was

allowed to do as I pleased with the horses. I was seventy miles from

home, with a carriage to take back, and Mr. Payne said he did not know

that his horse had ever had a collar on. I asked to have him hitched to

a farm wagon and we would soon see whether he would work. It was soon

evident that the horse had never worn harness before; but he showed no

viciousness, and I expressed a confidence that I could manage him. A

trade was at once struck, I receiving ten dollars difference.

The next day Mr. Payne, of Georgetown, and I started on our return. We

got along very well for a few miles, when we encountered a ferocious dog

that frightened the horses and made them run. The new animal kicked at

every jump he made. I got the horses stopped, however, before any

damage was done, and without running into anything. After giving them a

little rest, to quiet their fears, we started again. That instant the

new horse kicked, and started to run once more. The road we were on,

struck the turnpike within half a mile of the point where the second

runaway commenced, and there there was an embankment twenty or more feet

deep on the opposite side of the pike. I got the horses stopped on the

very brink of the precipice. My new horse was terribly frightened and

trembled like an aspen; but he was not half so badly frightened as my

companion, Mr. Payne, who deserted me after this last experience, and

took passage on a freight wagon for Maysville. Every time I attempted

to start, my new horse would commence to kick. I was in quite a dilemma

for a time. Once in Maysville I could borrow a horse from an uncle who

lived there; but I was more than a day's travel from that point.

Finally I took out my bandanna--the style of handkerchief in universal

use then--and with this blindfolded my horse. In this way I reached

Maysville safely the next day, no doubt much to the surprise of my

friend. Here I borrowed a horse from my uncle, and the following day we

proceeded on our journey.

About half my school-days in Georgetown were spent at the school of John

D. White, a North Carolinian, and the father of Chilton White who

represented the district in Congress for one term during the rebellion.

Mr. White was always a Democrat in politics, and Chilton followed his

father. He had two older brothers--all three being school-mates of mine

at their father's school--who did not go the same way. The second

brother died before the rebellion began; he was a Whig, and afterwards a

Republican. His oldest brother was a Republican and brave soldier

during the rebellion. Chilton is reported as having told of an earlier

horse-trade of mine. As he told the story, there was a Mr. Ralston

living within a few miles of the village, who owned a colt which I very

much wanted. My father had offered twenty dollars for it, but Ralston

wanted twenty-five. I was so anxious to have the colt, that after the

owner left, I begged to be allowed to take him at the price demanded.

My father yielded, but said twenty dollars was all the horse was worth,

and told me to offer that price; if it was not accepted I was to offer

twenty-two and a half, and if that would not get him, to give the

twenty-five. I at once mounted a horse and went for the colt. When I

got to Mr. Ralston's house, I said to him: "Papa says I may offer you

twenty dollars for the colt, but if you won't take that, I am to offer

twenty-two and a half, and if you won't take that, to give you

twenty-five." It would not require a Connecticut man to guess the price

finally agreed upon. This story is nearly true. I certainly showed

very plainly that I had come for the colt and meant to have him. I

could not have been over eight years old at the time. This transaction

caused me great heart-burning. The story got out among the boys of the

village, and it was a long time before I heard the last of it. Boys

enjoy the misery of their companions, at least village boys in that day

did, and in later life I have found that all adults are not free from

the peculiarity. I kept the horse until he was four years old, when he

went blind, and I sold him for twenty dollars. When I went to Maysville

to school, in 1836, at the age of fourteen, I recognized my colt as one

of the blind horses working on the tread-wheel of the ferry-boat.

I have described enough of my early life to give an impression of the

whole. I did not like to work; but I did as much of it, while young, as

grown men can be hired to do in these days, and attended school at the

same time. I had as many privileges as any boy in the village, and

probably more than most of them. I have no recollection of ever having

been punished at home, either by scolding or by the rod. But at school

the case was different. The rod was freely used there, and I was not

exempt from its influence. I can see John D. White--the school teacher

--now, with his long beech switch always in his hand. It was not always

the same one, either. Switches were brought in bundles, from a beech

wood near the school house, by the boys for whose benefit they were

intended. Often a whole bundle would be used up in a single day. I

never had any hard feelings against my teacher, either while attending

the school, or in later years when reflecting upon my experience. Mr.

White was a kindhearted man, and was much respected by the community in

which he lived. He only followed the universal custom of the period,

and that under which he had received his own education.

CHAPTER II.

WEST POINT--GRADUATION.

In the winter of 1838-9 I was attending school at Ripley, only ten miles

distant from Georgetown, but spent the Christmas holidays at home.

During this vacation my father received a letter from the Honorable

Thomas Morris, then United States Senator from Ohio. When he read it he

said to me, "Ulysses, I believe you are going to receive the

appointment." "What appointment?" I inquired. "To West Point; I have

applied for it." "But I won't go," I said. He said he thought I would,

AND I THOUGHT SO TOO, IF HE DID. I really had no objection to going to

West Point, except that I had a very exalted idea of the acquirements

necessary to get through. I did not believe I possessed them, and could

not bear the idea of failing. There had been four boys from our

village, or its immediate neighborhood, who had been graduated from West

Point, and never a failure of any one appointed from Georgetown, except

in the case of the one whose place I was to take. He was the son of Dr.

Bailey, our nearest and most intimate neighbor. Young Bailey had been

appointed in 1837. Finding before the January examination following,

that he could not pass, he resigned and went to a private school, and

remained there until the following year, when he was reappointed.

Before the next examination he was dismissed. Dr. Bailey was a proud

and sensitive man, and felt the failure of his son so keenly that he

forbade his return home. There were no telegraphs in those days to

disseminate news rapidly, no railroads west of the Alleghanies, and but

few east; and above all, there were no reporters prying into other

people's private affairs. Consequently it did not become generally

known that there was a vacancy at West Point from our district until I

was appointed. I presume Mrs. Bailey confided to my mother the fact

that Bartlett had been dismissed, and that the doctor had forbidden his

son's return home.

The Honorable Thomas L. Hamer, one of the ablest men Ohio ever produced,

was our member of Congress at the time, and had the right of nomination.

He and my father had been members of the same debating society (where

they were generally pitted on opposite sides), and intimate personal

friends from their early manhood up to a few years before. In politics

they differed. Hamer was a life-long Democrat, while my father was a

Whig. They had a warm discussion, which finally became angry--over some

act of President Jackson, the removal of the deposit of public moneys, I

think--after which they never spoke until after my appointment. I know

both of them felt badly over this estrangement, and would have been glad

at any time to come to a reconciliation; but neither would make the

advance. Under these circumstances my father would not write to Hamer

for the appointment, but he wrote to Thomas Morris, United States

Senator from Ohio, informing him that there was a vacancy at West Point

from our district, and that he would be glad if I could be appointed to

fill it. This letter, I presume, was turned over to Mr. Hamer, and, as

there was no other applicant, he cheerfully appointed me. This healed

the breach between the two, never after reopened.

Besides the argument used by my father in favor of my going to West

Point--that "he thought I would go"--there was another very strong

inducement. I had always a great desire to travel. I was already the

best travelled boy in Georgetown, except the sons of one man, John

Walker, who had emigrated to Texas with his family, and immigrated back

as soon as he could get the means to do so. In his short stay in Texas

he acquired a very different opinion of the country from what one would

form going there now.

I had been east to Wheeling, Virginia, and north to the Western Reserve,

in Ohio, west to Louisville, and south to Bourbon County, Kentucky,

besides having driven or ridden pretty much over the whole country

within fifty miles of home. Going to West Point would give me the

opportunity of visiting the two great cities of the continent,

Philadelphia and New York. This was enough. When these places were

visited I would have been glad to have had a steamboat or railroad

collision, or any other accident happen, by which I might have received

a temporary injury sufficient to make me ineligible, for a time, to

enter the Academy. Nothing of the kind occurred, and I had to face the

music.

Georgetown has a remarkable record for a western village. It is, and

has been from its earliest existence, a democratic town. There was

probably no time during the rebellion when, if the opportunity could

have been afforded, it would not have voted for Jefferson Davis for

President of the United States, over Mr. Lincoln, or any other

representative of his party; unless it was immediately after some of

John Morgan's men, in his celebrated raid through Ohio, spent a few

hours in the village. The rebels helped themselves to whatever they

could find, horses, boots and shoes, especially horses, and many ordered

meals to be prepared for them by the families. This was no doubt a far

pleasanter duty for some families than it would have been to render a

like service for Union soldiers. The line between the Rebel and Union

element in Georgetown was so marked that it led to divisions even in the

churches. There were churches in that part of Ohio where treason was

preached regularly, and where, to secure membership, hostility to the

government, to the war and to the liberation of the slaves, was far more

essential than a belief in the authenticity or credibility of the Bible.

There were men in Georgetown who filled all the requirements for

membership in these churches.

Yet this far-off western village, with a population, including old and

young, male and female, of about one thousand--about enough for the

organization of a single regiment if all had been men capable of bearing

arms--furnished the Union army four general officers and one colonel,

West Point graduates, and nine generals and field officers of

Volunteers, that I can think of. Of the graduates from West Point, all

had citizenship elsewhere at the breaking out of the rebellion, except

possibly General A. V. Kautz, who had remained in the army from his

graduation. Two of the colonels also entered the service from other

localities. The other seven, General McGroierty, Colonels White, Fyffe,

Loudon and Marshall, Majors King and Bailey, were all residents of

Georgetown when the war broke out, and all of them, who were alive at

the close, returned there. Major Bailey was the cadet who had preceded

me at West Point. He was killed in West Virginia, in his first

engagement. As far as I know, every boy who has entered West Point from

that village since my time has been graduated.

