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MY CONFESSION

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The

Recollections
of a Rogue

CONFESSION

Written and Illustrated by

SAMUEL E. CHAMBERLAIN

Introduction and Postscript by
ROGER BUTTERFIELD

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS
New York

NX'i CONFESSION

Printed in the United States of America

All rights in this book are reserved.

No part of the book may be used or reproduced
in any manner whatsoever without written per-
mission except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews. Foi
information address Harper & Brothers
49 East 33rd Street, New York 16, N. Y.

Library of Congress catalog card number: 56-10524

Contents

Introduction

I Leave Home

A Fire, a Fight and a Flight

III

Mutiny of the Alton Guards

Life in the Lone Star State

The March to the Rio Grande

My First Scout

VII

Experiences on Picket Duty

VIII

March to Parras

A Duel in a Bedroom

A Forced March

Massacre of the Cave

XII

Volunteer Cavalry

XIII

The Capture of Major Gaines’ Command

XIV

A Ghost Story

Reconnaissance to Hedionda

106

XVI

The Battle of Buena Vista

114

XVII

Night After Battle

129

XVIII

Yankee Girl in Mexico

133

XIX

Scout to Encarnacion

136

“Old Zack”

140

XXI

Ladies in Distress

144

XXII

A Ride for Life

156

vii

Contents

XXIII

Virginia Hospitality

168

XXIV

Tragedy of Patos

173

XXV

Massacre of the Waggon Train

175

XXVI

Scout to Zacatecas

179

XXVII

A Night at Victorines’ Casa

186

XXVIII

Reward of Merit

192

XXIX

The Picture That Cost a Life

200

XXX

Wrongs Revenged

204

XXXI

Carmeleita Veigho

210

XXXII

Guerillar Hunting

218

XXXIII

Military Executions

224

XXXIV

The Horse Fort

229

XXXV

Fiends and Fireworks

236

XXXVI

Expedition to California

239

XXXVII

A Night’s Adventure in Chihuahua

248

XXXVIII

The Marriage of Scotch Ellen

253

XXXIX

A Ranger’s Life in Sonora

255

Clanton’s Gang

267

XLI

Life with the Scalp Hunters

271

XLII

The Great Canyon of the Colorado

282

Postscript

299

Illustrations

Frontispiece: Facsimile of a page from the manuscript

These illustrations in full color will be found in a sixteen-page group

following page 86:

Colonel Harney’s Dragoons swimming the Rio Grande
A Mexican Lancer

Skirmish at the San Jeronimo Ranch

The Grand Plaza at Monterey

Street fighting m the Calle de Iturbide, Monterey

Paso el Diablo, three leagues from Parras

Massacre of the Cave

Lieutenant D. H. Rucker leading the First Dragoons
Buena Vista, February 23, 1847

Bivouac on the salt plains between Agua Nueva and Encarnacion
The sword proves to be trumps

Monterey from the Bishop’s Palace, and the shooting of a ladrone

The hanging of the Legion of San Patricio

Fiends and fireworks— the peace celebration

The marriage of ‘'Scotch Ellen” in the camp at Chihuahua

Mystery of the desert

These illustrations in black and white appear on the following pages.

Harpers Ferry, Virginia, December, 1844 13

Traveling companions 14

A slight unpleasantness settled 26

General Wool addressing the mutineers 33

General Wool’s division passing through the Grand Plaza,
San Antonio

Comanches on the warpath
The two beautiful sisters of Parras

Illustrations

The church of San Jose, Parras 77

Picket station in the Paso de los Pinos 99

Who goes there? 101

Alarm of the Volunteeis IK)

The Burning of Agiia Nueva 113

Santa Anna 117

The First Dragoons on picket between the two aimies US

The First Dragoons charging the Legion of San Patricio 125

The Arista cotton factory near Saltillo 134

General Zachary Taylor 141

Lucifer to the rescue 146

A duel to the death 150

Warm reception at the “Halfway House” 161

A fight with knives 191

Major Sherman trusses a guard 195

El Tuerto and his peon wife 211

Despair 219

Fiends 238

The “Great Western” as Landlady 242

The cathedral of Chihuahua 247

The presidio of Tucson, Sonora 259

Indian fight on the Little Colorado 277

Pima village with group of Indians 285

The rescue 293

Sam Chamberlain in Civil War uniform 298

Introduction

This book is a wonderfully fresh and exciting historical discovery.
To read Sam Chamberlain s private memoirs and look at his long
hidden pictures of the Mexican War is like stepping back at
once into another America. In the 1840's the United States was a
boisterous teen-ager among the nations, bursting with energy,
spoiling for a fight, careless of its wild oats, ever ready to gush
sentimental tears— and absolutely certain of its Manifest Destiny
to expand all over the map. Private Sam Chamberlain of the U.S.
Army embodied these qualities, expressed them in action and put
them on paper in pictures and words

He wrote his own title— '‘My Confession”— on page one of his
manuscript, and an amazing confession it is.

How he came to write this book, how it remained in obscurity
for nearly one hundred years and only recently came to light is
an interesting bit of history in itself Samuel Emery Chamber-
lain— his full name— was born November 27, 1829, at Center
Harbor, New Hampshire. His regular schooling must have been
brief but he read a great deal, even as a boy, and in later years
owned a large library. There is nothing in the record to explain his
artistic ability, though his father s occupation— stonecutter— sug-
gests the ancient Yankee skill of engraving death’s heads and
*weeping angels on village tombstones. When Sam was small the
family moved to Boston, where his father died in 1844. That was
the same year that fifteen-year-old Sam took off for Illinois to
begin the story which is told in his memoirs.

Mtj Confession

In 1854 he came back to Boston, where he soon married and
began raising a famib'. In lime he became a prominent citizen, a
holder of public office and a bre^•et brigadier general at the end
of the Civil War. But he found it hard to put aside the adventures
of his }'Outh and he began to compile— for his own amusement—
a very long, profuselv illustrated, handwritten account of the men
he had killed, the girls he had loved, the joyous fights and escapes
he had had during ten } ears of roaming and soldiering in Mexico
and the old wild West.

Most of Chamberlain’s narrative is devoted to his experiences
as a cavalryman in the Mexican War, 1846-1848. He carried a
sketchbook throughout the war and drew pictures as gifts for his
fellow soldiers and officers. When he sat down to wnite his private
book he embellished it with nearly one hundred large drawings,
brilliantly colored and full of action. He also decorated the writ-
ten pages of his text with colored initials and headings, pen-and-
ink vignettes and richly worked script, in the manner of a
medieval monk laboring over an illuminated manuscript.

The resulting document is both a work of art and a fascinat-
ing story of romantic shenanigans and war. The original manu-
script contains 380 pages and approximately 175,000 words,
written in a smooth-flowing, easy-to-read hand and bound in a
tall volume like a bookkeeper’s ledger. Chamberlain’s literary style
was obviously influenced by the melodramatic fiction which was
popular in the 1850’s and he may have started writing with
publication in mind. Later on, as a substantial family man wdth a
public reputation, he might well have decided against it. But he
was always proud of his book, made no secret of it within his
family, and occasionally showed it to outsiders. After his death,
in 1908, his widow made sure it would not be lost or destroyed.

Apparently the manuscript was all written between the years'
1855 and 1861, when Chamberlain went off again to fight in the
Civil War. It remained in the possession of his family until the
1940’s when it turned up in an antique shop in Connecticut. A

Introduction

Baltimore collector bought it and showed it, last year, to a Life
correspondent who had called on him about another assignment.
The reporter notified his editors in New York and Life purchased
the manuscript outright. A condensed version of the text and a
number of Chamberlain’s drawings were published in three Life
issues last summer.

The present book contains nearly five times as much of Cham-
berlain’s original text as the Life articles, and 55 of Sam’s best
pictures.

Its publication in this permanent form will be welcomed by
everyone interested in the American past. For general readers its
vivid writing and illustrations will bring to life the almost for-
gotten War with Mexico, which added California, Arizona and
New Mexico to the map of the United States and also fastened
Texas securely to the Union. Whatever the causes of that war—
and most historians now believe that both sides had a hand in
bringing it on— it was a resounding triumph for the tough little
American army, which was the underdog in numbers all the way
through the conflict. Chamberlain’s narrative describes in detail
the amazing victory of Buena Vista, and it probably tells more of
the life of the common soldier in Mexico than any other account.
Here are the casual violence and amours that filled the fighting
man’s time between battles; his feuds with his oflBcers, the brutal
horseplay and harsh discipline of the unruly army camp. Here too
is a startling revelation of the fraternizing between American in-
vaders and Mexican civilians, male and female, and the guerrilla
warfare which was the other side of the picture— a silent, secret
slaughter that went on endlessly behind the lines, and struck more
terror in American hearts than any one battle.

There is much here also that is not connected with the war,
‘about what life was like on the stagecoaches and steamboats, in
the Mississippi river tovms, the saloons of San Antonio and the
outlaw territory of the far Southwest a century ago.

Official records at the National Archives in Washington provide

'Slij Confession

proof that Sam was really there. These papers show that he en-
listed in the Illinois “Foot \''olunteers'’ at Alton on June 12, 1846,
when he was still onl\ sixteen years old. On September S, 1846,
he was discharged at San Antonio and signed up on the same day
for five years in the First Regiment of United States Dragoons,
listing his occupation as “Labourer” and swearing he w^as over
twenty-one. Attached to this document is a curious afiidavit signed
by his captain, Enoch Steen, which reads, in part:

I CERTIFY, ON HONOR, That I have minutely inspected the Recruit,
Samuel E. Chamberlain, previously to his enlistment, and that he was
entirely sober when enlisted. . . This Soldier has Grey eyes, Light

hair, Light Complexion, is Six feet. Two inches high.

The final entry on Sam’s Mexican War record is a return of the
First Dragoons which lists him as a “Deserter” under date of
March 22, 1849. By this time the regiment was in Los Angeles and
was losing men fast to the gold fever. Sam has a somewhat dif-
ferent story; he says he was honorably discharged from the Dra-
goons in Mexico, joined their expedition to California as a civilian
wagon master and ran away to a band of outlaws because an
oflScer confiscated his sketchbook and chained him to a tree! But
he certainly did desert, somewhere and sometime, and as far as
the War Department is concerned he is a deserter to this day.

In dealing with matters of this kind the editors of Harper’s have
very properly let Sam tell his story in his own words and his own
way, so long as no serious violence to history was involved. It is
quite obvious that there are many inaccuracies in his original
manuscript. His urge to glorify himself, on the battlefield and in
the boudoir, led him into exaggeration and even invention. He
was careless or ignorant about names, dates and other details,
including his use of the Spanish language and English grammar
and punctuation.

Some of his more serious errors and outright fictional passages
have been omitted from this book. Others have been corrected in

Introduction

the text, or through the use of footnotes. Still others, of a minor
nature, have been allowed to stand. This applies to his eccentric
spellings, and also to the use of words like “greaser,” which are
just as offensive to most Americans today as they are to Mexicans.
Such expressions remain in the interest of preserving the flavor of
the author’s original narrative.

It should be pointed out, also, that Chamberlain was no more
disparaging toward the Mexican population than he was to the
disorderly American volunteer troops who swarmed over northern
Mexico, pillaging and mistreating the inhabitants in defiance of
orders and common decency. Sam was often assigned to round
up these hoodlums, using violence when necessary. His memoirs
contain as much about American “atrocities” as they do about the
Mexican variety, and he expressed admiration for Mexican brav-
ery and patriotism.

If his accounts of the fighting come out one-sided, that is quite
understandable. Sam was an American soldier in a hostile foreign
land, and this is his personal story.

Roger Butterfield

iranciscb;

03IX3W

opa<o;Q;^

[I]

I Leave Home

The day was cold and drear in December, 1844, when I bid
good-by to my friends at the Worcester Depot, in the good city of
Boston, and embarked on the train for Norwich en route for the
great West. I was in my sixteenth year, full of life, yet felt sad
and downhearted enough at leaving home for years if not forever.
W’hat a change the last few months had made in my prospect for
life! From a promising member of the Baptist Church in Bowdoin
Square, and a prospective Theological Student at the Northamp-
ton Institute, I was now, to quote the language of the Rev. R. W.
Cushman, of the above Church, “worse than the Devil!”

What had produced this change? Who was to blame? Well I
confess I was to blame, I was the cause. I had been strictly brought
up under religious influences, my reading confined to the Bible,
and the usual books of a Sabbath School Library, and at fourteen
I considered it my duty to become a member of the Church. At
fifteen I unfortunately for my religious career joined the Junior
Class at Sheridan’s Gymnasium, on Washington Street, and here
under the tender instructions of “Belcher” Kay and “Prof.” Joe
Long in sparring, and “Monsieur”’ Huri in the stick and small
sword, I soon developed into a muscular Christian. And alas, such
is the pernicious influence of the ungodly that one night in a
' set-to with the Professor, when I succeeded in getting one in on
his “nob,” I felt more elated than if I had just been ordained over
a flourishing Church. Then I got hold of Scott’s immortal works.
What a glorious new world opened before me, how I devoured

My Confession

their pages and oh how I longed to emulate his heroes! I took
pride in all athletic exercises and was anxious for a chance to use
my strength and skill in defence of oppressed beauty.

One Sunday on my way to Church I was insulted by a rough,
and on my remonstrating with him for using profane language on
the Holy Sabbath, he with a fearful oath struck at me. Now while
I was ready to forgive the sinner for his insult to me, I felt it was
my Christian duty to punish him for his blasphemy. With my right
I neatly stopped his blow, and landed a stinger on his “potatoe
trap” with my left “duke,” drawing the “Claret” and “sending him
to the grass.” The Rowdy got up and ran down Chardon Street,
and I turned to cross over, when I saw one of our good Deacons
with his two lovely daughters passing. From their looks I knew
they had witnessed the little unpleasantness. This alarmed me at
first, but when I caught sight of a merry twinkle in the good Dea-
con’s eyes and an admiring glance from the young Ladies, I
felt safe.

Other members had seen the incident, and the matter was
brought before the Church. I was cited before a committee, where
I somewhat astonished the worthies by my plea that “I consciously
believed that I had acted as a good Christian should act, and for
the interest of the Church!” My good friends appeared for me and
I was cleared of all sinful intention in this wholesome rebuke to a
sinner.

Without egotism I must confess, however painful it may be to
my feelings, that I had always been rather a favorite with the
young Sisters, but this little aflEair gave the darlings such inflated
ideas of my prowess that I was in great demand as an escort for
them home on Prayer Meeting nights, monthly concerts, etc.
Among the many beautiful girls, there were two who were al-
lowed by all to be pre-eminent, yet of different styles. One, a
splendid brunette with magnificent black eyes and hair, Miss
Annah D — a, was all the world to me. The other, a blue-eyed
beauty with the face of an Angel, was a most arrant coquette,

I Leave Home

Miss Caroline W — , who caused more heart burning among the
pious young brethren, than all the rest of the Sisters united. Our
worthy minister’s son, Austin S. Cushman, was the favorite one,
yet she would flirt in the most angelic manner with many others.
The minister took sides with his son and gave me a severe lecture
for going home with the flirt, though there was a perfect under-
standing between her, Miss Annah, and myself. I did not take
him very kindly and by too free expression of my thoughts made
him my enemy.

My lessons at the Gymnasium continued, and I there formed
new associates who were not exactly of the same religious princi-
ples as those of Bowdoin Square Church, but good fellows never-
theless.

My religious record was culminating to a crisis, and soon the
bolt fell. One night at Singing School the Singing master, David
Paine, who was also Organist for the Church, was ungentlemanly
enough to call out the name of my adored one, for whispering!!
The sensitive, high-toned beauty, overcome at the painful insult,
burst into tears. I first rushed to her assistance, but finding the
Sisters were assisting her, I turned on the inhuman author of her
woe, and declared “that no gentleman would thus insult a lady.”

His answer was to order me to leave the Vestry and School! On
my dechning to do so, he proceeded to put me out. Shades of
Belcher Kay forbid! “Harry of the Wynd,” Ivanhoe, Don Quixote,
inspire me to meet this shameless oppressor of girls’ rights! He
clinched me, and then all the long pent-up Knight errantry and
the Seven Champions of Christendom, consolidated in me, burst,
and Paine lay prostrate, bleeding, almost annihilated. The tears of
my loved one was revenged in blood.

But the end was not yet. I had struck a most romantic attitude
and exclaimed “Time!” when I was besett by foes, and though I
fought like another Black Knight yet I was overcome by numbers
and dragged out. My Lady Love brought out my personal effects,
and we retreated to her paternal mansion. Her governor thanked

My Coiifc.mon

me warmlv for resenting the insult to his darling, and that night
in the hall m\’ beautiful brunette r ow’d to be mine and mine alone
forever. So with swelled face, black er e and cut lip, I returned her
vows, and home in a most blis.sful dream of happiness.

This was too glaring an act of mine to let pass and I was again
summoned before the outraged Church. Some of my friends, the
good Deacon Wilbur, Cah'in Ha\'en and a few others, worked
hard defending me but I was expelled, and then my good Shep-
herd, Rev. R. W. Cushman, pronounced me “as worse than the
Devil.” Coming from such authority, what an excellent character
for a boy not yet sixteen!

One consolation was left me, the love of my beautiful bru-
nette, my own Queen of Hearts. I called at her house. She received
me coldly, but explained that though she still loved me and always
should, yet her parents had forbid her seeing me after this inter-
view, and she must respect their wishes, and she vow’d that
though she would obey them in this, she would never marry
another.

Thus I lost confidence in woman’s love, and faith in religion,
and went forth shunned as if I was another Cain.

I had at this time formed the acquaintance of Bob Jones, scenic
artist at the National Theatre, which was now seeing its palmy
days, and of his lovely daughter Fanny, danseuse, who was all the
rage of the City Bloods. I was soon good friends with the charm-
ing Fanny and was her regular escort home from the Theatre; she
was as charming in mind as in person, in character above sus-
picion. I found myself a general favorite with all outside the
Church— with the “pugs” I was looked upon as a promising future
member, the Thespians found in me a useful friend, the Bo-
hemians of the Press were beholden to me for many a sensational
item, and the Ladies— well I was a boy of a man’s proportion,
muscles like steel, not bad looking, and very modest!