I took passage on a steamer at Ripley, Ohio, for Pittsburg, about the

middle of May, 1839. Western boats at that day did not make regular

trips at stated times, but would stop anywhere, and for any length of

time, for passengers or freight. I have myself been detained two or

three days at a place after steam was up, the gang planks, all but one,

drawn in, and after the time advertised for starting had expired. On

this occasion we had no vexatious delays, and in about three days

Pittsburg was reached. From Pittsburg I chose passage by the canal to

Harrisburg, rather than by the more expeditious stage. This gave a

better opportunity of enjoying the fine scenery of Western Pennsylvania,

and I had rather a dread of reaching my destination at all. At that

time the canal was much patronized by travellers, and, with the

comfortable packets of the period, no mode of conveyance could be more

pleasant, when time was not an object. From Harrisburg to Philadelphia

there was a railroad, the first I had ever seen, except the one on which

I had just crossed the summit of the Alleghany Mountains, and over which

canal boats were transported. In travelling by the road from

Harrisburg, I thought the perfection of rapid transit had been reached.

We travelled at least eighteen miles an hour, when at full speed, and

made the whole distance averaging probably as much as twelve miles an

hour. This seemed like annihilating space. I stopped five days in

Philadelphia, saw about every street in the city, attended the theatre,

visited Girard College (which was then in course of construction), and

got reprimanded from home afterwards, for dallying by the way so long.

My sojourn in New York was shorter, but long enough to enable me to see

the city very well. I reported at West Point on the 30th or 31st of

May, and about two weeks later passed my examination for admission,

without difficulty, very much to my surprise.

A military life had no charms for me, and I had not the faintest idea of

staying in the army even if I should be graduated, which I did not

expect. The encampment which preceded the commencement of academic

studies was very wearisome and uninteresting. When the 28th of August

came--the date for breaking up camp and going into barracks--I felt as

though I had been at West Point always, and that if I staid to

graduation, I would have to remain always. I did not take hold of my

studies with avidity, in fact I rarely ever read over a lesson the

second time during my entire cadetship. I could not sit in my room

doing nothing. There is a fine library connected with the Academy from

which cadets can get books to read in their quarters. I devoted more

time to these, than to books relating to the course of studies. Much of

the time, I am sorry to say, was devoted to novels, but not those of a

trashy sort. I read all of Bulwer's then published, Cooper's,

Marryat's, Scott's, Washington Irving's works, Lever's, and many others

that I do not now remember. Mathematics was very easy to me, so that

when January came, I passed the examination, taking a good standing in

that branch. In French, the only other study at that time in the first

year's course, my standing was very low. In fact, if the class had been

turned the other end foremost I should have been near head. I never

succeeded in getting squarely at either end of my class, in any one

study, during the four years. I came near it in French, artillery,

infantry and cavalry tactics, and conduct.

Early in the session of the Congress which met in December, 1839, a bill

was discussed abolishing the Military Academy. I saw in this an

honorable way to obtain a discharge, and read the debates with much

interest, but with impatience at the delay in taking action, for I was

selfish enough to favor the bill. It never passed, and a year later,

although the time hung drearily with me, I would have been sorry to have

seen it succeed. My idea then was to get through the course, secure a

detail for a few years as assistant professor of mathematics at the

Academy, and afterwards obtain a permanent position as professor in some

respectable college; but circumstances always did shape my course

different from my plans.

At the end of two years the class received the usual furlough, extending

from the close of the June examination to the 28th of August. This I

enjoyed beyond any other period of my life. My father had sold out his

business in Georgetown--where my youth had been spent, and to which my

day-dreams carried me back as my future home, if I should ever be able

to retire on a competency. He had moved to Bethel, only twelve miles

away, in the adjoining county of Clermont, and had bought a young horse

that had never been in harness, for my special use under the saddle

during my furlough. Most of my time was spent among my old

school-mates--these ten weeks were shorter than one week at West Point.

Persons acquainted with the Academy know that the corps of cadets is

divided into four companies for the purpose of military exercises.

These companies are officered from the cadets, the superintendent and

commandant selecting the officers for their military bearing and

qualifications. The adjutant, quartermaster, four captains and twelve

lieutenants are taken from the first, or Senior class; the sergeants

from the second, or junior class; and the corporals from the third, or

Sophomore class. I had not been "called out" as a corporal, but when I

returned from furlough I found myself the last but one--about my

standing in all the tactics--of eighteen sergeants. The promotion was

too much for me. That year my standing in the class--as shown by the

number of demerits of the year--was about the same as it was among the

sergeants, and I was dropped, and served the fourth year as a private.

During my first year's encampment General Scott visited West Point, and

reviewed the cadets. With his commanding figure, his quite colossal

size and showy uniform, I thought him the finest specimen of manhood my

eyes had ever beheld, and the most to be envied. I could never resemble

him in appearance, but I believe I did have a presentiment for a moment

that some day I should occupy his place on review--although I had no

intention then of remaining in the army. My experience in a horse-trade

ten years before, and the ridicule it caused me, were too fresh in my

mind for me to communicate this presentiment to even my most intimate

chum. The next summer Martin Van Buren, then President of the United

States, visited West Point and reviewed the cadets; he did not impress

me with the awe which Scott had inspired. In fact I regarded General

Scott and Captain C. F. Smith, the Commandant of Cadets, as the two men

most to be envied in the nation. I retained a high regard for both up

to the day of their death.

The last two years wore away more rapidly than the first two, but they

still seemed about five times as long as Ohio years, to me. At last all

the examinations were passed, and the members of the class were called

upon to record their choice of arms of service and regiments. I was

anxious to enter the cavalry, or dragoons as they were then called, but

there was only one regiment of dragoons in the Army at that time, and

attached to that, besides the full complement of officers, there were at

least four brevet second lieutenants. I recorded therefore my first

choice, dragoons; second, 4th infantry; and got the latter. Again there

was a furlough--or, more properly speaking, leave of absence for the

class were now commissioned officers--this time to the end of September.

Again I went to Ohio to spend my vacation among my old school-mates; and

again I found a fine saddle horse purchased for my special use, besides

a horse and buggy that I could drive--but I was not in a physical

condition to enjoy myself quite as well as on the former occasion. For

six months before graduation I had had a desperate cough ("Tyler's grip"

it was called), and I was very much reduced, weighing but one hundred

and seventeen pounds, just my weight at entrance, though I had grown six

inches in stature in the mean time. There was consumption in my

father's family, two of his brothers having died of that disease, which

made my symptoms more alarming. The brother and sister next younger

than myself died, during the rebellion, of the same disease, and I

seemed the most promising subject for it of the three in 1843.

Having made alternate choice of two different arms of service with

different uniforms, I could not get a uniform suit until notified of my

assignment. I left my measurement with a tailor, with directions not to

make the uniform until I notified him whether it was to be for infantry

or dragoons. Notice did not reach me for several weeks, and then it

took at least a week to get the letter of instructions to the tailor and

two more to make the clothes and have them sent to me. This was a time

of great suspense. I was impatient to get on my uniform and see how it

looked, and probably wanted my old school-mates, particularly the girls,

to see me in it.

The conceit was knocked out of me by two little circumstances that

happened soon after the arrival of the clothes, which gave me a distaste

for military uniform that I never recovered from. Soon after the

arrival of the suit I donned it, and put off for Cincinnati on

horseback. While I was riding along a street of that city, imagining

that every one was looking at me, with a feeling akin to mine when I

first saw General Scott, a little urchin, bareheaded, footed, with dirty

and ragged pants held up by bare a single gallows--that's what

suspenders were called then--and a shirt that had not seen a wash-tub

for weeks, turned to me and cried: "Soldier! will you work? No,

sir--ee; I'll sell my shirt first!!" The horse trade and its dire

consequences were recalled to mind.

The other circumstance occurred at home. Opposite our house in Bethel

stood the old stage tavern where "man and beast" found accommodation,

The stable-man was rather dissipated, but possessed of some humor. On

my return I found him parading the streets, and attending in the stable,

barefooted, but in a pair of sky-blue nankeen pantaloons--just the color

of my uniform trousers--with a strip of white cotton sheeting sewed down

the outside seams in imitation of mine. The joke was a huge one in the

mind of many of the people, and was much enjoyed by them; but I did not

appreciate it so highly.

During the remainder of my leave of absence, my time was spent in

visiting friends in Georgetown and Cincinnati, and occasionally other

towns in that part of the State.

CHAPTER III.

ARMY LIFE--CAUSES OF THE MEXICAN WAR--CAMP SALUBRITY.

On the 30th of September I reported for duty at Jefferson Barracks, St.

Louis, with the 4th United States infantry. It was the largest military

post in the country at that time, being garrisoned by sixteen companies

of infantry, eight of the 3d regiment, the remainder of the 4th.

Colonel Steven Kearney, one of the ablest officers of the day, commanded

the post, and under him discipline was kept at a high standard, but

without vexatious rules or regulations. Every drill and roll-call had

to be attended, but in the intervals officers were permitted to enjoy

themselves, leaving the garrison, and going where they pleased, without

making written application to state where they were going for how long,

etc., so that they were back for their next duty. It did seem to me, in

my early army days, that too many of the older officers, when they came

to command posts, made it a study to think what orders they could

publish to annoy their subordinates and render them uncomfortable. I

noticed, however, a few years later, when the Mexican war broke out,

that most of this class of officers discovered they were possessed of

disabilities which entirely incapacitated them for active field service.

They had the moral courage to proclaim it, too. They were right; but

they did not always give their disease the right name.

At West Point I had a class-mate--in the last year of our studies he was

room-mate also--F. T. Dent, whose family resided some five miles west of

Jefferson Barracks. Two of his unmarried brothers were living at home

at that time, and as I had taken with me from Ohio, my horse, saddle and

bridle, I soon found my way out to White Haven, the name of the Dent

estate. As I found the family congenial my visits became frequent.

There were at home, besides the young men, two daughters, one a school

miss of fifteen, the other a girl of eight or nine. There was still an

older daughter of seventeen, who had been spending several years at

boarding-school in St. Louis, but who, though through school, had not

yet returned home. She was spending the winter in the city with

connections, the family of Colonel John O'Fallon, well known in St.

Louis. In February she returned to her country home. After that I do

not know but my visits became more frequent; they certainly did become

more enjoyable. We would often take walks, or go on horseback to visit

the neighbors, until I became quite well acquainted in that vicinity.

Sometimes one of the brothers would accompany us, sometimes one of the

younger sisters. If the 4th infantry had remained at Jefferson Barracks

it is possible, even probable, that this life might have continued for

some years without my finding out that there was anything serious the

matter with me; but in the following May a circumstance occurred which

developed my sentiment so palpably that there was no mistaking it.

The annexation of Texas was at this time the subject of violent

discussion in Congress, in the press, and by individuals. The

administration of President Tyler, then in power, was making the most

strenuous efforts to effect the annexation, which was, indeed, the great

and absorbing question of the day. During these discussions the greater

part of the single rifle regiment in the army--the 2d dragoons, which

had been dismounted a year or two before, and designated "Dismounted

Rifles"--was stationed at Fort Jessup, Louisiana, some twenty-five miles

east of the Texas line, to observe the frontier. About the 1st of May

the 3d infantry was ordered from Jefferson Barracks to Louisiana, to go

into camp in the neighborhood of Fort Jessup, and there await further

orders. The troops were embarked on steamers and were on their way down

the Mississippi within a few days after the receipt of this order.

About the time they started I obtained a leave of absence for twenty

days to go to Ohio to visit my parents. I was obliged to go to St.

Louis to take a steamer for Louisville or Cincinnati, or the first

steamer going up the Ohio River to any point. Before I left St. Louis

orders were received at Jefferson Barracks for the 4th infantry to

follow the 3d. A messenger was sent after me to stop my leaving; but

before he could reach me I was off, totally ignorant of these events. A

day or two after my arrival at Bethel I received a letter from a

classmate and fellow lieutenant in the 4th, informing me of the

circumstances related above, and advising me not to open any letter post

marked St. Louis or Jefferson Barracks, until the expiration of my

leave, and saying that he would pack up my things and take them along

for me. His advice was not necessary, for no other letter was sent to

me. I now discovered that I was exceedingly anxious to get back to

Jefferson Barracks, and I understood the reason without explanation from

any one. My leave of absence required me to report for duty, at

Jefferson Barracks, at the end of twenty days. I knew my regiment had

gone up the Red River, but I was not disposed to break the letter of my

leave; besides, if I had proceeded to Louisiana direct, I could not have

reached there until after the expiration of my leave. Accordingly, at

the end of the twenty days, I reported for duty to Lieutenant Ewell,

commanding at Jefferson Barracks, handing him at the same time my leave

of absence. After noticing the phraseology of the order--leaves of

absence were generally worded, "at the end of which time he will report

for duty with his proper command"--he said he would give me an order to

join my regiment in Louisiana. I then asked for a few days' leave

before starting, which he readily granted. This was the same Ewell who

acquired considerable reputation as a Confederate general during the

rebellion. He was a man much esteemed, and deservedly so, in the old

army, and proved himself a gallant and efficient officer in two wars

--both in my estimation unholy.

I immediately procured a horse and started for the country, taking no

baggage with me, of course. There is an insignificant creek--the

Gravois--between Jefferson Barracks and the place to which I was going,

and at that day there was not a bridge over it from its source to its

mouth. There is not water enough in the creek at ordinary stages to run

a coffee mill, and at low water there is none running whatever. On this

occasion it had been raining heavily, and, when the creek was reached, I

found the banks full to overflowing, and the current rapid. I looked at

it a moment to consider what to do. One of my superstitions had always

been when I started to go any where, or to do anything, not to turn

back, or stop until the thing intended was accomplished. I have

frequently started to go to places where I had never been and to which I

did not know the way, depending upon making inquiries on the road, and

if I got past the place without knowing it, instead of turning back, I

would go on until a road was found turning in the right direction, take

that, and come in by the other side. So I struck into the stream, and

in an instant the horse was swimming and I being carried down by the

current. I headed the horse towards the other bank and soon reached it,

wet through and without other clothes on that side of the stream. I

went on, however, to my destination and borrowed a dry suit from my

--future--brother-in-law. We were not of the same size, but the clothes

answered every purpose until I got more of my own.

Before I returned I mustered up courage to make known, in the most

awkward manner imaginable, the discovery I had made on learning that the

4th infantry had been ordered away from Jefferson Barracks. The young

lady afterwards admitted that she too, although until then she had never

looked upon me other than as a visitor whose company was agreeable to

her, had experienced a depression of spirits she could not account for

when the regiment left. Before separating it was definitely understood

that at a convenient time we would join our fortunes, and not let the

removal of a regiment trouble us. This was in May, 1844. It was the

22d of August, 1848, before the fulfilment of this agreement. My duties

kept me on the frontier of Louisiana with the Army of Observation during

the pendency of Annexation; and afterwards I was absent through the war

with Mexico, provoked by the action of the army, if not by the

annexation itself. During that time there was a constant correspondence

between Miss Dent and myself, but we only met once in the period of four

years and three months. In May, 1845, I procured a leave for twenty

days, visited St. Louis, and obtained the consent of the parents for the

union, which had not been asked for before.

As already stated, it was never my intention to remain in the army long,

but to prepare myself for a professorship in some college. Accordingly,

soon after I was settled at Jefferson Barracks, I wrote a letter to

Professor Church--Professor of Mathematics at West Point--requesting him

to ask my designation as his assistant, when next a detail had to be

made. Assistant professors at West Point are all officers of the army,

supposed to be selected for their special fitness for the particular

branch of study they are assigned to teach. The answer from Professor

Church was entirely satisfactory, and no doubt I should have been

detailed a year or two later but for the Mexican War coming on.

Accordingly I laid out for myself a course of studies to be pursued in

garrison, with regularity, if not persistency. I reviewed my West Point

course of mathematics during the seven months at Jefferson Barracks, and

read many valuable historical works, besides an occasional novel. To

help my memory I kept a book in which I would write up, from time to

time, my recollections of all I had read since last posting it. When

the regiment was ordered away, I being absent at the time, my effects

were packed up by Lieutenant Haslett, of the 4th infantry, and taken

along. I never saw my journal after, nor did I ever keep another,

except for a portion of the time while travelling abroad. Often since a

fear has crossed my mind lest that book might turn up yet, and fall into

the hands of some malicious person who would publish it. I know its

appearance would cause me as much heart-burning as my youthful

horse-trade, or the later rebuke for wearing uniform clothes.

The 3d infantry had selected camping grounds on the reservation at Fort

Jessup, about midway between the Red River and the Sabine. Our orders

required us to go into camp in the same neighborhood, and await further

instructions. Those authorized to do so selected a place in the pine

woods, between the old town of Natchitoches and Grand Ecore, about three

miles from each, and on high ground back from the river. The place was

given the name of Camp Salubrity, and proved entitled to it. The camp

was on a high, sandy, pine ridge, with spring branches in the valley, in

front and rear. The springs furnished an abundance of cool, pure water,

and the ridge was above the flight of mosquitoes, which abound in that

region in great multitudes and of great voracity. In the valley they

swarmed in myriads, but never came to the summit of the ridge. The

regiment occupied this camp six months before the first death occurred,

and that was caused by an accident.

There was no intimation given that the removal of the 3d and 4th

regiments of infantry to the western border of Louisiana was occasioned

in any way by the prospective annexation of Texas, but it was generally

understood that such was the case. Ostensibly we were intended to

prevent filibustering into Texas, but really as a menace to Mexico in

case she appeared to contemplate war. Generally the officers of the

army were indifferent whether the annexation was consummated or not; but

not so all of them. For myself, I was bitterly opposed to the measure,

and to this day regard the war, which resulted, as one of the most

unjust ever waged by a stronger against a weaker nation. It was an

instance of a republic following the bad example of European monarchies,

in not considering justice in their desire to acquire additional

territory.

Texas was originally a state belonging to the republic of

Mexico. It extended from the Sabine River on the east to the Rio Grande

on the west, and from the Gulf of Mexico on the south and east to the

territory of the United States and New Mexico--another Mexican state at

that time--on the north and west. An empire in territory, it had but a

very sparse population, until settled by Americans who had received

authority from Mexico to colonize. These colonists paid very little

attention to the supreme government, and introduced slavery into the

state almost from the start, though the constitution of Mexico did not,

nor does it now, sanction that institution. Soon they set up an

independent government of their own, and war existed, between Texas and

Mexico, in name from that time until 1836, when active hostilities very

nearly ceased upon the capture of Santa Anna, the Mexican President.

Before long, however, the same people--who with permission of Mexico had

colonized Texas, and afterwards set up slavery there, and then seceded

as soon as they felt strong enough to do so--offered themselves and the

State to the United States, and in 1845 their offer was accepted. The

occupation, separation and annexation were, from the inception of the

movement to its final consummation, a conspiracy to acquire territory

out of which slave states might be formed for the American Union.