I felt unhappy, reckless, and tried in the pleasures of my new
life to forget the old, yet amid all the sensual enjoyments of the

I Leave Home

times, I often felt contrite and sighed for my former career, and
then one kind word would have reclaimed me, but that word was
never spoken. In December, 1844, 1 made up my mind to go West
and hunt up an Uncle of mine, one Adam Chamberlain, who
lived somew'here in Illinoise. So after this long digression I go
back to where I started in the cars bound for Norwich, with a
sinking pain at heart.

The train left the Worcester Depot at 4 o’clock and it seemed to
me as if I had left behind all that was worth living for. All the
world was before me, but it had no allurements for me. Oh, how
I longed to be back as I was a year before! If I could only live my
life over again, I thought, and I not yet sixteen.

As we dashed across the Back Bay, the snow commenced to fall,
and the would-be hero fell fast asleep.

At Norwich I awoke and embarked on the Steamer John W.
Richmond for New York. The Sound was full of floating ice, which
with a heavy snowstorm made the passage anything but a pleasant
one. Several times we run onto huge cakes of ice, jarring the Boat
from stem to stern. The bell was kept ringing, the steam whistle
shrieking, the Ladies would rush out of their State Rooms in
fright; there was but little sleeping on the Boat that night.

In New York I took a “Cab” for the Jersey Ferry, rode up one
street and down another and found myself close to the pier from
where I started, the Ferry being the next Ship. For this little
experience in New York style, the cabby only charged me the sum
of two dollars! I thought it dear at fifty cents, and said that was
all that I would give. He threatened to keep my trunk, whereupon
I caught hold of one handle as he hung on to the other. As he
pulled back, I gave a shove, when in order to save himself from
falling he let go, and I gained the Ferry Boat in safety.

That night I stopped in Baltimore and then took the cars for
Cumberland via Harpers Ferry. Owing to some six inches of snow
on the track our progress was very slow even with the assistance
of an extra engine. We arrived at Harpers Ferry about noon; the

Mij Confession

dinner bells of the Hotels were ringing, and the conductors
shouted, “Twenty minutes for dinner.” The men rushed for the
dining rooms, paying fifty cents for the fare. The Landlord was a
long time carving and ser\*ing, and not more than half a dozzen
had commenced to eat when the engine bell rung; the cry was
“all aboard.” This “trick upon travellers” was too palpable to pass,
even with me, and when a jolly red-faced old gentleman cried out,
“Help yourselves gentlemen!” I obeyed orders with a hearty good
will, by sequestering a roast chicken and a apple Pie. In spite of
the remonstrance of the out-flanked Landlord, the table was re-
lieved of all its eateables, and we ate our dinner in the cars with
our lady passengers to grace the feast, and a right jolly time we
had of it. I shared my plunder with two elderly Ladies, who con-
tributed by producing a well filled lunch box and a pocket com-
panion of good brandy.

We reached Cumberland at dark; a glowing fire in the Parlor
and a hot supper set us all to rights and prepared us for a cold
night’s ride in the mountains, this being the Terminus of the
B.&O.R.R. Although there was two foot of snow on the ground
the Stages that run to Wheeling were on wheels, without buffalo
robes, nothing but straw to keep our limbs from freezing; the
Thermometer was down to 0°.

I secured a back seat, and the centre one, with a man on one
side and a lady on the other. I offered the latter my seat as being
warmer but it was declined. It was so dark inside that I could
form no idea whether she was old or young, handsome or ugly, but
I was certain she was not one of my brandy drinking acquaint-
ances of the dinner, as they had concluded to stop in Cumberland
overnight, and when we left they were at their fourth glass of hot
Peach and Honey.

Wrapping myself up in my fur lined overcoat I tried to sleep,
but it was so bitter cold I could not rest. I would drop into an
imeasy slumber, disturbed by honid dreams, and would awake
numb with cold. The miserable night ended at last, and when the

Harpers Ferry, Virginia, December, 1844

early dawn gave us light I gave an anxious look at my bowers.
The right one was a two hundred and fifty pound Negro, his breath
a villainous compound of whiskey, tobacco and onions. I gave him
a shove, when a gentle sigh drew my attention to my left. By Venus!
What a contrast! A young and lovely girl, richly and warmly
clothed in velvets and furs, was reclining her head on my shoulder,
fast asleep. I got rid of my Sable friend on my right, and devoted
my whole attention to my friend on my left. I found it necessary,
to preserve her equilibrium, to put my arm around her, and we
passed over many a mile when a sudden jolt awoke the beauty,
who looked at me with surprise and apologized for the freedom
she took in using my shoulder, and I for being so familiar as to
Tiave my arm where it was, as I deem’d it necessary to keep her
from falling. We were soon chatting away as if we had been
acquainted all our lives, but then it don’t take long to be intimate
when the parties have slept together!

Mij Confession

She informed me she was the daughter of the late Senator
Fulton of Arkansas, who died recently in Washington; his remains
had been shipped from New York for New Orleans.' She said that

Traveling companions

she had been three terms to the Georgetown Female Seminary,
and was now on her way home with a gentleman, her guardian,
who she pointed out— the red faced old gentleman who gave
orders to secure our dinner at Harpers Ferry. She was a great
talker, and her eyes that were jet black, how they would sparkle,'

^ Senator William Savin Fulton, appointed secretary and governor of Arkansas
Territory by President Jackson; elected to U.S. Senate when Arkansas was ad-
mitted as a state.

I Leave Home

dance and flash as she run on! How fast her questions camel
Before we stopped to Breakfast I knew her whole history, and she
as much of mine as I chose to tell. She was sorry I was a Yankee,
but when I assured her that I had never made a wooden Nutmeg
or peddled a wooden Clock in my life she thought better of me.
She was some three years older than myself and when she found
this out, she commenced to patronize me, most fearfully.

After a hearty Breakfast, of bacon and eggs, broiled chicken,
corn and wheat bread, butter, honey and coffee, we again started
on our way. I made an objection to having his Sable majesty ride
inside, but I was verdant to Southern customs. A young Virginian,
the master of the Negro, got into a rage and swore, “that the boy
was worth twelve hundred dollars, and doggone his buttons if he
would allow him to catch his death a’ cold for all the cursed
Yankees that ever wore Store Clothes.”

I did not object to his care for his property but the contemptu-
ous allusion to myself rather excited me. I felt as if Plymouth
Rock, Bunker Hill and the Frog Pond weighed on my shoulders. I
had taken this representative of the Southern Chivalry by the
collar when the voice of my beauty made me recollect that there
was ladies present. What a little tempest she was! She declared
that the Negro should not ride in the coach! that his master was a
mean white, that if the Negro caught cold and died she would pay
for him, but ride in the same coach he should not. Her guardian
laughed at the rage of his ward, when her violent rage subsided
in hysterical tears. But her point was gained, the Virginian, with
a savage look at me, took passage with his chattel in another
coach.

We had the back seat all to ourselves, and as her jolly old
Guard’y gave her a heavy lap robe, we got along very comfortably.
Coming to a long steep hill, most of the passengers got out to
walk; there being a strong crust on the snow, the walking was
excellent. She gave me an introduction to Mr. Wyman, her
guardian. At first he was as crusty as the snow, but gradually

Ml/ Confession

thawed and produced a bottle of Cordial, and after we each took
a drink, he showed more cordiality. He soon got tired, left us and
resumed his scat in the coach. Her ladwslhp’s tongue ran faster
than ever. She described her home. The imaginar\’ home of Claude
Melotte paled before her description of her Paradise on the
Arkansas, of the Cotton fields, the hundred slaves and she the sole
heiress of all. During this walk she often said, "It’s too bad you are
a yankee; how I wish you were a Southerner.”

The day passed pleasanth' enough, walking up hills and riding
down, with a glorious dinner and supper at v^ayside Inns. At the
place where we got supper, Mr. Wyman purchased a heavy quilt
for bis fiery little charge, and when we took our seats for another
night’s ride, we were well prepared for it. With our furs, robe and
quilt, the back seat all to ourselves, and pressed in each other’s
arms, we thought the weather had wonderfully moderated; we
felt no cold, in fact we were all m a glow, and if our lips did meet
in blissful kisses, it could not be wondered at. We at last fell
asleep and did not awake until the Stage drew up at the door of
the United States Hotel in Wheeling at 3 o’clock in the morning.
The passengers were so numb and cramped with cold that most of
them had to be carried into the Hotel.

Mr. Wyman, the guardian, was undeniably drunk. I am sorry to
record it, but the truth compels me to make the statement. His
bottle was empty. He tried to sing, made a failure, and sank into
a chair and was soon asleep. I booked the names, had him carried
up to his room, and returned to look after my fair charge. The
office room was crowded as other Stages had arrived, a glorious
soft coal fire blazed up in an open grate, the jovial Landlord and
assistants were busy attending to the various calls and concocting
mysterious hot drinks. Colored Servants were carrying trunks and
showing the sleepy ones to their rooms.

My charmer was seated in an easy chair, her eyes fixed on the
glowing coals, and as I watched her brilliant features lit up by
fire I thought I never saw a more charming girl, and my loyalty

I Leave Home

to my loved one at home was seriously tried. When a colored girl
came to show her her room, I assisted her to rise, when with a silly
laugh she said to my astonishment, “Don’t leave me, love, come
with me." I saw that she had a touch of the same complaint that
troubled her guardian; in fact she had taken too much strong
hot whiskey Punch, and the heat of the room sent it to her head.
To avoid a scene I went with her and the girl to her room door,
and then I was obliged to tear myself away.

Next morning Miss Fulton did not make her appearance at the
Breakfast Table, but that afternoon we walked out and she was as
loving as ever. The Ohio River was frozen up solid; no Boats had
passed for a week. The town was full of strangers, the Hotels
crowded, the price of board gone up, and no signs of a thaw.

Some few days after this I and my enchantress took a long
walk on the Hills. She was more quiet than usual, and after walk-
ing on some time in silence, she remarked, “We are going back to
Baltimore in a few days. You will accompany us of course!”

I hesitated and her eyes blazed up with sudden fury and she
broke out with, “You must and shall come! I always have my
own way and I say you shall go with me and live with me!” and
threw her arms around me and sobbed like a child.

Somehow this violent exhibition of passion killed all my tender
feelings for her and I tried to make her understand that it was
impossible, that I must go on to Illinoise, that I was a mere boy
not sixteen, poor and without friends, with nothing but his own
strength to fight the battles of life, while she was a young lady
of nineteen, rich and with a host of friends; the thing was not
possible. I might as well have reasoned with a whirlwind. She
fairly raved, declared I did not love her, then she would call me
a “mean Yankee” and say she “hated me, her Guard’y should kill
me,” and the next moment declare she would marry me and go
on to Illinoise with me.

I almost consented; visions of returning to Boston with a rich
heiress as my wife, the sensation it would make, flittered before

Mtj Confession

me. I really liked the girl, I blamed myself for the part I had
taken, but I thought of the one so dear to me at home, of my desire
to go into and see tire \\’orld. Whth my arm around her waist I
led her to a seat and then after long and tender conveisation I
solemnly swore that I would join her as soon as I could after
\’isiting Illinoise. She became satisfied, we \ owed eternal lo\ e and
constancy, ratified our engagement with many a kiss, and I in-
tended fully to keep my contract to the letter and spirit. But,
Yhomme propose, ef Dieu dispose.

Two days after, they started back to Baltimore to proceed from
there by the Southern route. Our parting took place in the privacy
of her ovTi room, and we considered ourselves Man and Wife.
As she rode away I regretted that I had not gone with them. I had
Paradise open before me and I had refused to enter. I was per-
fectly miserable, and mad with myself. I wrote as agreed on to
Baltimore, stated all my feelings and regrets, and five days after
I got three loving and tender epistles, but not in answer as she
had not received mine vet.

[II]

A Fire, a Fight and a Flight

About the middle of January King Sirius relinquished his grip on
the river and a Boat from Pittsburgh made its appearance, a stern
wheeler or “Wheelbarrow” as thev are called on the western
waters. The river was full of floating ice and our wheel got badly
damaged, rendering our passage slow and tedious, eight days
being spent in the passage to Cincinnati. I was delayed ten days
more before there was a Boat for St. Louis, from where I took
passage on the Alton packet Tioga.

It was a Saturday night when we reached Alton, a plank was
run out, and a fearful voice told me to jump! I stood on the plank
hesitating, when the same rough voice exclaimed, “Come, don’t
stop all night! Jump.” Seeing the faint glim of a light far below, I
sprang into the darkness and landed in three foot of the Illinoise
mud. I looked up; the Boat had already cast off and was moving
away in the blackness, her furnace fires shining on the figures of
men on the boiler deck, clothing them in bright red.

I seemed hopelessly stuck when a light flashed before my eyes,
a hand was laid on my shoulder and a voice enquired, “Franklin
Sir?” I said “yes,” was hauled out, and found my trunk on a wheel-
barrow high up on the bank in charge of another man. My friend
with the lantern assisted me along, for I carried so much real
estate on my boots I could not have walked without his support.

No other unfortunate having landed, I was the sole prize cast
ashore so the porters of the Franklin House crowed considerable
over the less fortunate ones of the Eagle and Alton Hotels. Words

Mtj Cojifcasion

led to blows and poor me, co\-ered witli nuid, cold, \set, and
hungry, had to set down on the wheelbarrow, which was as
mudd^’ as nwself, while the Altonites fought it out. It was about
9 P.M., quite dark, no light but the one lantern, which had been
given to me at the commencement of the fray. The inhabitants
came pouring out, dogs rushed through the street, barking and
fighting, oaths and curses fill’d the air. I became uneasy at this
slight misunderstanding and when a red-headed offender came to
me I could resist the temptation no longer, but launched out with
my left, caught him under the ear, sending him to mud. Somehow
the fight stopped as if this w'as all that they had been waiting for;
we were victors.

The landlord of the Franklin House informed me that mv uncle,
Adam Chamberlain, lived some five miles back from the town at
a place called Monticello on Skerrett’s Prairie. I remained here
all night, had my clothes and boots cleaned of mud and to my sur-
prise the appreciating Landlord refused any pay! “No,” he said,
“the man that can lick Jim Melchor at one blow can stop with me
a month, and not cost him a red.”

I got full directions how to find my uncle’s place, and after
breakfast I started. I called at the Post Office, found twelve letters
from my adored one, nine from home. I went up what is called
the Coal Branch and after getting into the woods I sat down on a
log and opened my letters. They were dated from various places,
the last three from her home. How glowing with the warm lan-
guage of love and devotion their pages were! But the last one
contained a sentence I could not understand; it read, “I sometimes
think our acquaintance was but a blissful dream! yet so happy, so
full of ecstatic joy that I would never wish to awake. You should
have married me there. You should be here with me. Here is your
place! Am I not your wife in the sight of God! Come at once or
I am lost to you forever!”

I read this over and over again; its contents half crazed me!
What could I do? I was almost out of money! I resolved to tell

A Fire, a Fight and a Flight

my uncle a part of my story, obtain a loan suflBcient to carry me
through, and fly to rejoin my treasure.

I proceeded on, following the Branch for a guide, and soon
came to a clearing of some two hundred acres with a large Barn
painted red, a small log house and numerous outbuildings. I
knew at once this was my Uncle s farm. I knocked but received
no answer, the latch string was out so I pulled and went in; no
one was present to bid me welcome. The house was built of hevra
logs, neatly fitted together; there was three rooms on the ground
floor and everything was neat and in excellent order. I went out
and took a survey of the grounds, the huge frame Barn, with
cattle, horses, sheep, hogs and numerous fowl. There was a fine
peach orchard. Smoke house, and various buildings for storage.
Returning to the house, I found a file of the Saint Louis Republi-
can, read until I fell asleep, and did not awake until late in the
afternoon and found the family, returned from Church, standing
around me. After I made myself known I was received I thought
very coolly.

My Uncle was a man ‘of some forty five, quite gray with Avarice
speaking out from eveiy line of his sharp Yankee face. When I
saw this my heart felt like lead; it killed all thoughts of a loan.
The family consisted of Uncle and Wife, two boys and one girl.
The oldest boy, Augustavus, was a year and a half older than
myself, and was as rough a cub as ever went unlicked.

Uncle owed my family $500 and after supper I stated my case
and asked for a part of the debt, due for years. He denied it toto.
I then requested a loan suflBcient to go to Arkansas with, oflFering
any interest he might ask. He only laughed at me and insulted
my poverty. Oh Grace! how I repented then in agony at not
taking your advice. I went to bed and cried myself to sleep.

My Uncle made me an offer to remain with him until I was
twenty-one— five years. I was to work on the farm six months, the
other six attend the Academy in Upper Alton, and when I was
free he was to give me eighty acres and some stock. I said nothing

My Confession

but mentally resohed to be in Arkansas if I could raise the
money— how I did not hardly care, for go I mu.st. In two weeks
I had, no matter how, some dollars and had made up my
mind to start b\' the next Boat, when I receix'C'd a letter that
destroy'ed all my hopes. Grace wrote that she was to be married in
May and start for Europe! She said .she loved me as dear and
fondly as eyer, that it was all my own fatilt, and in the next line
said she hated me and before she consented to be the wife of the
man she was to marryg she had told him all and he had sworn to
kill me on sight! What a change in two months! But my dream
was over.

Monticello Seminary wms a large building built of Limestone
on Skerrett’s Prairie, about two miles from Uncle’s house. In this
delightful institution there was in residence some forty young
ladies, the daughters of wealthy Missourians and Kentuckians.
The only church service in the neighborhood was in the school
room of the building which I attended regular every Sunday.
I had quieted down at sixteen, all the joy and romance of Me
departed as I thought forever.