Even if the annexation itself could be justified, the manner in which

the subsequent war was forced upon Mexico cannot. The fact is,

annexationists wanted more territory than they could possibly lay any

claim to, as part of the new acquisition. Texas, as an independent

State, never had exercised jurisdiction over the territory between the

Nueces River and the Rio Grande. Mexico had never recognized the

independence of Texas, and maintained that, even if independent, the

State had no claim south of the Nueces. I am aware that a treaty, made

by the Texans with Santa Anna while he was under duress, ceded all the

territory between the Nueces and the Rio Grande--, but he was a prisoner

of war when the treaty was made, and his life was in jeopardy. He knew,

too, that he deserved execution at the hands of the Texans, if they

should ever capture him. The Texans, if they had taken his life, would

have only followed the example set by Santa Anna himself a few years

before, when he executed the entire garrison of the Alamo and the

villagers of Goliad.

In taking military possession of Texas after annexation, the army of

occupation, under General Taylor, was directed to occupy the disputed

territory. The army did not stop at the Nueces and offer to negotiate

for a settlement of the boundary question, but went beyond, apparently

in order to force Mexico to initiate war. It is to the credit of the

American nation, however, that after conquering Mexico, and while

practically holding the country in our possession, so that we could have

retained the whole of it, or made any terms we chose, we paid a round

sum for the additional territory taken; more than it was worth, or was

likely to be, to Mexico. To us it was an empire and of incalculable

value; but it might have been obtained by other means. The Southern

rebellion was largely the outgrowth of the Mexican war. Nations, like

individuals, are punished for their transgressions. We got our

punishment in the most sanguinary and expensive war of modern times.

The 4th infantry went into camp at Salubrity in the month of May, 1844,

with instructions, as I have said, to await further orders. At first,

officers and men occupied ordinary tents. As the summer heat increased

these were covered by sheds to break the rays of the sun. The summer

was whiled away in social enjoyments among the officers, in visiting

those stationed at, and near, Fort Jessup, twenty-five miles away,

visiting the planters on the Red River, and the citizens of Natchitoches

and Grand Ecore. There was much pleasant intercourse between the

inhabitants and the officers of the army. I retain very agreeable

recollections of my stay at Camp Salubrity, and of the acquaintances

made there, and no doubt my feeling is shared by the few officers living

who were there at the time. I can call to mind only two officers of the

4th infantry, besides myself, who were at Camp Salubrity with the

regiment, who are now alive.

With a war in prospect, and belonging to a regiment that had an unusual

number of officers detailed on special duty away from the regiment, my

hopes of being ordered to West Point as instructor vanished. At the

time of which I now write, officers in the quartermaster's, commissary's

and adjutant--general's departments were appointed from the line of the

army, and did not vacate their regimental commissions until their

regimental and staff commissions were for the same grades. Generally

lieutenants were appointed to captaincies to fill vacancies in the staff

corps. If they should reach a captaincy in the line before they arrived

at a majority in the staff, they would elect which commission they would

retain. In the 4th infantry, in 1844, at least six line officers were

on duty in the staff, and therefore permanently detached from the

regiment. Under these circumstances I gave up everything like a special

course of reading, and only read thereafter for my own amusement, and

not very much for that, until the war was over. I kept a horse and

rode, and staid out of doors most of the time by day, and entirely

recovered from the cough which I had carried from West Point, and from

all indications of consumption. I have often thought that my life was

saved, and my health restored, by exercise and exposure, enforced by an

administrative act, and a war, both of which I disapproved.

As summer wore away, and cool days and colder nights came upon us, the

tents we were occupying ceased to afford comfortable quarters; and

"further orders" not reaching us, we began to look about to remedy the

hardship. Men were put to work getting out timber to build huts, and in

a very short time all were comfortably housed--privates as well as

officers. The outlay by the government in accomplishing this was

nothing, or nearly nothing. The winter was spent more agreeably than

the summer had been. There were occasional parties given by the

planters along the "coast"--as the bottom lands on the Red River were

called. The climate was delightful.

Near the close of the short session of Congress of 1844-5, the bill for

the annexation of Texas to the United States was passed. It reached

President Tyler on the 1st of March, 1845, and promptly received his

approval. When the news reached us we began to look again for "further

orders." They did not arrive promptly, and on the 1st of May following

I asked and obtained a leave of absence for twenty days, for the purpose

of visiting--St. Louis. The object of this visit has been before

stated.

Early in July the long expected orders were received, but they only

took the regiment to New Orleans Barracks. We reached there before the

middle of the month, and again waited weeks for still further orders.

The yellow fever was raging in New Orleans during the time we remained

there, and the streets of the city had the appearance of a continuous

well-observed Sunday. I recollect but one occasion when this observance

seemed to be broken by the inhabitants. One morning about daylight I

happened to be awake, and, hearing the discharge of a rifle not far

off, I looked out to ascertain where the sound came from. I observed a

couple of clusters of men near by, and learned afterwards that "it was

nothing; only a couple of gentlemen deciding a difference of opinion

with rifles, at twenty paces." I do not remember if either was killed,

or even hurt, but no doubt the question of difference was settled

satisfactorily, and "honorably," in the estimation of the parties

engaged. I do not believe I ever would have the courage to fight a

duel. If any man should wrong me to the extent of my being willing to

kill him, I would not be willing to give him the choice of weapons with

which it should be done, and of the time, place and distance separating

us, when I executed him. If I should do another such a wrong as to

justify him in killing me, I would make any reasonable atonement within

my power, if convinced of the wrong done. I place my opposition to

duelling on higher grounds than any here stated. No doubt a majority

of the duels fought have been for want of moral courage on the part of

those engaged to decline.

At Camp Salubrity, and when we went to New Orleans Barracks, the 4th

infantry was commanded by Colonel Vose, then an old gentleman who had

not commanded on drill for a number of years. He was not a man to

discover infirmity in the presence of danger. It now appeared that war

was imminent, and he felt that it was his duty to brush up his tactics.

Accordingly, when we got settled down at our new post, he took command

of the regiment at a battalion drill. Only two or three evolutions had

been gone through when he dismissed the battalion, and, turning to go to

his own quarters, dropped dead. He had not been complaining of ill

health, but no doubt died of heart disease. He was a most estimable

man, of exemplary habits, and by no means the author of his own disease.

CHAPTER IV.

CORPUS CHRISTI--MEXICAN SMUGGLING--SPANISH RULE IN MEXICO--SUPPLYING

TRANSPORTATION.

Early in September the regiment left New Orleans for Corpus Christi, now

in Texas. Ocean steamers were not then common, and the passage was made

in sailing vessels. At that time there was not more than three feet of

water in the channel at the outlet of Corpus Christi Bay; the

debarkation, therefore, had to take place by small steamers, and at an

island in the channel called Shell Island, the ships anchoring some

miles out from shore. This made the work slow, and as the army was only

supplied with one or two steamers, it took a number of days to effect

the landing of a single regiment with its stores, camp and garrison

equipage, etc. There happened to be pleasant weather while this was

going on, but the land-swell was so great that when the ship and steamer

were on opposite sides of the same wave they would be at considerable

distance apart. The men and baggage were let down to a point higher

than the lower deck of the steamer, and when ship and steamer got into

the trough between the waves, and were close together, the load would be

drawn over the steamer and rapidly run down until it rested on the deck.

After I had gone ashore, and had been on guard several days at Shell

Island, quite six miles from the ship, I had occasion for some reason or

other to return on board. While on the Suviah--I think that was the

name of our vessel--I heard a tremendous racket at the other end of the

ship, and much and excited sailor language, such as "damn your eyes,"

etc. In a moment or two the captain, who was an excitable little man,

dying with consumption, and not weighing much over a hundred pounds,

came running out, carrying a sabre nearly as large and as heavy as he

was, and crying, that his men had mutinied. It was necessary to sustain

the captain without question, and in a few minutes all the sailors

charged with mutiny were in irons. I rather felt for a time a wish that

I had not gone aboard just then. As the men charged with mutiny

submitted to being placed in irons without resistance, I always doubted

if they knew that they had mutinied until they were told.

By the time I was ready to leave the ship again I thought I had learned

enough of the working of the double and single pulley, by which

passengers were let down from the upper deck of the ship to the steamer

below, and determined to let myself down without assistance. Without

saying anything of my intentions to any one, I mounted the railing, and

taking hold of the centre rope, just below the upper block, I put one

foot on the hook below the lower block, and stepped off just as I did so

some one called out "hold on." It was too late. I tried to "hold on"

with all my might, but my heels went up, and my head went down so

rapidly that my hold broke, and I plunged head foremost into the water,

some twenty-five feet below, with such velocity that it seemed to me I

never would stop. When I came to the surface again, being a fair

swimmer, and not having lost my presence of mind, I swam around until a

bucket was let down for me, and I was drawn up without a scratch or

injury. I do not believe there was a man on board who sympathized with

me in the least when they found me uninjured. I rather enjoyed the joke

myself. The captain of the Suviah died of his disease a few months later,

and I believe before the mutineers were tried. I hope they got clear,

because, as before stated, I always thought the mutiny was all in the

brain of a very weak and sick man.

After reaching shore, or Shell Island, the labor of getting to Corpus

Christi was slow and tedious. There was, if my memory serves me, but

one small steamer to transport troops and baggage when the 4th infantry

arrived. Others were procured later. The distance from Shell Island to

Corpus Christi was some sixteen or eighteen miles. The channel to the

bay was so shallow that the steamer, small as it was, had to be dragged

over the bottom when loaded. Not more than one trip a day could be

effected. Later this was remedied, by deepening the channel and

increasing the number of vessels suitable to its navigation.

Corpus Christi is near the head of the bay of the same name, formed by

the entrance of the Nueces River into tide-water, and is on the west

bank of that bay. At the time of its first occupancy by United States

troops there was a small Mexican hamlet there, containing probably less

than one hundred souls. There was, in addition, a small American trading

post, at which goods were sold to Mexican smugglers. All goods were put

up in compact packages of about one hundred pounds each, suitable for

loading on pack mules. Two of these packages made a load for an

ordinary Mexican mule, and three for the larger ones. The bulk of the

trade was in leaf tobacco, and domestic cotton-cloths and calicoes. The

Mexicans had, before the arrival of the army, but little to offer in

exchange except silver. The trade in tobacco was enormous, considering

the population to be supplied. Almost every Mexican above the age of

ten years, and many much younger, smoked the cigarette. Nearly every

Mexican carried a pouch of leaf tobacco, powdered by rolling in the

hands, and a roll of corn husks to make wrappers. The cigarettes were

made by the smokers as they used them.

Up to the time of which I write, and for years afterwards--I think until

the administration of President Juarez--the cultivation, manufacture and

sale of tobacco constituted a government monopoly, and paid the bulk of

the revenue collected from internal sources. The price was enormously

high, and made successful smuggling very profitable. The difficulty of

obtaining tobacco is probably the reason why everybody, male and female,

used it at that time. I know from my own experience that when I was at

West Point, the fact that tobacco, in every form, was prohibited, and

the mere possession of the weed severely punished, made the majority of

the cadets, myself included, try to acquire the habit of using it. I

failed utterly at the time and for many years afterward; but the

majority accomplished the object of their youthful ambition.

Under Spanish rule Mexico was prohibited from producing anything that

the mother-country could supply. This rule excluded the cultivation of

the grape, olive and many other articles to which the soil and climate

were well adapted. The country was governed for "revenue only;" and

tobacco, which cannot be raised in Spain, but is indigenous to Mexico,

offered a fine instrumentality for securing this prime object of

government. The native population had been in the habit of using "the

weed" from a period, back of any recorded history of this continent.

Bad habits--if not restrained by law or public opinion--spread more

rapidly and universally than good ones, and the Spanish colonists

adopted the use of tobacco almost as generally as the natives. Spain,

therefore, in order to secure the largest revenue from this source,

prohibited the cultivation, except in specified localities--and in these

places farmed out the privilege at a very high price. The tobacco when

raised could only be sold to the government, and the price to the

consumer was limited only by the avarice of the authorities, and the

capacity of the people to pay.

All laws for the government of the country were enacted in Spain, and

the officers for their execution were appointed by the Crown, and sent

out to the New El Dorado. The Mexicans had been brought up ignorant of

how to legislate or how to rule. When they gained their independence,

after many years of war, it was the most natural thing in the world that

they should adopt as their own the laws then in existence. The only

change was, that Mexico became her own executor of the laws and the

recipient of the revenues. The tobacco tax, yielding so large a revenue

under the law as it stood, was one of the last, if not the very last, of

the obnoxious imposts to be repealed. Now, the citizens are allowed to

cultivate any crops the soil will yield. Tobacco is cheap, and every

quality can be produced. Its use is by no means so general as when I

first visited the country.

Gradually the "Army of Occupation" assembled at Corpus Christi. When it

was all together it consisted of seven companies of the 2d regiment of

dragoons, four companies of light artillery, five regiments of infantry

--the 3d, 4th, 5th, 7th and 8th--and one regiment of artillery acting as

infantry--not more than three thousand men in all. General Zachary

Taylor commanded the whole. There were troops enough in one body to

establish a drill and discipline sufficient to fit men and officers for

all they were capable of in case of battle. The rank and file were

composed of men who had enlisted in time of peace, to serve for seven

dollars a month, and were necessarily inferior as material to the

average volunteers enlisted later in the war expressly to fight, and

also to the volunteers in the war for the preservation of the Union.

The men engaged in the Mexican war were brave, and the officers of the

regular army, from highest to lowest, were educated in their profession.

A more efficient army for its number and armament, I do not believe ever

fought a battle than the one commanded by General Taylor in his first

two engagements on Mexican--or Texan soil.

The presence of United States troops on the edge of the disputed

territory furthest from the Mexican settlements, was not sufficient to

provoke hostilities. We were sent to provoke a fight, but it was

essential that Mexico should commence it. It was very doubtful whether

Congress would declare war; but if Mexico should attack our troops, the

Executive could announce, "Whereas, war exists by the acts of, etc.,"

and prosecute the contest with vigor. Once initiated there were but few

public men who would have the courage to oppose it. Experience proves

that the man who obstructs a war in which his nation is engaged, no

matter whether right or wrong, occupies no enviable place in life or

history. Better for him, individually, to advocate "war, pestilence,

and famine," than to act as obstructionist to a war already begun. The

history of the defeated rebel will be honorable hereafter, compared with

that of the Northern man who aided him by conspiring against his

government while protected by it. The most favorable posthumous history

the stay-at-home traitor can hope for is--oblivion.

Mexico showing no willingness to come to the Nueces to drive the

invaders from her soil, it became necessary for the "invaders" to

approach to within a convenient distance to be struck. Accordingly,

preparations were begun for moving the army to the Rio Grande, to a

point near Matamoras. It was desirable to occupy a position near the

largest centre of population possible to reach, without absolutely

invading territory to which we set up no claim whatever.

The distance from Corpus Christi to Matamoras is about one hundred and

fifty miles. The country does not abound in fresh water, and the length

of the marches had to be regulated by the distance between water

supplies. Besides the streams, there were occasional pools, filled

during the rainy season, some probably made by the traders, who

travelled constantly between Corpus Christi and the Rio Grande, and some

by the buffalo. There was not at that time a single habitation,

cultivated field, or herd of domestic animals, between Corpus Christi

and Matamoras. It was necessary, therefore, to have a wagon train

sufficiently large to transport the camp and garrison equipage,

officers' baggage, rations for the army, and part rations of grain for

the artillery horses and all the animals taken from the north, where

they had been accustomed to having their forage furnished them. The

army was but indifferently supplied with transportation. Wagons and

harness could easily be supplied from the north but mules and horses

could not so readily be brought. The American traders and Mexican

smugglers came to the relief. Contracts were made for mules at from

eight to eleven dollars each. The smugglers furnished the animals, and

took their pay in goods of the description before mentioned. I doubt

whether the Mexicans received in value from the traders five dollars per

head for the animals they furnished, and still more, whether they paid

anything but their own time in procuring them. Such is trade; such is

war. The government paid in hard cash to the contractor the stipulated

price.

Between the Rio Grande and the Nueces there was at that time a large

band of wild horses feeding; as numerous, probably, as the band of

buffalo roaming further north was before its rapid extermination

commenced. The Mexicans used to capture these in large numbers and

bring them into the American settlements and sell them. A picked animal

could be purchased at from eight to twelve dollars, but taken at

wholesale, they could be bought for thirty-six dollars a dozen. Some of

these were purchased for the army, and answered a most useful purpose.

The horses were generally very strong, formed much like the Norman

horse, and with very heavy manes and tails. A number of officers

supplied themselves with these, and they generally rendered as useful

service as the northern animal; in fact they were much better when

grazing was the only means of supplying forage.

There was no need for haste, and some months were consumed in the

necessary preparations for a move. In the meantime the army was engaged

in all the duties pertaining to the officer and the soldier. Twice,

that I remember, small trains were sent from Corpus Christi, with

cavalry escorts, to San Antonio and Austin, with paymasters and funds to

pay off small detachments of troops stationed at those places. General

Taylor encouraged officers to accompany these expeditions. I

accompanied one of them in December, 1845. The distance from Corpus

Christi to San Antonio was then computed at one hundred and fifty miles.

Now that roads exist it is probably less. From San Antonio to Austin we

computed the distance at one hundred and ten miles, and from the latter

place back to Corpus Christi at over two hundred miles. I know the

distance now from San Antonio to Austin is but little over eighty miles,

so that our computation was probably too high.

There was not at the time an individual living between Corpus Christi

and San Antonio until within about thirty miles of the latter point,

where there were a few scattering Mexican settlements along the San

Antonio River. The people in at least one of these hamlets lived

underground for protection against the Indians. The country abounded in

game, such as deer and antelope, with abundance of wild turkeys along

the streams and where there were nut-bearing woods. On the Nueces,

about twenty-five miles up from Corpus Christi, were a few log cabins,

the remains of a town called San Patricio, but the inhabitants had all

been massacred by the Indians, or driven away.

San Antonio was about equally divided in population between Americans

and Mexicans. From there to Austin there was not a single residence

except at New Braunfels, on the Guadalupe River. At that point was a

settlement of Germans who had only that year come into the State. At

all events they were living in small huts, about such as soldiers would

hastily construct for temporary occupation. From Austin to Corpus

Christi there was only a small settlement at Bastrop, with a few farms

along the Colorado River; but after leaving that, there were no

settlements except the home of one man, with one female slave, at the

old town of Goliad. Some of the houses were still standing. Goliad had

been quite a village for the period and region, but some years before

there had been a Mexican massacre, in which every inhabitant had been

killed or driven away. This, with the massacre of the prisoners in the

Alamo, San Antonio, about the same time, more than three hundred men in

all, furnished the strongest justification the Texans had for carrying

on the war with so much cruelty. In fact, from that time until the

Mexican war, the hostilities between Texans and Mexicans was so great

that neither was safe in the neighborhood of the other who might be in

superior numbers or possessed of superior arms. The man we found living

there seemed like an old friend; he had come from near Fort Jessup,

Louisiana, where the officers of the 3d and 4th infantry and the 2d

dragoons had known him and his family. He had emigrated in advance of

his family to build up a home for them.