I now went to work in a listless, mechanical sort of a way. The
farming implements seemed to lose all their strength and dura-
bility in my hands. Axes, hoes, pitchforks &c, broke, carts and
waggons came apart or smashed up in the most unaccountable
manner, to Uncle’s great grief and indignation! Finding my experi-
mental farming did not pay, my Uncle asked me to break to the
saddle some colts of which he had a large number. If I succeeded
I could have my choice for my own! Though I knew that he was
in hopes that I would get my neck broke, yet I accepted the offer
with joy. I always was a dear lover of Horses and I entered
heartily into my new employment and the gloomy condition of
my mind was gradually dispelled by the healthy exercise. I was
more or less on horseback every day, riding around the country
having a good time generally.

One day as I approached the Seminary I observed a black

A Fire, a Fight and a Flight

smoke pouring out the glass observatory on the roof. I dash’d up
to the building and found all was confusion. The principal was
absent, there was no man about the place. The teachers with a
few of the oldest pupils were at work removing some of the
lighter furniture and trunks out of the house; dense smoke filled
the Halls and staircases; the frightened inmates thought the
whole house was on fire. I cried out that the fire was in the roof
and seeing a row of Fire Buckets hanging in the Hall, I threw
them down, rushed with two to the well, filled them, and run up
the Stairs, asking one of the teachers to see they were all filled
and brought up. The door leading to the observatory was opened,
the smoke rolling out thick and fast, a fire blazing. I recommended
opening the doors and windows below to get rid of the suffocating
smoke, forming a line of girls to pass Buckets, putting the stout
servant girls at the well to man the windlass. All this was done,
water came freely and after a fifteen minutes’ battle, the fire was
conquered.

I remained to supper at the Seminary. The principal had re-
turned, the fire was discussed; how it originated no one could
surmise. I suggested that it might have been caused by the rays of
the sun, the glass of the dome bringing them to a focus as a
sun-glass. We adjourned to the scene of the fire and found in the
heavy glass plate a “bull’s eye,” which was undoubtedly the cause
of the mischief. A fine astronomical instrument badly injured,
some Books and papers destroyed, and the woodwork somewhat
burnt was the extent of the damage.

This acquaintance, commenced amidst fire and water, soon
ripened into warm friendships and, as the season advanced and
the walking became good, some of the girls would walk over to
our house, when I would escort them home through the woods.
All this was very pleasant, but Uncle did not like it. He, with a
eye to business, wished for his Gus to do the gallanting, and took
care to inform them that I was a poor relative, depending on him
for support.

My Confession

About this time Uncle committed an act of meanness that would
have shamed an Indian. I done considerable work about the place,
and I always fed the Cattle before going to bed. One night I had
put the lantern down on the Barn floor and climbed up on the
haymow to throw down some hay when a heavy groan coming
apparently from under my feet saluted my ears. With pitchfork
poised to stab, I cried out, “Who’s there?” A dark something rose
up out of the hay and a trembling Negro voice begged me not to
hurt him. I made him descend the ladder and at the point of the
pitchfork marched him into the house. He proved to be a runaway
slave from Missouri. Aunt got him a hearty supper, Uncle took
him back to the Bam to sleep and promised to take him some
distance north next night. He remained hid all next day, and at
dark Uncle with Gus hitched up a mare to a covered waggon and
started off with the fugitive.

I felt that I had done my uncle injustice; that there was a kind
spot in his heart. I supposed he was taking the poor fellow towards
Canada and liberty. But this renegade Yankee and hypocritical
Church member had gained the confidence of the trembling slave,
found out his owner and was driving through the American “Bot-
tom” to cross over to Saint Louis and deliver the man who had
ate bread and salt under his roof to the mercies of his master, to
stripes and torture, receiving $500 of blood money for his treach-
ery! This I found out by overhearing the father and son disputing
about the division of the blood money. I felt bad for the part I had
taken in the affair, and my good Aunt suffered greatly in mind at
the atrocious act of her husband. She was a kind motherly woman,
but lived in constant fear of the tyrant who never spoke one
word of kindness, but always found fault with everything she
done.

With all my amusements I performed a great deal of hard work
on the farm. I ploughed, planted, made fences, mauled rails, and I
convinced my guardian that there was some good in me. I grew
hearty and ruddy, and in the glory of my strength I felt anxious

A Fire, a Fight and a Flight

for somebody to pitch into, and this gratification I soon had. I had
finished ploughing a lot, had put up my horses and was going
towards the house when Gus ordered me to go and do some job
about the Bam. I was surprised at this unusual assumption of
authority, but discovered the cause in the appearance of several
of the young ladies from Monticello. The Cub evidently wanted
the coast clear for his own advancement. I went in, washed, and
as the girls had come to spend the evening with Aunt (so they
said) I went in for a good time generally.

During our frolicking Gus hung around and made himself very
disagreeable by his insulting remarks, but we gave as little notice
to him as possible. Two of the plumpest of the girls, with sleeves
tucked up. Aunt’s aprons on, were helping that good old soul pre-
pare Supper, laughing and chatting like the madcaps that they
were. I with three had been milking, and was coming into the
yard in front of the house where Uncle was seated smoking, when
the Cub called me a “d — d Beggar.” I deposited the milk in the
house and walked out again when the fool renewed the insult and
struck me. Quick as a flash my left shot out, catching him on the
breast and sending him to the ground with a heavy thud. A scream
from all the girls made me look round just in time. My precious
uncle was rushing on me with an uplifted axe. To avoid the blow,
wrench the murderous weapon from his hands, with a blow from
my fist to lay him beside his motionless son, was but the work
of a moment. I felt all on fire. With one foot on his chest I
brandished the axe to brain him, the girls shrieked and some
fainted, when my better nature prevailed and throwing the horrid
weapon away I sat down on a log and cried like a child.

Aunt helped up her husband and son and they disappeared in
the house, while the girls crowded around me. Cousin Elizabeth
brought out the girls’ things and we started for the Seminary.
I stayed there all night and in the morning Timothy Turner, Post
Master, rode over to Uncle’s, got my Trunk and one hundred dol-
lars, the price, as Uncle said, for my Colt. Bidding farewell to all

A slight unpleasantness settled

my dear friends, I drove to Alton, where I embarked on the Luella
for Saint Louis.

A Cousin of mine from Ohio, Bradley Chamberlain, I found
here in business as Agent for Laflins Powder Co. I obtained em-
ployment driving a light waggon making deliveries of gunpowder
to the Steam Boats. I remained here but a few weeks, then with
one hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket I was off for New
Orleans. I had at this time acquired a fondness for strong drink
and on the Boat down I drank freely; in New Orleans I indulged
in all kinds of dissipation, and my money was soon gone. I now
led a precarious life for several months. I had befriended a French
girl who kept a Coffee Stand in the French market and she insisted
on my sharing her bed and board, when I could not do better.

I became acquainted with a Gentleman, the Warden of the

A Fire, a Fight and a Flight

Penitentiary at Baton Rouge, who made me an offer to do the
clerical duty of that establishment. I accompanied him to Baton
Rouge, which lays about one hundred miles above New Orleans.
My duty was easy, with good pay and excellent board, and I made
up my mind that I was all right at last and done my best to give
satisfaction to my employer, and I succeeded.

I had a fine saddle horse placed at my disposal, and when
the weather permitted I took horseback excursions into the
interior.

One day I was riding up the river on the Levee when I saw a
horsewoman approaching at speed, on a road at right angles with
the embankment. A cry for help reached me; the lady’s horse was
running away, direct for the river! Driving spurs into my steed, I
dashed on, and fortunately reached her just as her frightened
horse struck the levee. I caught her around the waist with my
right arm, when being overbalanced I fell to the ground drag-
ging her with me. At the same moment her horse plunged into
the swollen Mississippi.

The lady, or rather girl, was not hurt, but was quite frightened
and faintish. She soon recovered her self-possession and poured
forth her thanks in the prettiest manner possible. She was very
“petite,” a brunette, with such eyelashes! so long! so black! how
they made my heart thump as her eyes glanced from under them!
I was about to pour forth my joy in being instrumental jn saving
so much loveliness when a little old gentleman rode up, sprang
off his horse and clasped the girl in his arms, talking with the
greatest volubility in French. He then thanked me in English for
saving his wifel

His wife! That beautiful fairy -like being wedded to that old
dried-up man of sixty! Impossible! They both noticed the look of
astonishment and disgust that I could not prevent, and while the
richest crimson suffused her cheeks, a look of bitter hatred spread
over his apelike features.

The next day as I was engaged at the landing a servant rode up

My Confession

to me and handed me a note. It was from the Mistress instead of
the Master. She wished to see her preserver (so she called me)
and described a cabin where she would meet me at 5 p.m. I was
punctual at the rendezvous; an old Negress came out of the cabin
and telling me to go in, led my horse away. I entered and was
clasped in the arms of the impulsive little beauty, who was more
like a child than a wife.

When she became calmer, she ga\'e me her history. Her married
name was Stella Laboyce. She was the only child of wealthy
Creole parents, and she had remained in a Convent in New
Orleans until she was seventeen, when she w^as taken home and
Old Laboyce was introduced to her as her future husband. Being
pleased to be released from the restrictions of Convent life, and
being totally ignorant of the true relations of married life, she had
wedded in joy, but to awake to the sad reality of being the slave
to the capricious whims of an old lustful tyrant.

Poor little Bird! We were both young, loving and passionate,
and that humble hut became a Paradise to us. Before we parted
we made arrangements to meet at the same place as often as we
could; for three months we were as happy as mortals can be in
this world. Old Laboyce appeared to have forgotten my existence.
We formed a plan to elope to the North, and without waiting for
the tie to be severed that bound her to Laboyce we would marry
and be happy for life!

What foolish blissful dreams! One afternoon I was busy at the
lower landing when my employer, Mr. Hays, rode up and gave me
the startling information that old Laboyce had been at the Peni-
tentiary with a half a dozzen armed men inquiring after the
“Yank,” and swearing to have his life. Hays gave me his horse and
a pocket Derringer, and told me to put for some steamboat land-
ing below. I was off none too soon, for the old Frenchman and his
riders caught sight of me, and with fierce cries increased their
speed. Taking the Lower Levee road, I soon lost sight of my pur-
suers; the smoke stacks of a steamer appeared over the trees— she

A Fire, a Fight and a Flight

was at a small wharf wooding up. I rode down to her just as they
were casting off, turned my horse loose, and sprang aboard as she
left the shore.

I found myself on the White Cloud, one of the great ''brag-
boats” of the Mississippi, and bound for Saint Louis. We soon
came in sight of my pursuers, who waved a handkerchief and
hailed us. Fortunately a huge Steamer came puffing around a
bend, making for us. The captain recognized her as a new boat—
the Saint Anthony— built expressly to beat the White Cloud. In-
stead of stopping, our fires were increased, black smoke rolled out
of the chimneys and we dash'd through the water at great speed.
Our opponent replied with her steam whistle in notes of defiance
and vast volumes of dense smoke; it became a race and we flew
by Baton Rouge with the Saint Anthony half a mile astern.

My mind was no longer on the race, but on her whom I was so
cowardly deserting. Now I could see the huge cypress tree near
the hut where we had enjoyed so many happy hours. Oh, how I
wished that Stella was the companion of my flight! How I re-
gretted that I had not eloped with her before the denouement
took place! But such thoughts were idle, I felt we were separated
forever.

We gradually dropped the Saint Anthony, and in four days and
a half we lay at the levee at Saint Louis.

[Ill]

Mutiny of the Alton Gtiards

I LEFT Saint Louis on the Liiella for Alton and arri^'ed there on
the 20th of May, 1846. The town was in a blaze of excitement
caused by the news that General Taylor ' was surrounded by the
Mexican Troops on the Rio Grande. General Gaines,- commanding
at New Orleans, had issued a call for fifty thousand volunteers,
four thousand from Illinoise. Drums were beating all over town
and two hours after I landed I enlisted. I went with the crowd
huri’ahing and drinking whiskey until after several days we num-
bered one hundred strong.

Our company, the Alton Guards, elected our own officers, as
did all the other volunteers. The election was held in a ten pin
alley! I was ambitious and wanted a commission. I worked hard
for it, drilling the men in Scott’s tactics— thanks to orderly Ser-
geant Hall and Captain N. A. Thompson of the City Guard in
Boston, I was tolerably proficient in the manual and evolutions—
spent my money freely on whiskey, defeated a Major Ward of
Texas in fencing, and expected to get the First Lieutenancy. A
staff officer of Governor Ford called the meeting to order, when
a large red-faced man mounted the bar and delivered the follow-
ing speech.

^ Major General Zachary Taylor, Commander of the Army of the Rio Grande,
later twelfth President of the United States. News of the war was slow in reaching
the States. Actually, shortly before Sam's arrival in Alton, General Taylor had
defeated the Mexicans in the battles of Palo Alto (May 8) and Resaca de la
Palma (May 9) and on May 15 had occupied Matamoros at the mouth of the
Rio Grande.

^ Major General Edmund Pendleton Gaines, a veteran of the War of 1812, the
Seminole and Black Plawk wars, commanding the Western Division, New Orleans.

Mutiny of the Alton Guards

''Fellow citizens! I am Peter Goff, the Butcher of Middletown!
I am! I am the man that shot that sneaking, white livered Yankee
abolitionist s — n of a b — h, Lovejoy! I did! I want to be your
Captain, I do; and I will serve the yellow bellied Mexicans the
same. I will! I have treated you to fifty dollars worth of whiskey,
I have, and when elected Captain I will spend fifty more, I will!”

It is needless to state he was elected almost unanimously. My
opponent for the First Lieutenancy was one James W. Baker.^ I
found I had no chance to win— my money was all gone— but I
made a spread eagle speech, with plenty of the "Halls of Monte-
zuma” and "Golden Jesus’s” of Mexico, but alas, the "Suckers”
preferred whiskey present to Jesus’s in the future. The Company
organized as follows: Captain, Peter Goff; 1st Lieutenant, James
Baker; 2nd Lieutenants, Edward Fletcher ^ and Rodney Ferguson.
Captain Goff appointed me the drill Sergeant.

We were quartered in an unfinished Church, on a hill overlook-
ing the town. The Company was composed of the floating popula-
tion of a Mississippi River town, wild reckless fellows, excellent
material for soldiers, but requiring strict disciphne to curb their
lawless spirits. The oflBcers, as might be expected, proved totally
incompetent, took no care of their command, but spent their time
in drinking and gambling. I sought to do my duty in drilling the
men but receiving no support from my superiors, I was obliged to
give it up.

I was so disgusted with the debauchery around me that I quit
drinking and renewed my acquaintance with my fair friends at
the Monticello Seminary. I heard often from my uncle’s family,
yet I did not call on them.

Volunteers continued to arrive, and soon the complement was

® Elijah P. Lovejoy, Abolitionist editor of the St. Louis Observer. When pro-
slavery mobs wrecked his premises he moved to Alton, Illinois; here his plant
was again wrecked on four separate occasions. Lovejoy was killed in the last
attack, November 7, 1837.

James Baker was later promoted to captain, was fatally wounded and returned
to Alton, where he died.

® Former editor of the Carrollton, 111., Advocate.

My Confession

full. Four Regiments was orgaiiized—lst Reg’t, Colonel John J.
Hardin,^ 2nd Reg’t, Colonel BissellJ Lieutenant Colonel James
L. D. Morrison, Major Xerxes F. Trail; ord Reg’t, Colonel Floyd;
4th Reg’t, Colonel E. D. Baker.’"^ We moved into camp in June; it
was laid out in a beautiful giwe in Upper Alton. We were uni-
formed as each company selected and strange grotesque costumes
now filled the Camp. Ours, Co. A, 2nd Regiment, made choice of
jacket and pants of blue mixed Kentucky jeans with yellow stripes
across the breast like a Dragoon Bugler. By permission I had mine
made with dark blue cloth, with onlv my Sergeant’s chevrons, and
it was quite a neat affair.

Captain Goff seldom made an appearance in Camp, and then
he was generally drunk and abusive. One day he came down the
company Street raving drunk; he knocked down two privates and
then meeting Lieutenant Fletcher, to show he was not impartial,
sent him to grass. The men secured the maniac. He was knocked
down, tied and a guard placed over him. The other oflScers inter-
fered, but they were driven out of Camp.

I had taken no part in the outbreak and was seated on a log
when a committee of the malcontents tendered me the command
of the mutineers! This dangerous honor I declined, but they in-
sisted, and yielding on their promising implicit obedience to my
orders, I became the captain of a hundred half drunken des-
peradoes. We had drawn that morning several thousand rounds
of Ball and Buck cartridge for target practice; this I issued at
once, and was making a speach when Colonel Bissell rode up and
ordered the release of Captain Goff. The unruly dogs only hooted
him for his pains and he rode off with threats of dire revenge.

I had formed the company to march to town when I saw two
companies of Rifles advancing in line on our quarters. I sent out

® Former Whig Congressman from Illinois, a friend of Abraham Lincoln.

Colonel William H. Bissell, future Congressman and Governor of Illinois.

® Colonel (later General) E. D. Baker, Congressman from Illinois. Baker was a
close friend of Lincoln, who succeeded him in the House of Representatives. He
later became Senator from Oregon and was killed during the Civil War battle of
Ball’s Bluff.

General Wool addressing the mutineers

a few skirmishers to halt them and if they continued to advance,
to fire on them. I had all the axes kept busy chopping down trees
to form Barricades and made quite formidable preparation for a
vigorous defence when word was brought that a body of horsemen
was approaching on the Alton road. I went out to reconnoitre and
recognized Colonels Bissell, Hardin and Morrison and two Gen-
erals who proved to be Generals John E. Wool ^ and Shields
with Governor Ford. As no troops accompanied them, I was satis-
fied there would be no fighting, that diplomacy and negotiation
was now the order of the day.

® Brigadier (later Major) General John Ellis Wool commanded the Army of the
Center in Mexico under General Taylor's general command. He was the command-
ing general at Fortress Monroe, Virginia, during the early years of the Civil War.