CHAPTER V.

TRIP TO AUSTIN--PROMOTION TO FULL SECOND LIEUTENANT--ARMY OF OCCUPATION.

When our party left Corpus Christi it was quite large, including the

cavalry escort, Paymaster, Major Dix, his clerk and the officers who,

like myself, were simply on leave; but all the officers on leave, except

Lieutenant Benjamin--afterwards killed in the valley of Mexico

--Lieutenant, now General, Augur, and myself, concluded to spend their

allotted time at San Antonio and return from there. We were all to be

back at Corpus Christi by the end of the month. The paymaster was

detained in Austin so long that, if we had waited for him, we would have

exceeded our leave. We concluded, therefore, to start back at once with

the animals we had, and having to rely principally on grass for their

food, it was a good six days' journey. We had to sleep on the prairie

every night, except at Goliad, and possibly one night on the Colorado,

without shelter and with only such food as we carried with us, and

prepared ourselves. The journey was hazardous on account of Indians,

and there were white men in Texas whom I would not have cared to meet in

a secluded place. Lieutenant Augur was taken seriously sick before we

reached Goliad and at a distance from any habitation. To add to the

complication, his horse--a mustang that had probably been captured from

the band of wild horses before alluded to, and of undoubted longevity at

his capture--gave out. It was absolutely necessary to get for ward to

Goliad to find a shelter for our sick companion. By dint of patience

and exceedingly slow movements, Goliad was at last reached, and a

shelter and bed secured for our patient. We remained over a day, hoping

that Augur might recover sufficiently to resume his travels. He did

not, however, and knowing that Major Dix would be along in a few days,

with his wagon-train, now empty, and escort, we arranged with our

Louisiana friend to take the best of care of the sick lieutenant until

thus relieved, and went on.

I had never been a sportsman in my life; had scarcely ever gone in

search of game, and rarely seen any when looking for it. On this trip

there was no minute of time while travelling between San Patricio and

the settlements on the San Antonio River, from San Antonio to Austin,

and again from the Colorado River back to San Patricio, when deer or

antelope could not be seen in great numbers. Each officer carried a

shot-gun, and every evening, after going into camp, some would go out

and soon return with venison and wild turkeys enough for the entire

camp. I, however, never went out, and had no occasion to fire my gun;

except, being detained over a day at Goliad, Benjamin and I concluded to

go down to the creek--which was fringed with timber, much of it the

pecan--and bring back a few turkeys. We had scarcely reached the edge

of the timber when I heard the flutter of wings overhead, and in an

instant I saw two or three turkeys flying away. These were soon

followed by more, then more, and more, until a flock of twenty or thirty

had left from just over my head. All this time I stood watching the

turkeys to see where they flew--with my gun on my shoulder, and never

once thought of levelling it at the birds. When I had time to reflect

upon the matter, I came to the conclusion that as a sportsman I was a

failure, and went back to the house. Benjamin remained out, and got as

many turkeys as he wanted to carry back.

After the second night at Goliad, Benjamin and I started to make the

remainder of the journey alone. We reached Corpus Christi just in time

to avoid "absence without leave." We met no one not even an Indian

--during the remainder of our journey, except at San Patricio. A new

settlement had been started there in our absence of three weeks, induced

possibly by the fact that there were houses already built, while the

proximity of troops gave protection against the Indians. On the evening

of the first day out from Goliad we heard the most unearthly howling of

wolves, directly in our front. The prairie grass was tall and we could

not see the beasts, but the sound indicated that they were near. To my

ear it appeared that there must have been enough of them to devour our

party, horses and all, at a single meal. The part of Ohio that I hailed

from was not thickly settled, but wolves had been driven out long before

I left. Benjamin was from Indiana, still less populated, where the wolf

yet roamed over the prairies. He understood the nature of the animal

and the capacity of a few to make believe there was an unlimited number

of them. He kept on towards the noise, unmoved. I followed in his

trail, lacking moral courage to turn back and join our sick companion.

I have no doubt that if Benjamin had proposed returning to Goliad, I

would not only have "seconded the motion" but have suggested that it

was very hard-hearted in us to leave Augur sick there in the first

place; but Benjamin did not propose turning back. When he did speak it

was to ask: "Grant, how many wolves do you think there are in that

pack?" Knowing where he was from, and suspecting that he thought I would

over-estimate the number, I determined to show my acquaintance with the

animal by putting the estimate below what possibly could be correct, and

answered: "Oh, about twenty," very indifferently. He smiled and rode

on. In a minute we were close upon them, and before they saw us. There

were just TWO of them. Seated upon their haunches, with their mouths

close together, they had made all the noise we had been hearing for the

past ten minutes. I have often thought of this incident since when I

have heard the noise of a few disappointed politicians who had deserted

their associates. There are always more of them before they are

counted.

A week or two before leaving Corpus Christi on this trip, I had been

promoted from brevet second-lieutenant, 4th infantry, to full

second-lieutenant, 7th infantry. Frank Gardner,(*1) of the 7th, was

promoted to the 4th in the same orders. We immediately made application

to be transferred, so as to get back to our old regiments. On my

return, I found that our application had been approved at Washington.

While in the 7th infantry I was in the company of Captain Holmes,

afterwards a Lieutenant-general in the Confederate army. I never came in

contact with him in the war of the Rebellion, nor did he render any very

conspicuous service in his high rank. My transfer carried me to the

company of Captain McCall, who resigned from the army after the Mexican

war and settled in Philadelphia. He was prompt, however, to volunteer

when the rebellion broke out, and soon rose to the rank of major-general

in the Union army. I was not fortunate enough to meet him after he

resigned. In the old army he was esteemed very highly as a soldier and

gentleman. Our relations were always most pleasant.

The preparations at Corpus Christi for an advance progressed as rapidly

in the absence of some twenty or more lieutenants as if we had been

there. The principal business consisted in securing mules, and getting

them broken to harness. The process was slow but amusing. The animals

sold to the government were all young and unbroken, even to the saddle,

and were quite as wild as the wild horses of the prairie. Usually a

number would be brought in by a company of Mexicans, partners in the

delivery. The mules were first driven into a stockade, called a corral,

inclosing an acre or more of ground. The Mexicans,--who were all

experienced in throwing the lasso,--would go into the corral on

horseback, with their lassos attached to the pommels of their saddles.

Soldiers detailed as teamsters and black smiths would also enter the

corral, the former with ropes to serve as halters, the latter with

branding irons and a fire to keep the irons heated. A lasso was then

thrown over the neck of a mule, when he would immediately go to the

length of his tether, first one end, then the other in the air. While

he was thus plunging and gyrating, another lasso would be thrown by

another Mexican, catching the animal by a fore-foot. This would bring

the mule to the ground, when he was seized and held by the teamsters

while the blacksmith put upon him, with hot irons, the initials "U. S."

Ropes were then put about the neck, with a slipnoose which would tighten

around the throat if pulled. With a man on each side holding these

ropes, the mule was released from his other bindings and allowed to

rise. With more or less difficulty he would be conducted to a picket

rope outside and fastened there. The delivery of that mule was then

complete. This process was gone through with every mule and wild horse

with the army of occupation.

The method of breaking them was less cruel and much more amusing. It is

a well-known fact that where domestic animals are used for specific

purposes from generation to generation, the descendants are easily, as a

rule, subdued to the same uses. At that time in Northern Mexico the

mule, or his ancestors, the horse and the ass, was seldom used except

for the saddle or pack. At all events the Corpus Christi mule resisted

the new use to which he was being put. The treatment he was subjected

to in order to overcome his prejudices was summary and effective.

The soldiers were principally foreigners who had enlisted in our large

cities, and, with the exception of a chance drayman among them, it is

not probable that any of the men who reported themselves as competent

teamsters had ever driven a mule-team in their lives, or indeed that

many had had any previous experience in driving any animal whatever to

harness. Numbers together can accomplish what twice their number acting

individually could not perform. Five mules were allotted to each wagon.

A teamster would select at the picket rope five animals of nearly the

same color and general appearance for his team. With a full corps of

assistants, other teamsters, he would then proceed to get his mules

together. In two's the men would approach each animal selected,

avoiding as far as possible its heels. Two ropes would be put about the

neck of each animal, with a slip noose, so that he could be choked if

too unruly. They were then led out, harnessed by force and hitched to

the wagon in the position they had to keep ever after. Two men remained

on either side of the leader, with the lassos about its neck, and one

man retained the same restraining influence over each of the others.

All being ready, the hold would be slackened and the team started. The

first motion was generally five mules in the air at one time, backs

bowed, hind feet extended to the rear. After repeating this movement a

few times the leaders would start to run. This would bring the

breeching tight against the mules at the wheels, which these last seemed

to regard as a most unwarrantable attempt at coercion and would resist

by taking a seat, sometimes going so far as to lie down. In time all

were broken in to do their duty submissively if not cheerfully, but

there never was a time during the war when it was safe to let a Mexican

mule get entirely loose. Their drivers were all teamsters by the time

they got through.

I recollect one case of a mule that had worked in a team under the

saddle, not only for some time at Corpus Christi, where he was broken,

but all the way to the point opposite Matamoras, then to Camargo, where

he got loose from his fastenings during the night. He did not run away

at first, but staid in the neighborhood for a day or two, coming up

sometimes to the feed trough even; but on the approach of the teamster

he always got out of the way. At last, growing tired of the constant

effort to catch him, he disappeared altogether. Nothing short of a

Mexican with his lasso could have caught him. Regulations would not

have warranted the expenditure of a dollar in hiring a man with a lasso

to catch that mule; but they did allow the expenditure "of the mule," on

a certificate that he had run away without any fault of the

quartermaster on whose returns he was borne, and also the purchase of

another to take his place. I am a competent witness, for I was

regimental quartermaster at the time.