Brigadier General James Sliields, brevetted major general after the battle of
Cerro Gordo, where he was wounded; later Governor of the Oregon Territory

My Confession

I hurried back to my command and to their astonishment
ordered them to “fall in” outside the Barricade. They done so
promptly. I dressed the ranks, commanded “present arms,” which
was neatly done, just as the ca\’alcade rode up. General Wool
returned the salute, asked “who was the ringleader?” I replied I
had that honor. The General gave us a lecture on the foolishness
of our emeute, said we deserved death but by the intercession of
His Excellency Governor Ford he would pardon us if we returned
to duty with promises of good behaviour for the future.

Goff came forward and apologized; my command gave him
three cheers! The thoughts of his whiskey made the hearts of the
mutineers soften, and I really believe that if he gave the word the
Suckers would have bayoneted me on the spot, so volatile is the
popularity of a mob.

General Wool enquired of Captain Goff who had planned the
Barricades. I was designated as the Engineer. The Captain evi-
dently wished to do me what harm he could. General Wool asked
my name, age, where bom etc. He appeared surprised on learning
I was not yet seventeen and made some remark to the gentlemen
around him at which all laughed. He then said to me, “My man,
if you don’t get shot for insubordination, you will, if you live and
see sei'vice, rise in the profession.”

Captain Goff now took command, marched the company back
to their parade ground, made them a speech in which the ego-
tistical “I” and the all powerful word “whiskey” formed the
groundwork, and ordered a barrel of the article into Camp as a
Peace offering. The men made themselves hoarse in cheering the
valiant Captain, who so well understood and appreciated the
natures of his reliable command. I was blamed for all the trouble,
broke of my warrant and reduced to the ranks, and this was the
end of the Mutiny of the Guards.

(1849), Senator from Illinois (1849-55), Senator from Minnesota (1858-59);
Senator from Missouri (1879). Fought in Shenandoah Valley campaign during the
Civil War.

Mutiny of the Alton Guards

The time came to depart for Mexico; about the middle of July,
six companies of the Second Illinoise Regiment, with General
Wool and staff, embarked on the steamer Convoy for New Or-
leans. Two other boats, the Hannibal and Big Missouri, both
crowded with volunteers, went with us. Our passage down the
River proved very pleasant though our accommodations were
somewhat limited. My mind wandered in bright dreams of glory
and renown in that region of romance, the land of Cortez and
Montezuma. We landed and went into Camp at Chalmette, the
scene of the famed Battle of New Orleans, some seven miles
below the City.

Our Regiment’s quarters was near the Live Oak, under which
tradition states General Packingham “ died.

This Camp was one great scene of drunkenness and debauchery;
oflBcers as well as the men seemed to defy all military restraint
and vie with each other who would commit the greatest excesses.
Though I indulged freely when off duty, yet I believed in keeping
up some discipline while on, and so disgusted I became with the
state of things that I resolved to enlist in the Regular Army as
soon as I could. I visited the City and hunted up my accommo-
dating Coffee Girl of the French Market, who appeared right glad
to see me, and was as complacent as ever.

One night I visited with others a gaming establishment on
St. Charles Street, and won quite an amount of money. I started
for Camp in company of an old Regular, one Brown; we had
drank freely at my expense and made the night hideous with
Bacchanalian songs as we headed down the Levee. It was past
midnight, very dark, with a cold mist on the River. Old Brown
lagged behind on the slippery path and I supposed he was some
distance in my rear, when something seemed to fall on me, and I
fell crushed to the ground.

” Major General Sir Edward Michael Pakenham commanded the British forces
defeated by Andrew Jackson at the battle of New Orleans in the War of 1812.
Pakenham was killed during the attack.

My Confession

Stunned, bewildered, almost senseless, I still retained conscious-
ness enough to be aware that I was being dragged down the bank
toward the river. What had happened? W^here was my com-
panion? These thoughts flashed in m\' mind, when the painful fact
that Brown himself was my assailant became only too evident.
The old rascal evidently thought I was dead, for he laid me on the
bank, partly resting in the water, while he proceeded coolly to
search my pockets.

I lay still, feeling weak and faint, yet collecting all the energy
and life left in me for a struggle for existence. He emptied my
pockets and stooped to lift me into the water, when with a
grip like death I grasped with both hands his throat, while my
teeth fastened on his nose so desperately that they met. He strug-
gled to throw me off, but though I was in a dreamy languid state
and my head had a heavy roaring noise like a cataract in it, my
hold could not be shaken off. His efforts were terrible, but
all in vain; my grasp was immovable, like the embrace of a
corpse.

Brown, ignorant and superstitious, really imagined that such
was the case, that the victim was trying to drag its murderer with
it into the dark flood. When my muscles relaxed, he fell down in a
swoon! I staggered to my feet and dashed some water on my head,
which seemed all stoved in, it felt so soft and mashy. I was afraid
I had received my death wound, and this idea made me deter-
mined that my destroyer should keep me company. I drew my
Bayonet and went for him. He had begun to recover and yelled
with affright. I plunged at him with my weapon which penetrated
his neck pinning him to the ground. I thought he was finished
and then hope sprang up that I might recover, and I wished I had
not gone so far. I pulled out the Bayonet and was glad to find the
villain was alive; the weapon had passed through the thick muscles
of the neck without touching a vital part, making a painful but
not a serious wound.

I made him give back my money, we repaired damages as well

Mutiny of the Alton Guards

as we could, and started for Chalmette. I compelled him to go
ahead, and kept my Bayonet in hand. We reached Camp at day-
light, told a story of a row, and were sent to the Hospital.

A few days later, the Alton Guards embarked on the Brig
T. Street for Port La Vaca, Matagorda Bay, in Texas. It was a
fearful passage to me. I still suffered extremely from the injuries in
my head; the heat was excessive, with no awnings to the deck,
which was densely crowded, with the volunteers in an open state
of mutiny brought on from the unlimited indulgence in strong
drink obtained by broaching the Cargo, which consisted of sutlers’
goods.

We landed and went into Camp on a low prairie, twelve miles
from La Vaca. The ground was covered with water, it seemed to
rain all the time, and the mumps, the measles and the Scarlet
Fever broke out among the troops. There was a great scarcity of
doctors, hospital tents and medical attendents, and many of the
men died here.

General Wool with what men could march pushed on for San
Antonio, one hundred and sixty miles in the interior. Though I
was in the Hospital, threatened with brain fever, I put out and
joined the marching column. How I kept up I don’t know; weak,
emaciated, I struggled on; anything was better than staying
behind in the Hospital, where men were dying every hour. My
would-be murderer Brown stayed with me and assisted me every
way in his power. Although I harboured a suspicion that he only
sought an opportunity of giving me my quietus yet I let him have
his own way, giving him to understand however that Lieutenant
Ferguson was carrying all my money.

The marching was severe in the extreme; the low land extended
seventy miles covered with water and grass three foot high. One
day I gave up and lay down and I really wished to die. Nothing
appeared real. The dark murky sky, the grass and trees all seemed
to whirl and tip over in the most remarkable manner. Lieutenant
Colonel Don Morrison rode up and seeing how I was, dismounted.

My Confession

placed me in the Saddle, and proceeded on with me until we
overtook the waggons, when I was placed in one and in that wav
reached San Antonio.

General Wool displayed great energy now in breaking into
proper military discipline the rough material sent him for soldiers.
The sick were e.xamined and all reported unfit for the long march
before us received their discharge. I was one of these, and re-
ceived mileage back to Alton, Illinoise. This, with what money I
had in the hands of Lieutenant Ferguson, amounted to nearly
three hundred dollars, quite a little fortune in this part of the
world.

[IV]

Life in the Lone Star State

After my discharge I went to board in town and with good quar-
ters, fine air and excellent food I gained fast. A gambler named
Jim Scott roomed with me, and very kindly volunteered to teach
me all the tricks of the trade. The mysteries of faro, monte and
poker, games of “short” cards and “waxed” cards became clear to
me by his skillful instruction, and I proved a promising pupil.

One evening I with Scotty sauntered into the Bexar Exchange,
a noted drinking and gambling Saloon. The Bar room was
crowded with volunteers, regulars, Texan Rangers, a few Dela-
ware Indians and Mexicans. The Rangers were the Scouts of our
Army and a more reckless, devil-may-care looking set, it would
be impossible to find this side of the Infernal Regions. Some wore
buckskin shirts, black with grease and blood, some wore red
shirts, their trousers thrust into their high boots; all were armed
with Revolvers and huge Bowie Knives. Take them altogether,
with their uncouth costumes, bearded faces, lean and brawny
forms, fierce wild eyes and swaggering manners, they were fit
representatives of the outlaws which made up the population of
the Lone Star State.

Scotty joined in a four-handed game of Poker, and I sauntered
from table to table, watching with interest. Oaths and cigar smoke
filled the air, knives were dravm but no blood was spilt as friends
would interfere before the disputants came to blows. At one small
table sat two men playing Eukre for the drinks. One, who was
quietly playing his hand in a mild timid way utterly at variance

My Confession

with his hardened desperate appeal ance, was short and thick set,
his face bronzed by exposure to the hue of an Indian, with eyes
deeply sunken and bloodshot, and coarse black hair hanging in
snakelike locks down his back. His costume was that of a Mexican
herdman, made of leather, with a Mexican blanket thrown over
his shoulder. His opponent was a tall reckless, good looking young
Ranger, dressed in a red shirt and buckskin leggins. A dispute
arose, the short rufBan threw a glass of liquor in the tall one’s face,
who sprang to his feet, drew his revolver, and placing the muzzle
against the breast of the thrower, swore with fearful oaths “that if
he did not apologize he would blow a hole through him a Rabbit
could jump through!”

The threatened man did not move from his seat, but replied,
“Shoot and be d — d, but if you miss, John Glanton won’t miss
you!” When he mentioned his name, a look of fear passed over
the Ranger’s face; he pulled the trigger, but onlv the cap exploded!
Quick as a flash Glanton sprang up, a huge Bowie knife flashed in
the candlelight, and the tall powerful young Ranger fell with a
sickening thud to the floor a corpse, his neck cut half through.
Glanton jumped over the table and placing one foot on his victim
said,

“Strangers! Do you wish to take up this fight? If so step out, if
not we’ll drink.” As no one seemed disposed to accept the chal-
lenge, all hands went with him to the Bar and touched glasses with
him. The warm body was carried out, sawdust was sprinkled over
the bloodstained floor, Glanton carefully wiped his knife on the
leather sleeve of his jacket, and matters in the Bexar Exchange re-
sumed their usual course.

I enquired about Glanton, for whom somehow I felt a sort of
admiration, in spite of my horror at his bloody deed, and learned
he was a famous Indian fighter and desperado of the frontier, the
hero of many bloody personal encounters with the outlaws of the
border.

I thought in a society so dangerous I should go armed, and pur-

Life in the Lone Stm' State

chased myself a Bowie Knife with a nine-inch blade warranted to
cut through bone without turning the edge. A few days later I had
trouble with Scott}' about the division of some money we had won
at a three handed game of Poker with a commissary clerk, in
which, to keep up appearances, I lost all my money to Scotty,
along with the clerk. When I asked for a settlement, Scotty denied
all partnership and swore he had won not only the clerk’s, but my
money in a fair game, and this when I had “rung in the cold deck”
that fleeced us both!

There was only one way in Texas in ’46 to settle misunderstand-
ings of this nature. We went for each other, and he very foolishly
run onto the point of my “Arkansas toothpick” and was badly cut
for his want of judgement. I was seized by the guard, old Spanish
irons were placed on me, and I was thrust into the “Callaboose,”
a room about twenty feet square, inhabited by a very select
society of Indians, Texans, Horsethieves, Murderers and the vilest
characters of the lawless frontier.

The horrors of the Old Spanish Jail in San Antonio were more
terrible than any scene in the Inferno of Dante. How long I
remained here I never knew; it seemed years, though it could
have been but a few days. I was covered with vermin, the heavy
rusty irons wore the flesh of my ankles in which the lice burrowed,
my jacket was stolen, and my shirt I tore into strips to bind around
the irons to keep them from chafing! The place was outrageously
filthy, the air hot and pestiferous, food scant and poor, with water
unfit even for washing. The awful blasphemy of the wretches
incarcerated with me, their horrid bestial orgies too revolting for
belief, drove me in my weak state insane.

Fortunately for me Scotty recovered and declined to appear
against me, so I was turned loose, with nothing on but my
pants, and wild with my suflFerings. I can faintly remember fly-
ing, I thought pursued by Demons, and then came darkness and
oblivion.

From this I awoke with a most delicious sense of comfort and

My Confession

freedom from pain. I was in a nice soft clean bed and an old lady
was sitting close knitting beside an open window through
which came a sweet fresh breeze. Hearing me stir, she left the
room crying out, “Carl! Carl!” and a young man entered the room.
He congratulated me on the recovery of m}- reason and informed
me that I was in his house in Castroville, thirty miles from San
Antonio, that I had been found by a farmer three weeks before,
lying near the road entirely nude and insensible. My host was a
Doctor, Carl Ritter by name, a member of the German settlement
at Castroville.

Dr. Ritter had altered to fit me a suit of his clothes, made of
fine German broadcloth, and they well became me. This family
placed me under the greatest obligations by their extreme kind-
ness. Katherine Ritter, the Doctor’s sister, was not over sixteen,
innocent and confiding, and I soon knew that she had given me
unsolicited her first pure love. She seemed to consider she had an
exclusive right to me, that in fact I was her property. I was afraid
to hurt her feelings, yet honor forbid my returning her constant
care.

One night after the family was all in bed I was awakened
by having sweet soft lips pressed to mine and found Miss Ritter
by my side, her arms around me. She was in her night dress and as
the night was very warm I was lying on the outside of the bed.
She cried and whispered to me in German language the most
loving entreaties. Her kisses and thrilling embraces aroused all my
amorous passions, and unconsciously the unsophisticated girl be-
came almost delirious with hitherto unknown desires! What a trial
for one’s principles of honor! The temptation of Saint Anthony
was not a circumstance to mine! Nature guided her in her inno-
cence to seek relief to her distressed condition, and I not only had
my own passions to fight, but the most provoking manipulations
from this charming girl, who knew no wrong in following the
teachings of Dame Nature. But I resisted and triumphed and the
honor of the house of Ritter suffered not at my hands. Poor

Life in the Lone Star State

ir}0^ 3.t left my room, weak and exhausted, and

though still a \iigin, yet no longer innocent in mind, and more in
love than ever.

I started early next morning for San Antonio, where I reported
to Regular Army headquarters and enlisted for the war in Com-
pany E, Fiist U.S. Dragoons, Captain Enoch Steen commanding.

General Wool’s division consisted of the 1st and 2nd Illinoise
Volunteers under Colonel J. J. Hardin and Colonel William H.
Bissell; Major Bonneville’s battalion of the 6th U.S. Infantry; the
Arkansas Cavalry under Colonel Yell; ' Captain Washington’s -
battery of light artillery; and Colonel William S. Harney’s ^ Dra-
goons, in which I served, and a “spy company” of Texan Rangers,
the whole numbering about 3,000 men and ofBcers.

The Dragoons encamped near the Mission of Concepcion. We
were officered as follows; Co. E-Captain, Enoch Steen; 1st Lieu-
tenant, Daniel H. Rucker; 2nd Lieutenant, Abraham Buford.
Co. A— Captain, William Eustis, with Lieutenants Carleton, Whit-
tlesey and Conts. I was now placed under a drill Sergeant, and
was put through in the “School of the Soldier” in the riding school
and in Carbine and Sabre exercise. I recovered my health and
strength very rapidly and gained a love for the life of a Dragoon.

One day Colonel Harney ordered the old Mission to be cleaned
out, intending to use it to store forage for his command. A large
detail of Dragoons well provided with shovels and brooms com-
menced to clean out the nave of the Church. The floor was cov-
ered to the depth of two foot with the excrement of Bats. While
some of the detail were at work, others provided themselves with

^ Colonel Archibald Yell, former Governor of Arkansas, who resigned his seat in
Congress in order to enter the war.

^ Captain John M. Washington’s battery had marched overland from Pennsyl-
vania to join General Wool at San Antonio.

^ Colonel William S. Harney, who had fought against the Seminoles in Florida,
was the ranking cavalry officer under General Winfield Scott. He was brevetted
a brigadier general in April, 1847, and after the end of the war fought against the
Sioux in the battle of Sand Hill. During the Civil War he was suspected of
southern sympathies and deprived of his command of the Department of the
West, but after the war was brevetted a major general.

My Confession

torches to explore the subterranean \’aults and passages under
the building and said to connect with the Fortress of the Alamo.

Behind where the Altar formerly stood, a flight of stone steps
descended into the dark and gloomy place. It was one mass of
Bats! They hung on the walls and arched roof in clusters like bees
when swarming, the floor was co\’ered, and yielded under the step
like a bog. Out of sport some of the Dragoons fired their Pistols
into the living squirming mass, when like a tornado the Bats flew
out of the passage, extinguishing the torches but fortunately car-
rying the men out of the vault with them. The party in the Church
rushed for the door in the wildest alarm and though some were
knocked down and badly frightened, all got outside in safety. The
little wing’d animals poured out of the great door for two hours,
making their way to the Mission of San Jose, six miles below, their
column being so dense as to resemble a suspension bridge! Thou-
sands lay in the church and on the ground dead and dying from
the crush. The stench in the Mission prevented its being used.

One evening there was to be a Mexican “Fandango” at San Jose.
Several of us obtained a pass until reveille from our company
commander, and I took it to Major Benjamin L. Beall, 2nd Dra-
goons Officer of the Day, to be countersigned. He was a short red-
faced-and-nosed man, and looked the Major all over; it was
evident that nature intended him for that position and nothing
else. He was known in the army as “Old Brilliant,” and from his
unusual brilliant appearance at this time I judged that the influ-
ence of old Rye had something to do with it. The jolly Major
signed the pass and remarked, “Report to me at the Guard Tent
at Tattoo.” Accordingly at that time half a dozzen of Uncle Sam’s
Bold Dragoons drew up in line in front of the guard quarters,
when the Major soon joined us with the 2nd Dragoon Band. Old
Brilliant was a little more so and carried with him a number One
Camp Kelly, for a Drum.

We started down the bank of the San Antonio, a jolly party
enough. The Major went down several times before we reached

Life in the Lone Star State

the ford, but he still held on to the Camp Kettle. The water was a
good three feet deep at the ford and running like a mill race. We
stripped but the fat Major would wade through without undress-
ing, got swept awa\’ and it was with difficulty we saved him. But
alas, the Camp Kettle was lost!

The arrival at the ballroom of so distinguished a party rather
surprised the “Greasers” but they soon recovered and we were
cordially invited to participate in the festivity. The Major dashed
into a Waltz with a dark skinned white robed Sehorita, on whom
he certainly produced an impression. I will long remember that
night of wild fun and unlicensed debauchery, wine and aguardi-
ente (brandy) cheap and abundant, the women fine shaped, with
black flashing eyes, and very accommodating!

For hours the Fandango was all fun and frolic, the Major’s
voice could be heard, “brilliant! by G — d, Brilliant,” until at day-
light we started for Concepcion, all pretty well intoxicated with
love and liquor. As we approached Camp, we saw to our dismay
Colonel Harney at the Guard Tents. We expected to be roughed,
and were not disappointed. Those who knew Harney can appreci-
ate the scene. To all that was said by Harney, our Major had only
one reply: “Brilliant Fandango, brilliant! By G — d, brilliant girls.
Colonel! Brilliant night!” Harney placed him under arrest and we
were confined to quarters for twenty four hours.

The March to the Rio Grande

General Wool’s Division left San Antonio for Mexico on Sep-
tember 25. The command made quite an imposing appearance as
they marched through the Gi'and Plaza of San Antonio, which
was crowded with a motley assembly of wild looking Texans,
Mexicans in their everlasting blankets, Negro Slaves, a sprinkling
of Lipan Indians in full dress of paint and feathers, white women,
squaws and senoritas.

We encamped the first night at Castroville. I had hardly dis-
mounted when I was embraced by my dear friend Carl Ritter,
who to my astonishment informed me that his sister, the lovesick
Katherine, was married!! Inconstancy, thy name art woman! That
evening she with her husband and Carl called on me, and obtain-
ing permission I went home with the happy couple. Her husband
was a stupid Dutchman, who went off with Carl to visit the Camp
after supper, leaving me to entertain the Bride of a week. We soon
walked out in the beautiful moonlight and ascended a slight ele-
vation behind the house and seated ourselves beneath the trees.
The Dragoon Band was playing and we could see many a soldier
arm in arm with white-robed village maidens, strolling under the
shade of the sheltering woods. Katherine lay reclining in my arms,
her arms pressed around me as of old, and I— well, my nature is
too volcanic to play the Joseph too often! We revelled in bliss and
happiness, until prudence warned us to return to the house. The
complaisant gentleman had not yet returned, so we walked toward
the Camp to meet them, and bid fond farewell while the Band
was playing “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”

General Wool’s division passing through the Grand Plaza, San Antonio

Mtj Confession

Good-by, sweet Kate and Castroville, forex er!

Our march after we left the German settlements was through
a barren waste, scant grass, and water onl\ found in the beds of
rivers. We crossed the Nueces, Medina and Frio Rivers, making
about twenty five miles per day, our camping ground being gov-
erned by the juxtaposition of wood and water.

As we approached the Rio Grande, horsemen appeared on the
distant hills. Our guide, Dan Henrie,' pronounced them Coman-
ches, and our long straggling column was closed up, flankers
thrown out and ammunition issued. During this dav onlv small
parties appeared, but the next day a force of several hundred
savage looking horsemen came charging towards us, uttering their
frightful yells and brandishing long lances. They certainly made
a most gallant appearance, and reminded me of the description in
The Talisman of the reception the Saracens gave to him of the
Lion-Heart.

The main body remained about half a mile off, displaying their
feats of horsemanship, while a dozzen of their principal Chiefs
dashed up to General Wool, lance in rest, until within a few paces,
when the points were lowered, their horses pulled back on their
haunches, and there they stood as motionless as so many bronze
equestrian statues. Our little General, under the impulse of the
moment, backed his horse. This seemed to tickle these red devils,
who against all my previous ideas of Indians, roared with laughter.
The head one, an old wolfish greasy cuss known as Santana, rode
up to General Wool, held out his hand and said, “How de do,
budder.” The General shook hands, when the Chief gave him
such a squeeze that the General’s face showed signs of pain. This
caused the redskins to yell in derision.

Colonel Harney offered his band to Santana who with a grin
took it and gave it another fancy grip, but the old rascal had got
hold of the wrong man; the Colonel’s grip was like that of a vise.
Harder and harder his hand closed on the Indian, until he writhed

' Daniel Drake Henne, a guide and interpreter with the United States army.

The March to the Rio Grande

in pain and ga\e \’ent to his agony in a fearful howl. I believe
that the bones of his hand were crushed. The other redskins
looked astonished and gazed on Harney with amazement.

One of the Chiefs now made a harangue in Spanish, which was
interpreted to General \^’’ool. It was to the effect that they, the
Comanches, were good friends to us but enemies of the Texans,
that they were great warriors who would kill a heap of Mexicans
and wanted arms, ammunition and pay for Scalps. General Wool
replied that he would not give them arms, and if he caught them
committing outrages on the defenseless inhabitants of Mexico he
would hang them.

At this reply their actions were very insulting. Two Dragoons
threw themselves on old Santana, dragged him from his Pony, tied
him up to a Gun Garriage and gave him a sound flogging with a
mule whip! When released he mounted in silence, and withdrew
with his awe-stricken warriors. Soon, in a long file, they were out
of sight.

The night before we reached the Rio Grande I was detailed for
Picket duty and was posted some three miles from Camp on one
of the low hills that covered the prairie land. At sundown General
Wool with his escort rode out to my post, visiting the picket line.
He ordered me to another place, a low plain further out, and rode
on. I moved on to the place pointed out, when my horse exhibited
much fear, snorting and plunging in affright; an infernal din broke
out all around me, yaps, hoots and yells saluted my ears from all
sides! It was now quite dark and strange shapes flew around my
head, and crawled on the ground at my horse’s feet.

I was at first considerable alarmed but a scene in one of
Gooper’s novels came to my mind and I knew I was stationed in
a prairie dog town. The prairie dog, so called from the short yelp-
ing sound which it utters, is a pretty animal about sixteen inches
long. They settle in communities and are exceedingly prolific and
their town sometimes covers many acres. They burrow in the
ground; the earth removed is piled up in little mounds at the

My Confession

entrance to their burrows. The little animals are not suffered to
remain unmolested; the owl and the deadly prairie rattlesnake
take forcible possession of their snug warm houses and beyond
doubt live on the young pups. The instinct of my horse told him
that the honeycombed ground, full of rattlesnakes, was dangerous,
and the affrightened inhabitants had resented our intrusion in
their various ways. The prairie wolf and coyote haunt the towns
for food and their howls and dismal cries were added to the choras
that had alarmed me.

I moved slowly out from the dangerous neighbourhood and
sought to regain my former position, but the night was so dark
that I was quite lost. I had been hours on my post and wondered
why I had not been relieved. I dismounted and holding my horse
by the bridle sat down in the grass, when moving objects on a
distant ridge attracted my attention. A long column of horsemen
were moving noiseless across the hill. They were in single file, the
muzzle of each horse close to the croup of the one that preceded
him; on they passed as silent as spectres. Comanches on the
march! Soon a carbine shot followed by others showed me the

Comanches on the warpath

The March to the Rio Grande

position of the picket line, the dark horsemen disappeared as by
magic and, mounting, I was soon with the picket guard who had
been withdrawn a mile nearer Camp. The Indians gave no further
trouble to the command.

We reached the Rio Grande opposite the Mexican town of
Presidio del Rio Grande. No enemy appeared to dispute our cross-
ing, though the Camp was full of rumors that a Brigade of Lancers
with terrible Batteries lay hid in the dense woods that covered the
Mexican side of the river, and that we were to be allowed to cross
and then the entire army of “Greasers” would fall on us and no
quarter to be given! General Wool was busy preparing to effect
what is considered the most difBcult of all military operations : the
passage of a deep river in the face of the enemy , for all believed
the other bank would be desperately defended.

When all was ready Washington’s Battery took position to shell
the other bank, and at the blast of a Bugle three hundred Dra-
goons, with Harney at their head, dashed into the swift stream
and made for the opposite bank. Our horses were soon swimming,
and the current was so rapid that we were carried downstream
some 300 yards before we effected a landing. The passage was
witnessed by the entire army which lined the Texan bank; all
expected to see us fired on every moment, and when they saw us
safe over their enthusiasm broke out in prolonged cheers.

We form’d as fast as we landed, advanced as skirmishers for a
mile, when the towers of the Presidio appeared in sight, but no
signs of the foe. A strong picket was thrown out in the form of a
semicircle, the flanks resting on the river. The Infantry crossed
next on a pontoon bridge of waggon beds; a stout picket rope was
stretched across and hauled taut by purchase, the Pontoons fas-
tened to this, and in a short time the command was over, with-
out loss!

® The Rio Grande at this point was about three hundred yards wide and over
four feet deep. The army camped here three days while General Wool s engineer
ofBcers, including Captain Robert E. Lee, prepared the crossing and constructed
field defenses.

My Confession

The Army encamped on the bank that night— October 12— and
next day General Shields and General Joe Lane with two regi-
ments of Indiana Volunteers overtook us. We marched through
the Town, a miserable tumble-down place, built of ‘‘adobe'’ or
unburnt brick which seemed to be about to return to its original
material, the mud that filled the streets. The Presidio, or Soldiers’
quarters, an old Ghurch, with its clumsy tower cracked and
threatening to fall on the “greasers” who crowded its huge doors
to see “Lo5 Gringos'" pass, and about one hundred hovels made up
the Town of Presidio del Rio Grande. We passed through droves
of donkeys, pigs, goats, no-haired dogs and chickens and en-
camped some three miles beyond the place on the bank of an
irrigation canal. Next morning the Gamp was alarmed by the
rapid discharge of firearms and the ringing of Bells in town. The
“long roll” beat, “Boot and Saddle,” sounded, a line of battle
was formed with Artillery in position, a strong line of skirmishers
cautiously advanced on the place, and found that it was only some
Saint’s day!

Resuming our undisputed march, we passed two swift rivers
and the “cities” of Nava, San Fernando and Santa Rosa.

® Brigadier General Joseph P. Lane, later governor of the Oregon Territory, U.S.
Senator, and vice-presidential candidate (1860) on the Breckinridge ticket

[VI]

My First Scout

General Wool had been ordered to march to the important City
of Chihuahua, by a route marked with red ink, on a map sent him
by the sapient head of the War Department, Marcyd Unfortu-
nately for the success of this wise scheme to capture a place once
taken by seven Apaches, there lay in the way of the proposed
route several high ranges of mountains that a goat could not
climb, and that it would take weeks to flank, through deserts
without water. General Wool decided to communicate with his
superior. General Taylor, and Lieutenant Carleton, Co. A, 1st
Dragoons, with six men, was detailed to carry the dispatches to
the Hero of the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma.^

Thanks to my excellent horse and the favoritism of our worthy
Ist/Sgt. Charles Hardy, I was detailed on this (to me) pleasant
duty. With four days’ rations of coffee and sugar in our haversacks
—for the rest we were expected to live on the country— we left at
dark to pass through two hundred miles of enemy territory, and
this without a guide.

Taking a Mule trail, we pushed rapidly forward most of the
night. Carleton was an’^Dld Prairie Tramper” and kept our course
well by the stars. At early dawn, seeing the white walls of a
rancho a short distance from the road, we made for it, and were

^ William Learned Marcy, former governor of New York, Secretary of War
(1845-49); Secretary of State (1853-57).

^ Lieutenant James H. Carleton was brevetted a major for his bravery at the
battle of Buena Vista, later wrote a history of the battle and of the march of
Wool’s division.

Mij Confession

inside the gate or zaguan before the sleep} “greasers" made then-
appearance. The}’ weie rather astoni.shed and somewliat alarmed
at their earlv visitors, and the size of our horses filled them with
amazement and admiration. One of our men \^■as stationed on the
azotea or roof of the Chapel and no one was allo^^’ed to leave the
place. The horses were unsaddled and well rubbed down, watered
and fed with baile\- obtained in the place. The men in the rancho
were an ill-looking set of cutthroats, and gave us glances of
hatred, but the women, the young ones especiall}’, were kind and
gave us some excellent cooked beans, frijoles.

An old man gave the Lieutenant to understand that a large
body of Soldiers had passed to the eastward the day before; this
was good news for us as they were dressed in American uniforms.
We saddled up, and taking a supply of barley in our forage bags
and some jerked beef for our own use, we were off again at sunrise.

This day and the next passed without any incident of note. The
following day our route lay through a low level country different
in every respect from any I had ever seen before. Cactus in a
hundred varieties, with the white leaved wild olive, covered the
ground in all directions; away off to our right sharp blue peaked
mountains rose grandly in the clear air. I enjoyed this march
exceedingly; I had fully recovered from my severe injuries and
sickness, I felt no fatigue and my appetite was truly wonderful.
The road was broad and good, with the chapperal rising on both
sides like a wall. In the forenoon we reached a hacienda belong-
ing, it was said, to General Mariano Arista,^ and done ample
justice to the good fare found there.

We had not left the hacienda two miles behind when the report
of a Carbine from our advance guard of one man caused us to
draw sabre. He made his appearance coming back at speed, and
close on his rear came a crowd of fierce guerillars yelling like
devils. I must confess that my first thought was to turn and run
for it, but the quick command of Carleton to “Charge and give

® Later (1851-53) President of the Republic of Mexico.

Mij First Scout

them your sabres!” caused me to go in with the rest, though my
heart was up in my throat choking me. I parried a lance thrust, a
black savage face was before me for an instant, my horse crushed
another underfoot, then another, and I came out of the dust sur-
prised to find myself alive and unhurt. Carleton and my com-
panions were all safe; not a man or horse touched, our entire loss
was confined to a few forage sacks and one Carbine.

This was my maiden charge, and I believe I acquitted myself
with credit. True, there was no blood on my Sabre, but there was
plenty on my spurs. My good steed Soldan had done all the fight-
ing and had done it well.

Our road led us into the dry bed of an arroyo flanked on each
side by huge boulders. We were passing a clump of dead cotton-
wood trees when the Lieutenant, who was in advance, held up his
hand in warning. Right in our path, not a hundred yards distant,
was a Lancer stationed with his back to us! He was so intently
watching a cloud of dust rising towards the distant mountains that
he was unaware of our presence.

Carleton drove his spurs into his horse, and followed by the rest,
was on him before he could run. Our prisoner was a guerillar,
clothed entirely in leather, well mounted on a small but wiry
mustang. He was armed with a lance, a lazo, two huge pistols, a
short gun and a sword! He was badly frightened and gave us to
understand that it was the army of “Los Barbarians del Norte”
that raised the dust and that they were then only twelve miles off.
Tying him on his horse by his own lazo, we moved on and in
about two hours, emerging from the trail into a broad road, we
encountered our rear Guard at a place called Ramas, on the
Camargo and Monterey road.

Two days later we were at General Taylor’s main camp out-
side of Monterey, in a most beautiful grove of live oak and pecan
trees, the woods of San Domingo, call’d by our army Walnut
Springs. This was a most delightful place to encamp an army.
Huge shade trees covered many acres of good hard sod while

My Confession

springs of the coldest water gushed out of the ground, and run
in crystal streams through the gro\ e, affording an abundant sup-
ply of excellent water for man and beast.

Here we heard confirmed the terms of the capitulation which
was granted b\’ General Taylor to the beaten Mexicans after the
capture of Monterey in September. Wlrat a disgrace to American
Amis! Everything most ad\’antageous to the Mexicans and injuri-
ous to the United States. The Mexican infantry were allowed to
retain their arms, the Cavalry their horses, the Artillery, one field
battery of six guns, with 21 rounds to a gun! The U.S. troops were
not to advance beyond the Rinconada Pass, and there should be
armistice for eight weeks! When in another hour’s fighting we
could have had them all unconditional prisoners, and used nothing
but our steel!

“Old Rough and Ready” committed a great blunder, with no
justifiable excuse. Ben McCulloch’s * Texan Rangers were still
loud in their expressions of indignation, threats were made against
General Tavlor, and the old hero deem’d it necessary to double
the Dragoon guard around his Headquarters/'’’

EDITOR S NOTE

Here the sequence of events in Chamberlains journal becomes
confused. In the interests of clarity the publishers have accord-
ingly omitted several pages. Apparently young Sam spent about

Captain Benjamin McCulloch, Indian fighter, surveyor, Texas Ranger, fought
in the Texan war for independence at the battle of San Jacinto. At the outbreak
of the Mexican War he organized a company of mounted men, performed daringly
at the battles of Monterey and Buena Vista and emerged from the war a major. In
February, 1861, as a colonel, he commanded the Texas troops that received the
surrender of General Twiggs at San Antonio Later, commissioned a brigadier
general in the Confederate army, he was killed at the beginning of the battle of
Elkhorn Tavern while reconnoitering the Union lines.

^ Most historians do not agree with Chamberlain’s judgment, though many
people did at the time. The terms of the armistice ( which Colonel Jefferson Davis
had a large share in drawing up) brought to an end a savage but inconclusive
four-day battle which had left the Mexicans still occupying their citadel in the
heart of the city. The truce arrangements, specifying their withdrawal, gave the
American army complete possession of Monterey— and badly needed time to build
up Its strength.