While at Corpus Christi all the officers who had a fancy for riding kept

horses. The animals cost but little in the first instance, and when

picketed they would get their living without any cost. I had three not

long before the army moved, but a sad accident bereft me of them all at

one time. A colored boy who gave them all the attention they got

--besides looking after my tent and that of a class-mate and

fellow-lieutenant and cooking for us, all for about eight dollars per

month, was riding one to water and leading the other two. The led

horses pulled him from his seat and all three ran away. They never were

heard of afterwards. Shortly after that some one told Captain Bliss,

General Taylor's Adjutant-General, of my misfortune. "Yes; I heard

Grant lost five or six dollars' worth of horses the other day," he

replied. That was a slander; they were broken to the saddle when I got

them and cost nearly twenty dollars. I never suspected the colored boy

of malicious intent in letting them get away, because, if they had not

escaped, he could have had one of them to ride on the long march then in

prospect.

CHAPTER VI.

ADVANCE OF THE ARMY--CROSSING THE COLORADO--THE RIO GRANDE.

At last the preparations were complete and orders were issued for the

advance to begin on the 8th of March. General Taylor had an army of not

more than three thousand men. One battery, the siege guns and all the

convalescent troops were sent on by water to Brazos Santiago, at the

mouth of the Rio Grande. A guard was left back at Corpus Christi to

look after public property and to take care of those who were too sick

to be removed. The remainder of the army, probably not more than twenty

five hundred men, was divided into three brigades, with the cavalry

independent. Colonel Twiggs, with seven companies of dragoons and a

battery of light artillery, moved on the 8th. He was followed by the

three infantry brigades, with a day's interval between the commands.

Thus the rear brigade did not move from Corpus Christi until the 11th of

March. In view of the immense bodies of men moved on the same day over

narrow roads, through dense forests and across large streams, in our

late war, it seems strange now that a body of less than three thousand

men should have been broken into four columns, separated by a day's

march.

General Taylor was opposed to anything like plundering by the troops,

and in this instance, I doubt not, he looked upon the enemy as the

aggrieved party and was not willing to injure them further than his

instructions from Washington demanded. His orders to the troops

enjoined scrupulous regard for the rights of all peaceable persons and

the payment of the highest price for all supplies taken for the use of

the army.

All officers of foot regiments who had horses were permitted to ride

them on the march when it did not interfere with their military duties.

As already related, having lost my "five or six dollars' worth of

horses" but a short time before I determined not to get another, but to

make the journey on foot. My company commander, Captain McCall, had two

good American horses, of considerably more value in that country, where

native horses were cheap, than they were in the States. He used one

himself and wanted the other for his servant. He was quite anxious to

know whether I did not intend to get me another horse before the march

began. I told him No; I belonged to a foot regiment. I did not

understand the object of his solicitude at the time, but, when we were

about to start, he said: "There, Grant, is a horse for you." I found

that he could not bear the idea of his servant riding on a long march

while his lieutenant went a-foot. He had found a mustang, a three-year

old colt only recently captured, which had been purchased by one of the

colored servants with the regiment for the sum of three dollars. It was

probably the only horse at Corpus Christi that could have been purchased

just then for any reasonable price. Five dollars, sixty-six and

two-thirds per cent. advance, induced the owner to part with the

mustang. I was sorry to take him, because I really felt that, belonging

to a foot regiment, it was my duty to march with the men. But I saw the

Captain's earnestness in the matter, and accepted the horse for the

trip. The day we started was the first time the horse had ever been

under saddle. I had, however, but little difficulty in breaking him,

though for the first day there were frequent disagreements between us as

to which way we should go, and sometimes whether we should go at all.

At no time during the day could I choose exactly the part of the column

I would march with; but after that, I had as tractable a horse as any

with the army, and there was none that stood the trip better. He never

ate a mouthful of food on the journey except the grass he could pick

within the length of his picket rope.

A few days out from Corpus Christi, the immense herd of wild horses that

ranged at that time between the Nueces and the Rio Grande was seen

directly in advance of the head of the column and but a few miles off.

It was the very band from which the horse I was riding had been captured

but a few weeks before. The column was halted for a rest, and a number

of officers, myself among them, rode out two or three miles to the right

to see the extent of the herd. The country was a rolling prairie, and,

from the higher ground, the vision was obstructed only by the earth's

curvature. As far as the eye could reach to our right, the herd

extended. To the left, it extended equally. There was no estimating the

number of animals in it; I have no idea that they could all have been

corralled in the State of Rhode Island, or Delaware, at one time. If

they had been, they would have been so thick that the pasturage would

have given out the first day. People who saw the Southern herd of

buffalo, fifteen or twenty years ago, can appreciate the size of the

Texas band of wild horses in 1846.

At the point where the army struck the Little Colorado River, the stream

was quite wide and of sufficient depth for navigation. The water was

brackish and the banks were fringed with timber. Here the whole army

concentrated before attempting to cross. The army was not accompanied by

a pontoon train, and at that time the troops were not instructed in

bridge building. To add to the embarrassment of the situation, the army

was here, for the first time, threatened with opposition. Buglers,

concealed from our view by the brush on the opposite side, sounded the

"assembly," and other military calls. Like the wolves before spoken of,

they gave the impression that there was a large number of them and that,

if the troops were in proportion to the noise, they were sufficient to

devour General Taylor and his army. There were probably but few troops,

and those engaged principally in watching the movements of the

"invader." A few of our cavalry dashed in, and forded and swam the

stream, and all opposition was soon dispersed. I do not remember that a

single shot was fired.

The troops waded the stream, which was up to their necks in the deepest

part. Teams were crossed by attaching a long rope to the end of the

wagon tongue passing it between the two swing mules and by the side of

the leader, hitching his bridle as well as the bridle of the mules in

rear to it, and carrying the end to men on the opposite shore. The bank

down to the water was steep on both sides. A rope long enough to cross

the river, therefore, was attached to the back axle of the wagon, and

men behind would hold the rope to prevent the wagon "beating" the mules

into the water. This latter rope also served the purpose of bringing

the end of the forward one back, to be used over again. The water was

deep enough for a short distance to swim the little Mexican mules which

the army was then using, but they, and the wagons, were pulled through

so fast by the men at the end of the rope ahead, that no time was left

them to show their obstinacy. In this manner the artillery and

transportation of the "army of occupation" crossed the Colorado River.

About the middle of the month of March the advance of the army reached

the Rio Grande and went into camp near the banks of the river, opposite

the city of Matamoras and almost under the guns of a small fort at the

lower end of the town. There was not at that time a single habitation

from Corpus Christi until the Rio Grande was reached.

The work of fortifying was commenced at once. The fort was laid out by

the engineers, but the work was done by the soldiers under the

supervision of their officers, the chief engineer retaining general

directions. The Mexicans now became so incensed at our near approach

that some of their troops crossed the river above us, and made it unsafe

for small bodies of men to go far beyond the limits of camp. They

captured two companies of dragoons, commanded by Captains Thornton and

Hardee. The latter figured as a general in the late war, on the

Confederate side, and was author of the tactics first used by both

armies. Lieutenant Theodric Porter, of the 4th infantry, was killed

while out with a small detachment; and Major Cross, the assistant

quartermaster-general, had also been killed not far from camp.

There was no base of supplies nearer than Point Isabel, on the coast,

north of the mouth of the Rio Grande and twenty-five miles away. The

enemy, if the Mexicans could be called such at this time when no war had

been declared, hovered about in such numbers that it was not safe to

send a wagon train after supplies with any escort that could be spared.

I have already said that General Taylor's whole command on the Rio

Grande numbered less than three thousand men. He had, however, a few

more troops at Point Isabel or Brazos Santiago. The supplies brought

from Corpus Christi in wagons were running short. Work was therefore

pushed with great vigor on the defences, to enable the minimum number of

troops to hold the fort. All the men who could be employed, were kept

at work from early dawn until darkness closed the labors of the day.

With all this the fort was not completed until the supplies grew so

short that further delay in obtaining more could not be thought of. By

the latter part of April the work was in a partially defensible

condition, and the 7th infantry, Major Jacob Brown commanding, was

marched in to garrison it, with some few pieces of artillery. All the

supplies on hand, with the exception of enough to carry the rest of the

army to Point Isabel, were left with the garrison, and the march was

commenced with the remainder of the command, every wagon being taken

with the army. Early on the second day after starting the force reached

its destination, without opposition from the Mexicans. There was some

delay in getting supplies ashore from vessels at anchor in the open

roadstead.

CHAPTER VII.

THE MEXICAN WAR--THE BATTLE OF PALO ALTO--THE BATTLE OF RESACA DE LA

PALMA--ARMY OF INVASION--GENERAL TAYLOR--MOVEMENT ON CAMARGO.

While General Taylor was away with the bulk of his army, the little

garrison up the river was besieged. As we lay in our tents upon the

sea-shore, the artillery at the fort on the Rio Grande could be

distinctly heard.

The war had begun.

There were no possible means of obtaining news from the garrison, and

information from outside could not be otherwise than unfavorable. What

General Taylor's feelings were during this suspense I do not know; but

for myself, a young second-lieutenant who had never heard a hostile gun

before, I felt sorry that I had enlisted. A great many men, when they

smell battle afar off, chafe to get into the fray. When they say so

themselves they generally fail to convince their hearers that they are

as anxious as they would like to make believe, and as they approach

danger they become more subdued. This rule is not universal, for I have

known a few men who were always aching for a fight when there was no

enemy near, who were as good as their word when the battle did come.

But the number of such men is small.

On the 7th of May the wagons were all loaded and General Taylor started

on his return, with his army reinforced at Point Isabel, but still less

than three thousand strong, to relieve the garrison on the Rio Grande.

The road from Point Isabel to Matamoras is over an open, rolling,

treeless prairie, until the timber that borders the bank of the Rio

Grande is reached. This river, like the Mississippi, flows through a

rich alluvial valley in the most meandering manner, running towards all

points of the compass at times within a few miles. Formerly the river

ran by Resaca de la Palma, some four or five miles east of the present

channel. The old bed of the river at Resaca had become filled at

places, leaving a succession of little lakes. The timber that had

formerly grown upon both banks, and for a considerable distance out, was

still standing. This timber was struck six or eight miles out from the

besieged garrison, at a point known as Palo Alto--"Tall trees" or

"woods."

Early in the forenoon of the 8th of May as Palo Alto was approached, an

army, certainly outnumbering our little force, was seen, drawn up in

line of battle just in front of the timber. Their bayonets and

spearheads glistened in the sunlight formidably. The force was composed

largely of cavalry armed with lances. Where we were the grass was tall,

reaching nearly to the shoulders of the men, very stiff, and each stock

was pointed at the top, and hard and almost as sharp as a

darning-needle. General Taylor halted his army before the head of column

came in range of the artillery of the Mexicans. He then formed a line

of battle, facing the enemy. His artillery, two batteries and two

eighteen-pounder iron guns, drawn by oxen, were placed in position at

intervals along the line. A battalion was thrown to the rear, commanded

by Lieutenant-Colonel Childs, of the artillery, as reserves. These

preparations completed, orders were given for a platoon of each company

to stack arms and go to a stream off to the right of the command, to

fill their canteens and also those of the rest of their respective

companies. When the men were all back in their places in line, the

command to advance was given. As I looked down that long line of about

three thousand armed men, advancing towards a larger force also armed,

I thought what a fearful responsibility General Taylor must feel,

commanding such a host and so far away from friends. The Mexicans

immediately opened fire upon us, first with artillery and then with

infantry. At first their shots did not reach us, and the advance was

continued. As we got nearer, the cannon balls commenced going through

the ranks. They hurt no one, however, during this advance, because they

would strike the ground long before they reached our line, and

ricochetted through the tall grass so slowly that the men would see them

and open ranks and let them pass. When we got to a point where the

artillery could be used with effect, a halt was called, and the battle

opened on both sides.

The infantry under General Taylor was armed with flint-lock muskets, and

paper cartridges charged with powder, buck-shot and ball. At the

distance of a few hundred yards a man might fire at you all day without

your finding it out. The artillery was generally six-pounder brass guns

throwing only solid shot; but General Taylor had with him three or four

twelve-pounder howitzers throwing shell, besides his eighteen-pounders

before spoken of, that had a long range. This made a powerful armament.

The Mexicans were armed about as we were so far as their infantry was

concerned, but their artillery only fired solid shot. We had greatly

the advantage in this arm.

The artillery was advanced a rod or two in front of the line, and opened

fire. The infantry stood at order arms as spectators, watching the

effect of our shots upon the enemy, and watching his shots so as to step

out of their way. It could be seen that the eighteen-pounders and the

howitzers did a great deal of execution. On our side there was little

or no loss while we occupied this position. During the battle Major

Ringgold, an accomplished and brave artillery officer, was mortally

wounded, and Lieutenant Luther, also of the artillery, was struck.

During the day several advances were made, and just at dusk it became

evident that the Mexicans were falling back. We again advanced, and

occupied at the close of the battle substantially the ground held by the

enemy at the beginning. In this last move there was a brisk fire upon

our troops, and some execution was done. One cannon-ball passed through

our ranks, not far from me. It took off the head of an enlisted man,

and the under jaw of Captain Page of my regiment, while the splinters

from the musket of the killed soldier, and his brains and bones, knocked

down two or three others, including one officer, Lieutenant Wallen,

--hurting them more or less. Our casualties for the day were nine killed

and forty-seven wounded.

At the break of day on the 9th, the army under Taylor was ready to renew

the battle; but an advance showed that the enemy had entirely left our

front during the night. The chaparral before us was impenetrable except

where there were roads or trails, with occasionally clear or bare spots

of small dimensions. A body of men penetrating it might easily be

ambushed. It was better to have a few men caught in this way than the

whole army, yet it was necessary that the garrison at the river should

be relieved. To get to them the chaparral had to be passed. Thus I

assume General Taylor reasoned. He halted the army not far in advance

of the ground occupied by the Mexicans the day before, and selected

Captain C. F. Smith, of the artillery, and Captain McCall, of my

company, to take one hundred and fifty picked men each and find where

the enemy had gone. This left me in command of the company, an honor

and responsibility I thought very great.

Smith and McCall found no obstruction in the way of their advance until

they came up to the succession of ponds, before describes, at Resaca.

The Mexicans had passed them and formed their lines on the opposite

bank. This position they had strengthened a little by throwing up dead

trees and brush in their front, and by placing artillery to cover the

approaches and open places. Smith and McCall deployed on each side of

the road as well as they could, and engaged the enemy at long range.

Word was sent back, and the advance of the whole army was at once

commenced. As we came up we were deployed in like manner. I was with

the right wing, and led my company through the thicket wherever a

penetrable place could be found, taking advantage of any clear spot that

would carry me towards the enemy. At last I got pretty close up without

knowing it. The balls commenced to whistle very thick overhead, cutting

the limbs of the chaparral right and left. We could not see the enemy,

so I ordered my men to lie down, an order that did not have to be

enforced. We kept our position until it became evident that the enemy

were not firing at us, and then withdrew to find better ground to

advance upon.

By this time some progress had been made on our left. A section of

artillery had been captured by the cavalry, and some prisoners had been

taken. The Mexicans were giving way all along the line, and many of

them had, no doubt, left early. I at last found a clear space

separating two ponds. There seemed to be a few men in front and I

charged upon them with my company.

There was no resistance, and we captured a Mexican colonel, who had been

wounded, and a few men. Just as I was sending them to the rear with a

guard of two or three men, a private came from the front bringing back

one of our officers, who had been badly wounded in advance of where I

was. The ground had been charged over before. My exploit was equal to

that of the soldier who boasted that he had cut off the leg of one of

the enemy. When asked why he did not cut off his head, he replied:

"Some one had done that before." This left no doubt in my mind but that

the battle of Resaca de la Palma would have been won, just as it was, if

I had not been there.

There was no further resistance. The evening of the 9th the army was

encamped on its old ground near the Fort, and the garrison was relieved.

The siege had lasted a number of days, but the casualties were few in

number. Major Jacob Brown, of the 7th infantry, the commanding officer,

had been killed, and in his honor the fort was named. Since then a town

of considerable importance has sprung up on the ground occupied by the

fort and troops, which has also taken his name.

The battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma seemed to us engaged, as

pretty important affairs; but we had only a faint conception of their

magnitude until they were fought over in the North by the Press and the

reports came back to us. At the same time, or about the same time, we

learned that war existed between the United States and Mexico, by the

acts of the latter country. On learning this fact General Taylor

transferred our camps to the south or west bank of the river, and

Matamoras was occupied. We then became the "Army of Invasion."

Up to this time Taylor had none but regular troops in his command; but

now that invasion had already taken place, volunteers for one year

commenced arriving. The army remained at Matamoras until sufficiently

reinforced to warrant a movement into the interior. General Taylor was

not an officer to trouble the administration much with his demands, but

was inclined to do the best he could with the means given him. He felt

his responsibility as going no further. If he had thought that he was

sent to perform an impossibility with the means given him, he would

probably have informed the authorities of his opinion and left them to

determine what should be done. If the judgment was against him he would

have gone on and done the best he could with the means at hand without

parading his grievance before the public. No soldier could face either

danger or responsibility more calmly than he. These are qualities more

rarely found than genius or physical courage.

General Taylor never made any great show or parade, either of uniform or

retinue. In dress he was possibly too plain, rarely wearing anything in

the field to indicate his rank, or even that he was an officer; but he

was known to every soldier in his army, and was respected by all. I can

call to mind only one instance when I saw him in uniform, and one other

when I heard of his wearing it, On both occasions he was unfortunate.

The first was at Corpus Christi. He had concluded to review his army

before starting on the march and gave orders accordingly. Colonel

Twiggs was then second in rank with the army, and to him was given the

command of the review. Colonel and Brevet Brigadier-General Worth, a

far different soldier from Taylor in the use of the uniform, was next to

Twiggs in rank, and claimed superiority by virtue of his brevet rank

when the accidents of service threw them where one or the other had to

command. Worth declined to attend the review as subordinate to Twiggs

until the question was settled by the highest authority. This broke up

the review, and the question was referred to Washington for final

decision.

General Taylor was himself only a colonel, in real rank, at that time,

and a brigadier-general by brevet. He was assigned to duty, however, by

the President, with the rank which his brevet gave him. Worth was not

so assigned, but by virtue of commanding a division he must, under the

army regulations of that day, have drawn the pay of his brevet rank.

The question was submitted to Washington, and no response was received

until after the army had reached the Rio Grande. It was decided against

General Worth, who at once tendered his resignation and left the army,

going north, no doubt, by the same vessel that carried it. This kept

him out of the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma. Either the

resignation was not accepted, or General Worth withdrew it before action

had been taken. At all events he returned to the army in time to

command his division in the battle of Monterey, and served with it to

the end of the war.