My First Scout

two weeks with General Taylors army at Walnut Springs, during
which time he visited Monterey and made numerous sketches
depicting the recent fighting for the city. He also, it appears, did
his share of roistering, for he rejoined General Wools army— prob-
ably early in November— lashed to his saddle, suffering from a
severe head wound and a bad case of what he called “mania-a-
potu^

General Wool had by this time advanced as far as the Mexican
town of Monclova, some 200 miles south of the Rio Grande, and
was there awaiting expiration of the armistice.

[VII]

Experiences on Picket Duty

The city of Monclova, in the State of Coahuila, was built in the
year 1687 as a stronghold against the French, who threatened the
Spanish possessions from Louisiana. It was fonnerly the Capital of
the State and contains about four thousand inhabitants who I
judge obtain a precarious living by murder and robbery; the
women appeared to be all of the most common character and the
men, regular assassins.

When not on duty, I went into town day and night, armed with
a Bowie Knife and the chamber of my Hall’s Carbine, visited the
Fandangos and gambling rooms, danced, gambled, drank wine
and Muscal,^ made love to the Senoritas and with many a gold
onza in my pockets staggered into camp at reveille, all safe, while
many a poor fellow’s body would be found horridly mutilated,
stripped and thrown into a ditch to be devoured by the Coyotes
and Buzzards.

The disgraceful armistice granted by General Taylor proved a
severe blow to Wool’s Division; with inadequate rations we were
to remain here over three weeks, surrounded by a hostile popu-
lation and the most demoralizing influences. The volunteers
growled, and finally the two Illinoise Regiments broke out in
open mutiny, and started on their way back to the Rio Grande.
The Regulars by order of General Wool promptly suppressed this
and they confined themselves to muttered threats.

At this time the guard duty at Camp was done in a very negli-

^ Mescal, made from the juice of the maguey plant.

Experiences on Picket Duty

gent and reprehensible manner. I often saw two sentinels meet at
the ends of their post, stick their muskets in the ground by the
Bayonets, set themselves and indulge in a game of ''Old Sledge”
or Eukre. Others with a dusky Sehorita for a companion would
leave their post and retire to some inviting shade, and in love
dalliance contrive to pass their two hours quite pleasantly! And
this in a country filled with prowling bands of Guerillars, who
recognized no treaties or laws.

When I first enlisted I resolved to discharge all duty prompt
and faithful, and when off Duty, I considered I had the right to
enjoy myself as I deem’d proper.

One day when I was on General Wool’s guard, he with his
staff rode into town to dine. As we approached the guard line a
"Sucker” on post was seated on the ground with a roguish looking
Senorita, engaged in eating frijoles and pan de niaiz. The sentinel
coolly eyed the cavalcade, and with no thoughts of rising to salute,
he remarked, "Good day General, hot riding out I reckon.”

The General thundered out, "Gall the officer of the guard!”

The man just raised himself on his elbow and drawled out,
"Lieutenant Woodson, come here right quick, post nine, for the
old General wants you!” He then turned to his companion with a
self-satisfied air, as if he had discharged his duty in the most
exemplary manner.

The officer of the guard made his appearance without belt or
sword, coat unbuttoned and a straw hat on. The General gave
him a severe reprimand for his own appearance as well as the
unsoldierlike conduct of the guard, whereupon the officer broke
out, "Jake Strout, yer ain’t worth shucks. If you don’t git right up
and salute the General, I’ll drive yer gal away, doggone if I don’t.”

The gallant sentinel riled up at this and replied “that if the
General wanted saluting the Lieutenant might do it, he wan’t
agoing to do anything of the kind.”

General Wool cut them short by telling the officer to follow
him down to the main entrance where the 6th U.S. Infantry were

My Confession

on guard. “Come,” he said, “and I will .show you how guard duty
should be done.”

The first “Boy in Blue” we came to was a si.x foot Irishman who
was bent in the most extraordinary manner, near double. “What!
What’s the matter mv man?" cried the General as the “mick”
faced to the front and presented, without straightening in the
least.

He replied, “The General will excuse me but ever since I have
ate corn, I have been troubled with a goneness and a bastely appe-
tite, and faith I belies’e I am turning into a horse and will be on all
fours before long.”

The General without waiting to hear more dashed off for town.

Picket Guard duty with scouting and Foraging kept the Dra-
goons pretty well emploved. This suited me, anything but lying in
Camp which was hot, dusty and without shade. Our details for
Pickets, which w'ere for twenty-four hours, were mounted with
one day’s rations for man and horse. One favorite post with me
was a place about nine miles from Monclova on the Parras road.
Here on a “mesa” or table land, well shaded with Mesquite trees,
we formed our “reserves” and with one Vidette thrown out we
would unsaddle, spread our blankets in the shade, play cards, spin
yams, drink muscal and vino, and have a good time generally.

From our position, we had a fine view of the country in our
front for more than twenty miles, while we were completely hid
by the welcome shade trees. Here I have listened to thrilling
stories of Napoleon’s campaigns, related by an old cavalryman of
fifty years’ service who had served in Italy, Egypt and in the
Russian campaign, and at the age of seventy was still a vigorous
soldier in the United States service. Then some son of the Emerald
Isle would relate stirring tales of adventures by land and sea
under the cross of Saint George, in the Indies fighting the Sikhs
or at the Cape Colony against the wild Kafifers; or some old
Dragoon, whose soldierlike appearance and re-enlistment stripes
told the veteran, would tell of bloody encounters with savage

Experiences on Picket Duty

beasts and still more savage Indians in the Everglades of Florida
and in the Pawnee country.

One day while on picket here, with all the guard listening to
the adventures of a comrade, one of the party called our attention
to a cloud of dust rising out of the valley towards Parras. The glint
of steel amidst the dust told of armed troops, and of course
enemies. Our vidette had been so interested in the stoiy that he
had neglected his duty, and the column must have been in sight
for some time. Corporal Cory was in command, and convened a
hurried council of war; our horses were led out of sight.

I suggested to our worthy Corporal the propriety of sending one
man on foot down the hill to the road, keeping well out of sight
in the chapperal, to find out what it amounted to, and to come
back and report. Rash youth! My plan was adopted, and the grim
Corporal said that as I had proposed the plan I should have the
honor of executing it.

I would have been glad to have been excused from this duty,
but knowing I was in for it, I resolved to discharge it to the best
of my ability. I left my Sabre on my saddle, and advising the
corporal to fall back on the Infantry pickets, in case I fired (as I
should only do so in case of discovery), I, Carbine in hand, started
on my disagreeable mission. Dodging from bush to bush I reached
the road some half a mile ahead of the advancing column, where
I crawled under a clump of mesquite and yuccas, close to the road.

Soon I heard voices mingled with the jingle of spurs and the
clatter of Sabres, and some twenty horseman came in sight, at a
walk. Their leather jackets, high glazed hats, proclaimed them
''Guerillars” or ''Salteadores,” and black savage-looking rascals
they were. Mounted on small, active mustangs, armed with
Escopettes, Pistols, Sabres, and murderous looking Lances, with
their national weapon, the lazo, coiled at their Saddle bow, they
presented quite a formidable appearance, but to my mind over-
armed. They were laughing and chatting, all smoking the corn
husk cigarittos, showing conclusively that they were not aware

My Confession

of the close vicinity of some of the hated in\adcrs. I could feel
mv heart beat as if it would break through my ribs; as they passed
me, so close that I could have touched some of their horses, I
noticed that they had nothing leady for use, most of their anns
being lashed to the saddles.

The dust they raised in passing almost suffocated me to death,
and I was well buried by it. Next came a long pack Klule train,
and a villainous no-haired dog smelt around me and commenced
to bark! I thought I was gone up sure, but fortunately my tor-
mentor soon trotted on.

When all had passed I started back for the hill and reported
what I had seen, estimating their number at about one hundred
armed men besides the arreadores or muleteers. Corporal Cory
was more pei*plexed than ever; he finally concluded to send word
to the Infantry pickets and Camp. We thought that this must be
an enemy Convoy of provisions, collected in this part of the coun-
try occupied by us, and on its way to their Camp.

I told Cory that I considered it plainly our dut)' to attack and
hinder their advance until reinforcements reached us, but the
Corporal was not equal for the emergency, and we done nothing.
Nearly an hour passed, when we saw a small body of horsemen on
the road towards Monclova. On coming up it proved to be twelve
men and Sergeant Jack Miller of the 2nd Dragoons, who, being
out on a scout, had met our courier, who gave information of the
foe, when they came on to see for themselves. I gave Sergeant
Miller full particulars in regards to their arms, way of marching
and gratuitously gave my opinion “that we could lick them out
of their boots.”

Miller was for attacking them at once, but Cory objected on
account of the disparity of numbers, and the distance from Camp
in case of repulse. Miller replied, “Corporal, if you are afraid you
had better return to Camp, but I shall beat up their column as
soon as possible!”

We all agreed to stick by the brave Sergeant. Cory after some

Experiences on Picket Duty

words with me, in which my words were anything but compli-
mentary, went growling with us. Across the country we went to
avoid raising a dust, while the cloud that rolled up in the distance
served as a guide to our course. A sharp trot for an hour brought
us near their rear guard, when we slung Carbines. Jack Miller
said, “No firing, men! If twenty Dragoons can’t whip a hundred
greasers with the Sabre, I’ll join the Doughboys, and carry a fence
rail all my life.”

We took the gallop and were soon on them. They were riding
in the same careless manner as when I watched them and we were
within twenty yards before they discovered us and their danger.
With the charging shout of the Dragoons, we rode them down,
horse and man. Some tried to get at their weapons, but a few cuts
from our Sabres stopped all resistance, and the rear guard
was ours.

To secure their horses and arms, make the prisoners lie down in
a pile, was but the work of a minute; leaving four men to guard
them with cocked Carbines, we dashed on. Overtaking the Mule
train we passed it like a whirlwind and found the advance and
main force drawn up in line to receive us, but instead of meeting
our charge with a counter charge with their Lances, they opened
fire with their Escopettes. We struck them at full speed. They
made some resistance with the Lance, but our keen blades and
powerful horses cut down and overthrew all opposition. Many
tried to escape, a few succeeded; the greater part surrendered at
discretion. The fruits of our victory summed up as follows : of the
Enemy, 6 Killed; 13 Wounded; 70 prisoners, with horses, equip-
ment, and Arms; and 360 pack mules, loaded with beans, com,
muscal and powder. We had only one man and three horses,
slightly wounded.

As this neat affair took place on the bank of the Arroyo de los
Palmos, Sergeant Miller gave it that name.

In the attack on the main body, I had found myself alongside
of a black-whiskered chap who lunged at me with his lance. I

My Confession

parried it and ga\ e him a right cut acioss the face, which added
neither to his beauty or health. I ga\e another a front cut which
took effect on his hifiih sornlnero, drirnig it like an extin "uisher

O O

down over his face, biineiiKj; him to the ground.

Collecting our prisoners, we lashed the wounded to the Pack
Saddles, left the dead as the\ la\ , and started back foi Moncloi a
in the following order of march. Four Dragoons, on the adx’ance,
then the pack mules; next the prisoners in a column of fours, their
horses lashed together bv lassos; flankers on both sides; and the
rear guard, all the Dragoons, earn ing their Carbines at an Ad-
vance. At the reseiwe w'e found a new picket guard sent out to
relieve us, and Yell’s Arkansas regiment of Caxalrv, ordered out
bv General Wool on receiving Corporal Cory’s dispatch.

On seeing us the “Rackensackers” broke ranks, and surrounded
us yelling and whooping like Indians. Their officers had no control
over them, and only our bold front saved our defenseless prisoners
from being massacred by these brax’e chix'alric sons of the South.
Finding they could not butcher our charge, they w^ent off at a
jump to find other victims. Woe to the cripples and sick women
who fell in their w'ay, for their crueltx’ w'as only exceeded by their
insubordination.

After a half hour’s rest, having our wounded seen to, we
started again, passed the Infantry pickets, reached the town, and
passed through the Grand Plaza while the garrison were out on
Dress Parade.

I felt so satisfied of my share of the achievement that I expected
to be promoted to a Lance Corporal at least, but rather wilted
when Corporal Cory came and confined me in the Guard House,
by order of Captain Steen, Cory having reported me for using
disrespectful language to him! Thus were all my dreams of ambi-
tion and glory vanished in the snug quarters of Company Q.

The command was inspected next day by Colonel Harney.
When he came to the guard house, I with other prisoners was
paraded on the left of the guard. The Colonel asked the prisoners

Experiences on Picket Duty

what they were confined for. Two recruits replied, “For nothing,
Colonel.”

“Nothing? G — d d — n you, nothing! Lieutenant Buford, tie
the d — d sons of b — s up by the thumbs for two hours! The next
time you come here, come for something!”

My turn came next. Knowing my customer, I replied, “For act-
ing the man in the guerillar fight of yesterday and calling Corporal
Cory a d — d coward.”

Harney said, “You did, did you? Release this desperate fellow
before he injures any of you.”

I was released and sent to my company, but alas! such was the
perversity of my cruel fate that the same day Corporal Cory
insisted on running his face against my hand (which happened
to be closed at the time) and in consequence the stupid fellow’s
eyes got in mourning, and his face resembled a raw beef steak!
And he blamed me for it! Again I was quartered in Company Q.
I was taken up to Captain Steen’s tent; Cory related his story and
I mine. Sergeant Miller sent for a Dragoon who corroborated
mine, and gave me great credit for the part I took in the whole
affair. I was released, Cory was reduced to the ranks and Lieu-
tenant Buford, who was detached to drill the Arkansas Cavalry,
had me detailed for his orderly and I acted as “Fugleman” for
that regiment in the Carbine and Sabre exercise. During the
remainder of the time we lav at Monclova I had the best of times,
and I enjoyed my life greatly.

It was while we were here encamped that I acquired the name
by which I thereafter became known. It happened in this fashion.
One day when I with several comrades were in town on a pass,
we visited a confectionery shop to purchase some dulces ( sweet-
meats ) . A number of ugly “greasers” were present engaged in a
favourite pastime of theirs, the game of Peloncillo. A small cake
of the brown sugar of the country in the shape of a sugarloaf is
placed on a block, little end up, and for the sum of two “clacko”

( about three cents ) one is allowed to cut at it with a Sabre; if two

Mij Confes.sioi]

ounces are sliced off. the Sugar, \\orth six; cents, is his, if not he
loses. As the cake is as hard as a rock the percentage is largely in
favor of the dealer.

We were bantered into tiving our hand and my comrades
selected me to repiesent the U.S. Dragoons in this international
affair. I accepted the post of honor on condition of being allowed
to use ni\' own Sabre instead of the clumsy machete of the shop.
After some grumbling the terms were granted, and a wiry-looking
“greaser” took up a hea\'}’ cutlass and commenced the game. In a
dozzen trials he cut off the allotted amount se\'en times.

It was now my turn and m\ first three attempts were decided
failures, and our swarthy opponents grinned in delight and my
companions looked blue! But I felt confident, my eye was true,
wrist firm and m\’ Sabre as keen as a razor. I cut the remaining
nine almost in halves, and we demanded that the little game
should continue. In spite of the remonstrance of the astonished
shopkeeper, I kept on until three dozzen of the sugar cakes
were ours.

The Mexicans cried out, ‘'Que Diablo Peloncillo Juan!” (What a
devil peloncillo John is!) My comrades caught at the nickname
and “Peloncillo Jack” it was to everybody and everywhere except
on the company books.

[VIII]

March to Parras

On November 13 the disgraceful armistice came to an end at last,
and on the 24 th General Wool, leaving four volunteer companies
to garrison Monclova, started with the remainder of his Division
for Parras, some 180 miles to the southwest. The men of Wool’s
command had formed so many acquaintances with the dark eyed,
passionate daughters of Monclova that the Provost Guard were
obliged to drive them back as they followed us up by hundreds,
some on foot, some on Ponys and Donkeys, and some even in
primitive oxcarts.

The first day we marched only nine miles, and encamped at a
ganado or cattle ranch. During the evening a violent tornado
visited us and played the Old Harry with things generally; tents
were blown away, loaded waggons upset, our horses stampeded,
while the air was filled with clouds of dust, in spite of the rain,
which descended in torrents. Next morning the sun shone bright
and clear, and we having righted matters resumed our march
which was very severe on the Infantry, as the day was hot, and the
road dusty. The chapperal rose like a wall on each side of the
road, confining the dust to the tract and nearly suffocating the
poor devils of footmen. About twenty miles was considered a
good day’s march, though the distance we made depended on
the water, which was scarce and poor, often containing large por-
tions of minerals, and sometimes was hot and boiling.

On this march I often contrasted the great difference there was
between the Regular and the Volunteers, and I came to the con-

My Confession

elusion that tlie Dragoons were far superior in materials to anv
other arm of the service. Xo man of any spirit and ambition would
join the “Doiighbo\s" and go afoot, when he could ride a fine
horse and wear spurs like a gentleman. In our Squadron were
broken down Law)*ers, Actors and men of the world. Soldiers who
had served under Napoleon, Polish Lancers, French Cuirassiers,
Hungarian Hussars, Irishmen who had left the Queen's service to
swear allegiance to Uncle Sam and wear the blue.

Our oflBcers were all graduates of West Point, and at the worst,
were gentlemen of intelligence and education, often harsh and
tyrannical, yet they took pride in haxing their men well clothed,
and fed, in making them contented and reconciled to their lot.
The volunteer officers on the other hand would tie up a man one
day, drink and play cards with him the next, and excuse their
favorites from drill and guard duty, in short, most of them were
totally incompetent, and a disgrace to their profession. The two
companies of '"Quincy Rifles” in the First Illinoise Regiment,
under the command of the brothers Morgan, and a company of
"German Rifles” raised in Texas, and commanded by Captain
Connors, an old Dragoon Sergeant, were an exception to this rule.

One day while our Squadron was the rear guard, I noticed a
poor ragged fellow seated beside the road, looking completely
used up. He was emptying the gravel from his shoes, as Colonel
Hardin rode up and inquired "who gave him leave to fall out?”
He replied "no one, but his feet was so badly galled that he was
obliged to stop to clear his shoes.” Hardin who was a Deacon in
the Presbyterian Church at home swore “that if he did not in-
stantly move on he would put a file of bayonets on his back.” He
got up and hobbled on, giving his "Christian” commander a look
of revenge as he passed.

On this march I was constantly reminded of scenes in Don
Quixote, in fact the costumes, customs and buildings are all
borrowed from Old Spain, with but little change. The Barbers
Basin, the skins of wine, quaint old inns, with fun-loving dulcineas,

March to Parras

exist in all their purity here! The scenery as we approached Parras
was grand and often magnificent, high craggy mountains, deep
canons, wild fearful passes which a dozzen determined men could
have defended against our army for hours.

Little or no resistance was offered to our advance. The Guerillars
contented themselves in hanging around our flanks and rear and
they served to keep our column well closed up. Woe to the unfor-
tunate soldier who straggled behind. He was lassoed, stripped
naked, and dragged through clumps of cactus until his body was
full of needle-like thorns; then, his privates cut off and crammed
into his mouth, he was left to die in the solitude of the chapperal
or to be eaten alive by vultures and coyotes. Such were the daily
acts of the Guerillars.

Paso el Diablo is a strange freak of nature, a pass or canyon
through the Sierra Madre, about nine miles north of the City of
Parras. The pass was evidently of volcanic origin; vast rocks lay
piled up in Titanic heaps of the most grotesque shapes, with layers
of pumice stone in different places. It was expected this place
would be strongly defended, and General Wool dispatched Col-
onel Yell’s regiment of Arkansas Cavalry to seize and hold it, if
possible. They found the place undefended, and they encamped
here until the Division came up. It was a wild fearful looking
place, and I wondered, as we defiled through its narrow limits
between the overhanging rocky walls, at the criminal apathy of
the Mexican authorities. Ten men with crowbars by one hour’s
work could have rendered it impassable for days. But no obstacles
were thrown in our way and our army, with its immense trains of
waggons, passed through in safety and encamped at the Hacienda
el Abuja, five miles beyond.

I afterwards heard a tradition connected with the Pass which
I call the Legend of San Patricio and the Devil.

His Satanic Majesty, while roaming around the world seeking
whom he might devour, came to Parras to tempt a certain holy
padre, Patricio by name, who bore the reputation of being a saint

Mij Confession

of the first water. The devil offered the holy Father long life and
the sole proprietorship of a gold mine, in exchange for his soul.
San Patricio accepted the bargain on two conditions: first, that
the Devil should do the mining, second, that the gold should be
sprinkled with Hob' Water! His Satanic Majesty, who was un-
doubtedly fuddled on the rich Parras wine, agreed to the terms,
and in the company of the good padre proceeded to this part of
the Sierra Madre and commenced operations. A shaft was sunk,
and gold soon reached and large quantities thrown out. The good
Father threw on the Holy Water, with so much zeal that some of
it flew into the pit and fell on the satanic miner! The effect was
wonderful! With a howl of baffled rage and infernal malice, the
Devil sprang through the mountain to his subten'anean abode,
leaving the saintly Father in possession of his soul, gold and long
life, and Parras with a new pass through the mountains, shorten-
ing the route from Monterey two hundred miles.

If any heretic doubts this true legend of the Holy Church, let
them go to the city of Parras in the State of Coahuila, visit the
church of San Patricio and find one fat Father Guies, who related
this to me, and he can hear it from the good man’s holy lips, and
many other legends of like undoubted veracity, and be shown a
painting of questionable merit portraying the Saint throwing on
the holy water, and the Devil with a tail many miles long burst-
ing through the mountain, surrounded with red and blue flames.

[IX]

A Duel in a Bedroom

The City of Parras, which we reached the next day, contains about
fifteen thousand inhabitants ^ and is delightfully situated on a plain
at the foot of a high mountain. The climate is unsurpassed in the
world; the air is so pure that flies and mosquitoes are unknown;
pears, grapes, pomegranates, olives and melons of all kinds grow
in abundance and of the best quality. Wheat, Corn, oats and
Barley fields cover the plains while the wine and Brandy is famed
all over Mexico. The city contains a Citadel and is usually garri-
soned by some three hundred men as a protection against the
Lipans and Comanches, but all of the Mexican soldiers had de-
parted before we arrived.

I enjoyed myself in this place to my full capacity. I was in town
every day making sketches for the officers, and I met with various
adventures. The women of Parras possess more than their share of
beauty. Some have skins as fair as our own New England girls,
with such enchanting glorious eyes! and black glossy hair! What
little feet and hands and divinely graceful shapes! Often mothers
at thirteen, grandmothers at thirty, they become fearful old hags
at forty.

I became acquainted with a family named Velasco which con-
tained twin sisters so very handsome as to be known as '"EH dos
hermosas hermanas' (the two beautiful sisters). Both were so
faultlessly lovely that I could not make up my mind which to ad-
mire the most. When looking into the lovelit eyes of Nina, I was

* Actually about eight thousand inhabitants

Ml/ Confession

ready to ^o\v eternal allegiance to her, the next moment when
listening to the sweet melody of Rosita's songs, I felt as if I was
her sla\-e forever, and ended by swearing lo\-e to both.

The girls took great interest m m\ ixingh sketches and I tried
m\’ hand at taking their portraits, but seeing how impossible it
was to do justice to their beauty I gave it up in despair. The
beauties delighted to curl my long hair and would spend hours in
fixing it to suit their tastes. But on mv return to Camp I would
find that I was guilty of abducting many of the inhabitants of the
place, for alas! mv charmers like all Mexicans raised large stocks
of piajos (lice), not only for home consumption, but for distri-
bution among their friends.

I was still on duty as orderly to Lieutenant Abe Buford, but my
service was through by nine a.m. and having a standing pass I
spent most of my time in town with my fair friends, escorting
them to Fandangos or the Theatre, made them presents, and we
were well known at all the places of amusement in Parras. But then
an incident occurred that put an end to my enchantment. One
morning I stopped at the casa of Velasco to make an early call.
I fastened my horse in the patio and entered the sleeping apart-
ment of the young ladies with the freedom of an old friend of
the house. This was a great mistake of mine— I should have sent
in my card! My two charmers were in bed, but not alone! The
black shaggy head of a Mexican lay on the pillow between the
raven tresses of Rosita and Nina!

I recognized the invader as one Antonio, a renegade who acted
as guide to our army. Overcome with my emotions, I was about
to retire with becoming modesty when the voluptuous rascal
sprang up and drawing a machete from under his pillow, and
wrapping his blanket around his left arm, rushed on me like some
wild beast. The fastidious young ladies, instead of fainting or
screaming, sat up in bed and cried “Bravo! Bravo! bueno Antonio!
matar! matar el grande pendefo!” (Bravo! Bravo! good Antonio!
kill! kill the big fool! )

A Duel in a Bedroom

What charming creatures! I drew my sabre and came to guard
in an instant. He was as active as a cat, and I found I had all I
could attend to in keeping his ugly knife from getting between
my ribs, while all my cuts and points were received on his con-
founded blanket. More than once his knife glided over my guard,
cutting my jacket. I could hear the gentle Nina say, “Anda! Andal
mia dulce, rnia ahna!” ( Quick! quick! my sweet, my soul! ) while
Rosita in her most dulcet tones murmured, “Antonio, mia amor,
punga el gringo, que la cama!” (Antonio, my love, stick the for-
eigner and come to bed! )

How cheei'ing to myself were the words of the darlings! But I
did not lose heart, and finally succeeded in giving my antagonist
an ugly slash across one of his bare legs, causing him to drop his
knife, when I gave him a point in a part that made him howl with
agony, and would cause him to lose the regards of the dos
margaritas.”

Leaving the villain on the floor bleeding profusely, I made a
graceful exit, and returned to camp, thoroughly disgusted with
the fickleness of womankind, Mexican Senoritas in particular.

One day not long after this little affair Major Beall, being on

The two beautiful sisters of Parras

Mtf Cotifcssion

duty as “Di\ision officer of the Day,” went into Pairas with a
patrol under the command of m\ old triend Sergeant Jack Miller.
“Old Brilliant" on arri\ ing in town drew up m the Plaza in front
of a pulque shop, entered and informed tlie liorrified proprietor
that his entire stock of liquors was confiscated to the United
States of America, which he represented!

The patrol were ordered to fill their canteens and help them-
seh’es to what tobacco, wine. Brandy and inuscal they wished, and
such is the discipline of the Second Dragoons that the men obeyed
without a murmur! Muscal was mixed with the water given to
their horses, and it was reported that their steeds got quite as
elevated as the riders. When they had used and wasted all they
could, the Major gracious!)' permitted the shopkeeper to retain
the rest, and sent his patrol through the streets to arrest all vol-
unteers and bring them to the Plaza.

The Dragoons, thoroughly drunk, dash’d through the streets
brandishing their Sabres and firing their pistols, using the volun-
teers with great violence, cutting tw’O with the Sabre. An officer
brought word to General Wool of Old Brilliant’s performance,
when Lieutenant Colonel Don Morrison, of the 2nd Illinoise Vol-
unteers, was sent into town to arrest the Major and his men.

Our Company was ordered out to go with him. On arriving in
town we found things decidedly brilliant. The Major had some
fifty volunteers prisoners in the plaza, and was making them a reg-
ular stump speech from his saddle. I don’t think his audience
placed the most implicit confidence in his remarks, as he contin-
ued in this strain:

“You d d mutinous hounds! I’ll have you all shot for disgrace-

ful conduct! No reply, you d — d dogs! Brilliant, by God, brilliant!
I’ll shoot you myself!” His speech was interrupted with cries of
“Go it Old Bottlenose!” “Fire away old Demijohn!”

Don Morrison rode into the crowd and placed the Orator under
arrest, and ordered him to give up his sword, and report to Gen-
eral Wool. Beall gave up his sabre and rode ofll muttering, “Bril-

A Duel in a Bedroom

liant! Brilliant, by God! To be placed under arrest by a d — d
volunteer doughboy officer]”

We found the patrol had been guilty of many outrages, arrest-
ing men who had passes as well as those without. They had
ridden into the church of San Jose during Mass, the place crowded
with kneeling women and children, and with oaths and ribald jest
had arrested soldiers who had permission to be present.

Major Beall, after a few days’ arrest, was released, his guard
discharged from confinement, while Jack Miller, the best non-com
in the regiment, was reduced to the ranks!

A Forced March

We remained in camp at Parras until mid-December. By this
time I had pretty effecti\^ely done the place, and had made quite
a collection of sketches of the prominent buildings. Some of the
Churches were to me as interesting as a Museum, containing
many paintings by native artists, quaint and grotesque in most
cases, yet showing much boldness of design, and uncultivated
talent. Then there were huge Saints, and Crucifixions, pieces of
the true Cross, by the cord, bones of Saints by the bushel, gor-
geous altars resplendent with barbaric gold

On the 17th of December an express from General Worth, ^ who
was at Saltillo, about 110 miles to the southeast, brought word
that Santa Anna, with a large Mexican force, was on his way from
San Luis Potosi to attack General Worth's smaller army at Saltillo.
Immediately the long roll was beat on the drums, the bugles
blew '‘Boot and Saddle," the waggons were packed, the sick
removed to the Citadel, with one company of regular Infan-
try left them for guard. In two hours from the receipt of the dis-
patches, we turned our backs on Parras and its charms, and with
our faces to the South, our little division commenced one of the
most extraordinary marches ever made.

The first night we halted on the bank of an arroyo that led into
the "Paso el Diablo." Resuming our march at two o'clock in the
morning, we marched all day over a very dusty road and made

^ William C. Worth, brevetted major general after the battle of Monterey, now
in command of some 1,200 regulars who garrisoned Saltillo, which Taylor had oc
cupied peaceably on November 16.

The church of San Jose, Parras

Mtj C.onfi'ssion

o\-er forty mile.s. It was terribh stwore on tho footmen, though
their knapsacks were hauled in waggons, and the Dragoons on the
rear guard would gi\'e the weai}' a lift. \et many would evade the
rear guard and hide in the Chapperal, and that with the full
knowledge that the Mexican ranclicros were C'on.stantlv on the
watch for our stragglers. Seseral were lost this da\ and we could
tell to a moment when the poor fellows met their fate bv the
circles of buzzards, kites, and Vultures o\'er the place where they
were being murdered.

The second night we bivouacked in the road, and slept in order
of march: reveille at 2 a.m., breakfast cooked and eaten, and we
w'ere off again in half an hour. The road was dusty and without
water, but we made a good fifty miles this day, and halted for the
night in the chapperal, near the towm of Patos. The next morning
we came to a smooth level plain, where the troops could march
off the dusty road, w'hich was a great relief. At noon we reached
a small stream of most excellent clear cold water; and men and
animals rushed into it together. What rest and vitality it gave us
to get rid of the two days’ accumulation of dust that had settled
on our faces, clinging to our hair and the men’s long beards to such
an extent that we had lost all resemblance to humanity and pre-
sented an appearance at once grotesque and horrible. We rested
here for two hours and then resumed our weary route much
refreshed by our halt.

Soon Staff Officers came at speed from the advance; orders
were given to close up, the Dragoons and Washington’s Battery
were ordered to the front at a trot; all seemed to say that some-
thing was up!

General Wool, ordering our Squadron to follow as escort, gal-
loped off to a gentle eminence well to the front. Away across the
smooth plain toward Saltillo was what appeared to be an army
drawn up in line of battle. Horsemen could be seen riding back
and forwards. Clouds of dust rolled up, a respectable line of
mounted skirmishers appeared in their front, things looked de-

A Forced March

cidedly promising for a fight. Colonel Yell’s regiment of Cavalry
was ordered to reconnoitre their position, but they only went
about a mile when they halted, \elling and brandishing their
sabres at the foe five miles off!

The General and Staff sat m the saddle watching the enemy
through their field glasses, when I heard Captain Benham, an
Engineer Officer, exclaim, “It’s a line of Spanish Bayonets
(yuccas), and a diove of Mustangs!” And so it proved to be,
though Lieutenant McDowell," General Wool’s aide, had seen
“thirty Brass guns in position.”

We moved on and went into camp at Agua Nueva, a cattle
ranch some 17 miles south of Saltillo, having accomplished 130
miles from Parras in under four days, an achievement unparalleled
in the history of the war.

We formed a regular camp at Agua Nueva although the only
advantage the place possessed was in having nine springs of
excellent water. The ground was covered with a thick growth of
cactus and mesquite which had to be cleared away before we
could pitch our tents. The inhabitants had all fled the place, with
the exception of a dozzen or two old women, a few children,
hundreds of dogs, fleas and lice ad infinitum. Our Quartermasters
and Commissaries took possession of most of the houses, the chapel
was turned into a hospital, and as the weather was growing cold,
the post corral was used for fire wood. Pickets were thrown out
on the San Luis and Zacatecas roads, from sixteen to twenty miles
from camp. I was fortunate enough to be detailed on General
Wool’s guard, and thus got rid of the unpleasant duty of outposts
in cold weather.

One dark disagreeable night, we were ordered to saddle up and
accompany the General and staff. We moved out of camp toward
the Encantada ranch, at the entrance to the pass that leads to

^ First Lieutenant Irvin McDowell, who fifteen years later commanded the Army
of the Potomac during the Civil War, and was held responsible for the Northern
failures at both battles of Bull Run.

Mtj Confcs.sion

Saltillo. It was a miserable night; a cold, drizzling rain that
seem to penetrate to our bones was falling, while it was so dark
that w^e could not see our file leader. Wrapped up in our overcoats
w’e rode along in silence, often missing the road, and being com-
pelled to dismount and find it again. We passed pickets who did
not hail us until we almost rode o\ ei them, passed the Encantada
ranch, turned to our right and continued on for some time, wdien
the two men on the advance halted, their horses refusing to
move on.

A belt of blackness, darker than the sin rounding gloom, yawned
beneath their horses’ feet. Lieutenant McDow’ell told the men to
spur their horses and make them move on, but the sensible ani-
mals would not budge. Lieutenant Carleton found a stone and
threw it in the black streak; no splash follow-ed, but it was heard
to strike on a hard rocky bottom, far belowc What a nice place
to leap in! Brilliant McDowell, the most obtuse intellect in the
army not excepting Dave Hunter!

We found the road and moved on, but in a few^ minutes came
to another halt, this time bringing up against a perpendicular wall.
We felt it with our Sabres, but as far as we could reach it was as
straight as the side of a house; in fact we were in the famous pass
of La Angostura. Getting on the road once more we moved on for
some time, when the barking of dogs directed us to a ranch; here
we got so mixed up in courtyards and corrals that we were com-
pelled to rouse up a “greaser” to show us our w^ay out. He informed
us that the little insignificant place was known as Buena Vista.
Beyond it the road lay over white limestone and we succeeded
in keeping it better; we took a trot and in about one hour our
horses’ hoofs rang on stone pavement, a sleepy doughboy hailed
us, and we found we were in Saltillo.

After inquiring for General Worth’s Headquarters, we pro-
ceeded down a steep street, just as a town clock struck the hour

^ Major David Hunter was a paymaster, brevetted a major general in the Union
army during the Civil War.

A Forced March

of midnight. At once our ears were saluted with the most infernal
noise I ever heard. The war whoop of the Comanches, the cry
of a pack of Coyotes, the morning serenade of a drove of mules
and Jackasses, was nothing to it! and yet it was only an honest
Mexican watchman crying the hour! “El Espiritu Santo Santissima
Virgen Maria doce horas!” ending with a shrill whistle.
Our horses plunged and reared with affright, and I honestly
believe that ten such watchmen would have routed our entire
army.

We drew up in front of Worth’s quarters in a pelting rain. The
sentinel called the General’s orderly to whom General Wool said,
“Give my compliments to General Worth, and tell him that Gen-
eral Wool is here.” After some ten minutes the orderly returned
with this message: “General Worth’s compliments to General
Wool and he wishes to know what you want.” “What I want!”
exclaimed our little General, “what I want! Do you hear that, Mr.
McDowell? Tell General Worth that I want quarters for myself.
Staff and Escort.” Away went the orderly and soon returned and
said, “General Worth says you can stop here.” The General was
angry enough at this cool reception, but remained with McDowell
while the rest of us found accommodations in the quarters of
Gompany F, 1st Dragoons.

After dinner on the second day we started back for camp. Gen-
eral Worth and General Butler * ( the latter in a carriage, still suf-
fering from a wound received at Monterey ) accompanied General
Wool as far as the plain back of the town. This plain is much
higher than the city, so that in approaching the place from the
north, it cannot be seen until you are within pistol shot of the
houses, when you have a bird’s eye view of the whole town. On
the plain an animated Gouncil of War was held by the three gen-
erals, as to the best way to defend the place against Santa Anna

^ General William O. Butler, of Kentucky, commanding the reserve at Monterey
in the absence of General Taylor, had been ordered to Saltillo to support Worth
in face of the threatened attack by Santa Anna, Being senior to both Wool and
Worth, Butler took command

Mti Cotif(^ssion

and the fift}' thousand “^leasers" that runior credited him with
ha\ ing.

They differed in opinion. General Butler, an able \’oliinteer
officer from Kentuck\, was in fa\oi of throwing up Rifle Pits, and
Redoubts on the plain co\ering all approaches. He remarked,
"Gentlemen, I know mv \oIunteers. If once broken thev cannot
be rallied, but place them behind bieastwoiks, and we will gain
a regular New Orleans \ictor\ Woith, a splendid officer who rose
bv merit alone from the ranks of the 6th U.S. Infantry and be-
lieved his division imincible, got a little excited and exclaimed,
"D — n the \'olunteers! Place me and the Regulars on this plain,
and I will dri\'e all the greasers in Mexico to hell at the point of
the ba}’onet! Why d — n it, gentlemen, this plain was made for
an infantry fio;ht, a man must be insane to talk of breastwork when
he has got such a field as this to manoeu\i*e in.” General WooFs
mind was fixed on the pass we encountered on our march
and recommended it be examined before any decision was
made.

The debate waxed w^arm, even our pious little General let slip
an oath, but squared the account by lifting up his hand and say-
ing, “Heaven forgive me for blasphemy.” The council broke up
without any decision, and we started on our w^ay back.

We passed the ranch of Buena Vista, and reached the pass of
Angostura, when we left the road, turned to our left and ascended
to a high plateau, where we had a fine view of the position. The
road we had left went through the pass, which was formed by a
high perpendicular cliff on one side and a deep impassable
barranca on the other. From the pass to the craggy mountains on
our left was about two miles, and with the exception of the
plateau, the grottnd was rough, full of deep ravines rendering it
impassable for cavalry and artillery. General Wool was delighted
with the strength of the place, and remarked to Lieutenant Carle-
ton, “If we have to fight a superior force this is the place, this
plateau commands the whole ground.”

A Forced March

On Christmas day our mess, famous as foragers, made extensive
arrangements for a capital dinner. We had secured a fat Pig, a ten
pound Turkev, a dozzen of eggs, and "Boss” Hastings, a veteran
in war and the culinary art, had got up a plum pudding! I was
tending the Pig for mv share. It was spitted on a ramrod that
some volunteer would find on his pay roll (we had borrowed it
for the occasion). My Pig was doing splendidly before the coal
fire, the skin browning to a turn, cracking open and letting the
rich fatty juice ooze out and drop into a messpan, from which I
ladled it over the revolving barbecue. “Boss” was superintending
the Turkey and the plum pudding; the former, stuffed with bread
and onions, was baking in a Dutch Oven, the latter doing in a
messpan, with another turned over it. How we smacked our lips
in fond anticipation of the coming feast! Benches, a table and
even plates we had, all cut out of the yuccas.

Things were about ready; Hastings and myself were debating
which was the right thing to do, serve Turkey or Pig first, and the
remainder of the mess were seated when a Ranger dashed through
camp crying out, “The enemy are on us! The enemy are on us!
and made for Headquarters. In another moment the bugler blew
“Boots and Saddles”; this was taken up by the cavalry and artil-
lery, while from the Infantry camps sounded the long roll. In five
minutes “To horse” blew, and kicking out the fire we left our
splendid dinner— alas! never to meet again. Just as the command
was given, “By fours trot, march,” a mob of volunteers passed by
and made a raid on our treasure; Dutch oven and its delicious
contents, Messpans and pudding. Pig and ramrod all went right
before our eyes! The strength of discipline was never more forci-
bly shown than in the present case— regulars robbed of their din-
ner by volunteers! To witness this without leaving the ranks was
a severe trial.

We went out on the San Luis road and as we reached the ranch
found the place full of volunteers. They were committing all
manner of outrages on the few women left in the ranch, fighting

Mif Confession

over their poor \octims like dogs, and the place resounded with
horrid oaths and the groans and shneks of the raped Captain
Steen cried out, “Ride them down, ineid Gi\’e the cowardly
wTetches the w^eight ot \oiir sabres!” and wo went for them with
a will.

With the memoiA ot our dinner fresh in our minds our mess
struck some hard blow\s, se\eral of the miscreants getting badly
cut We dro\’e them out of the place, placed the w^omen, some of
w^hom had been stripped naked, in one house, and leaving a guard,
we went on.

About one mile from the ranch, w^e met a gang of Racken-
sackers,*”’ coming in great confusion at speed. They reported that
wRile on picket in the Paso de los Pinos, they w^ere charged on
by a large body of ca\’alry. Steen questioned their officer, a Cap-
tain English, who described in the most minute manner their
appearance, how they attacked him, and of the deadly fire his
brave command poured into the ranks of the outnumbering foe!
With reluctance they formed in our rear and went back with us,
English riding alongside of Captain Steen. A sharp trot for one
hour brought us to the scene of the desperate affair. All was quiet,
for a wonder not a Buzzard w^as in sight, but aw^ay off on the plain,
which extended as far as the eye could reach, appeared a cloud
of dust. Captain English cried out, “There they go, a Brigade of
cavalry at least! Hurrah Boys, we drove them after all!” and the
brave Arkansas chivalry made the rocky pass echo with their wild
shrill cries.

Buford, who had been watching the dust through his glass, sud-
denly exclaimed, “Mustangs, by God!” and as the dust lifted we
could plainly see with the naked eye a drove of wild horses
careering over the llanos. Leaving the crestfallen heroes, we re-
turned to camp, cursing all volunteers. Our mess was completely
cleaned out, others were as bad off, and we made our Christmas

° Army slang for Arkansans.

A Forced March

Dinner oflF of hard bread and salt pork. By some means, we had
by next morning acquired a complete mess kit, and a couple of
hams and a dozzen smoked buffalo tongues, and there was some
tall swearing by certain volunteer officers.

[ XI ]

Massacre of the Cave

One day in midwinter I was on General Wool’s escort, and return-
ing from a trip to the Encantada ranch— our communications
point with Saltillo— when the sound of fire arms in the mountains
back of camp attracted our attention. General Wool sent his Aide,
Irvin McDowell, to find out the cause of the alarm. The Lieuten-
ant with an orderly went oflF at a gallop, disappearing behind a
clump of chapperal bushes, when a fearful yeU of anguish reached
us. With our minds full of thoughts of Guerillars and ambuscades,
we slung carbines, drew sabres, and even our little General drew
his dress sword and charged with us.

On reaching the scene, determined to conquer or die, we found
the unfortunate Aide lying on the ground face down groaning
most fearfully, with a “Turk’s Head” ( a species of the Cactus ) fast
to the most prominent part of his person! In spite of discipHne the
escort greeted this exhibition of the “stem realities of a soldier s
life in Mexico,” with shouts of laughter. Poor thick headed
McDowell, his horse had thrown him and he had found a landing
on a cactus that had thorns an inch long! His orderly came back
with his horse but “Mac” declined to ride and walked to camp.
A story circulated later that a Surgeon and a pair of tweezers was
required to rid the gentleman of his tormentors.

Hearing more shots away up in the mountain. General Wool
ordered Sergeant Clifford to proceed with the guard to the place
of firing and arrest all soldiers he found there. Taking a trot we
reached the steep ascent of the mountain, where we dismounted

Massacre of the Cave

and led our horses up. Soon we were obliged to leave our horses.
Three men were left in charge and now we only numbered nine
men and the Sergeant. All was quiet; overhead circled a cloud of
zapilotes, or Vultures, that would occasionally dart down on some-
thing on the ground ahead.

On reaching the place we found a ''greaser’’ shot and scalped
but still breathing; the poor fellow held in his hands his Rosary
and a medal of the "Virgin of Guadalupe,” and only his feeble
motions kept the fierce harpies from falling on him while yet alive.
A Sabre thrust was given him in mercy, and on we went at a run.
Soon shouts and curses, cries of women and children reached
our ears, coming apparently from a cave at the end of the
ravine. Climbing over rocks we reached the entrance, and as soon
as we could see in the comparative darkness a horrid sight was
before us. The cave was full of our volunteers yelling like fiends,
while on the rocky floor lay over twenty Mexicans, dead and
dying in pools of blood. Women and children were clinging to the
knees of the murderers and shrieking for mercy.

Sergeant Clifford ordered the volunteers, mostly from Yell’s
Cavalry, to come out and give themselves up as prisoners, which
order was received with shouts of derision and threats of cleaning
us out if we interfered. Clifford gave the command and we
dropped behind rocks and took aim on the foremost ruffians, when
our Sergeant again ordered them to file out or we would fire. They
became silent, not knowing our strength. Soon a brutal looking
Rackensacker advanced towards us brandishing a huge knife
dripping with gore in one hand, and a bunch of reeking scalps in
the other, and cried out:

"Hyer, you Regulars! I’m Bill Stamps, I’m! We don’t a muss
with you, we don’t! I raised this ’ere har from the d — d yellow
bellies that had on poor Archy’s clothes. I did! Take me to 'Old
Fussy’ ^ and I’U be responsible for the whole.”

With this the savage cutthroat marched out with a swagger,

' The soldiers’ nickname for General Wool.

My Confession

gave a fancy Indian dance and subsided in tears. With curses and
threats, more than a hundred volunteers filed out of the slaugh-
ter pen and with the muzzles of our Carbines bearing on them
they sullenly marched down the mountain. We soon met our
Squadron, who took charge of our prisoners while the Officer of
the Day ordered us back to the cave with several surgeons. On
reaching the place we could hear the low groans of the dying
mingled with the sobs of women and cries of children. A fire was
burning on the rocky floor, and threw a faint flickering light on
the horrors around. Most of the butchered Mexicans had been
scalped; only three men were found unharmed. A rough crucifix
was fastened to a rock, and some irreverent wretch had crowned
the image with a bloody scalp. A sickening smell filled the place.
The surviving women and children sent up loud screams on seeing
us, thinking that we had returned to finish the work!

No one was punished for this outrage; General Wool, in a gen-
eral order, reprimanded the Arkansas Cavalry, but nothing more
was done. The direct cause of the massacre was the barbarous
murder of a young man belonging to the Arkansas Regiment. But
this murder was undoubtedly committed in retaliation for the
outrages committed on the women of the Agua Nueva ranch by
the volunteers on Christmas day.^

^ OfiBcial accounts of this '‘massacre” are at variance with Chamberlain's narra-
tive. A commission held by order of General Wool on February 11, 1847, the day
after the murders, reported that four Mexican men were killed by bullet wounds
and one wounded m revenge for a guerrilla killing which occurred February 9.
No mention of scalping was made at this hearing, or m any of the standard his-
tories of the Mexican 'War. On April 2 General Taylor ordered the Arkansas
cavalry back to the Rio Grande (and out of the fighting) as punishment. This
order was rescinded April 11.

[XII]

Volunteer Cavalry

Our little army was rather weakened than strengthened by the
two regiments of volunteer cavalry, Colonel YelFs Arkansas and
Colonel Humphrey Marshall’s Kentucky. The material that these
regiments were composed of was excellent— none could be bet-
ter— for the men possessed fine physiques, and strength combined
with activity, but they had no discipline, or confidence in their
officers. Most of them were wild reckless young fellows, with the
most inflated ideas of their own personal prowess and a firm
belief that their own State could whip the world and Mexico in
particular. This independence of character, and self-confidence
was fatal to their efficiency as soldiers. Many of them were duelists
and desperados of the frontier, quite famous in their own locality
as fighting men, to whom the wholesome restraints of disciphne
seemed tyranny in its worst form. The battles of the Alamto, San
Jacinto and Mier, with the exploits of their demi-gods Crockett,^
Travis ^ and Bowie, ^ caused them to religiously believe that a
dozzen Southern gentlemen armed with the Kentucky rifle and
that southern institution, the Bowie Knife, could travel all over
Mexico.

Their impatience of all restraint, and egotism made them worse
than useless on Picket, while in camp they were a perfect nuisance.

^ Davy Crockett, American frontiersman, killed at the Alamo, 1836

^ William Barrett Travis, lawyer, soldier, leader in the Texas independence
movement; commanded the Texas force of 188 men massacred at the battle of the
Alamo.

® James Bowie, reputedly the inventor of the bowie knife, colonel in the Texas
army, killed at the Alamo.

My Confession

They would visit the Ranches and, looking upon the “greasers" as
belonging to the same social class as their own Negro slaves, they
plundered and ill-treated them, and outraged the women, and
this sometimes in the presence of the fathers and husbands, who
were tied up and flogged for daring to interfere in these amuse-
ments of the chivalry. This made work for us Dragoons, for v/e
were obliged to patrol the whole country for miles around camp
to protect the wretched inhabitants and arrest these heroes.

The really fine horses that they were mustered in with, they sold
to ofiBcers and the quartermaster, and were now mounted on
Mules or Mustangs that they had stolen. They took no care of
their arms— not one Carbine in fifty would go off— and most of
their Sabres were rusted in their scabbards.

This shameful state of affairs seemed to have no remedy; the
War was a southern democratic one, and ex-Governor Yell of the
great and sovereign State of Arkansas, and ex-Senator Marshall,
of the immaculate and still greater State of Kentucky, were men
of too much importance to take advice, much less orders, from a
little yankee general like Wool.

“We come here to fight sir! not to clean old iron and groom
horses sir! and doggoned if we do it sir!” was the reply to Colonel
Churchill, Inspector General of the army, by Major Borland*
when he had been reprimanded by the Colonel for the highly
culpable condition of his command. The incompetency of the
volunteer cavalry kept General Wool and Staff constantly on the
alert. The General seemed never to sleep; the least noise during
the night would call forth the cry, “Sentinel! Sentinel! what noise
is that?”

The tents of his guard were pitched directly in the rear of his
quarters and his call would invariably arouse us up; many and
many a time that cold winter, I had been out all day in the saddle.

Major Solon Borland of Colonel Yell’s Arkansas Regiment of Cavalry. Borland
later served as Senator from Arkansas, U.S. Minister to the Central American
Republics and as a brigadier general in the Confederate army.

Volunteer Cavalry

and had just got warm in my blankets, when the cry of “Sentinel!
Sentinel! What o’clock is it?” would startle me from my hard bed
to listen with anxiety to what would follow. When it was, “Call
Mr. McDowell! Call the Sergeant of the guard! Dennis! Dennis!”
I knew I was in for it, and with the rest turn out with muttered
curses to saddle up. Dennis was the General’s colored servant, and
when he was called we knew it was for the purpose of saddhng
up the General’s “bay,” and then for an all-night ride in the cold,
visiting the outposts, and the different encampments.

One bitter cold night we paid a visit to the camp of Arkansas
Cavalry at the Encantada. We went up the dry bed of an arroyo
until we gained the centre of the camp without being discovered.
Colonel Yell’s tent was on a pillar-shaped island of sandstone,
some thirty feet high, reached by a flight of steps cut in the rock.
As late as the hour was (2 a.m. ), the tent was lit up, and judging
from the clink of silver coins and remarks such as, “I see it, and go
you ten better,” “I’ll call you,” a nice little game of Poker was
being played.

General Wool dismounted and rushed up the steps, into the
tent and cried out, “Surrender gentleman, your regiment is
captured!”

We heard Colonel Yell’s voice reply, “Welcome, General, wel-
come! What will you imbibe. Brandy or Whiskey Punch?”

The general staff went up and for an hour we had the satisfac-
tion of listening to the clinking of glasses in the tent while we
were shivering in the cold. The Colonel’s poker party departed
and one of them. Captain Albert Pike,'’ asked our Sergeant if we
had anything to drink, and on being answered in the negative

® Captain Albert Pike, celebrated Arkansas poet, writer, lawyer, editor and
owner of the Little Rock Aikansas Advocate During the Mexican War he com-
manded a troop of Arkansas cavalry, which he recruited. His criticism of the con-
duct of Colonel Yell’s regiment, published in an Arkansas paper in 1848, involved
him in a duel with Lieutenant Colonel John Selden Roane, a prominent promoter of
the Know-Nothing party. As a brigadier general. Pike commanded the Indian troops
for the Confederacy during the Civil War. A noted exponent of Freemasonry, he re-
wrote the rituals of the Scottish Rite

My Confession

went back and soon a Negro boy made his ^

camp kettle full of hot Whiskey Punch, with the sliced lemo
ing L it. By the time the General came out, we were quite ,olly,
for the Colonel’s merits as a punch maker were undeniable.

As the General mounted we heard the ring of a hoise s hoofs
co*g at speed over the frozen plain. “There! There! sard the
General. “Another of your piekets captured, only one escaped!
Sure enough, the guard on the Parras road had been surprised and

taken, but one bad escaped.

[ XIII ]

The Captiire of Major Gaines^
Command

In January, 1847, a Captain William J. Heady and nineteen men
of the Kentucky Cavalry, while on picket in the Palomas Pass,
were captured without a shot being fired. A detachment of a
hundred and seventy-five men of the volunteer cavalry was
ordered out in pursuit. Major Gaines ^ of the Kentucky Cavalry
was in command. Major Borland and Captain Cassius Clay ^ held
subordinate commands, Dan Henrie, a famous Texan Ranger, was
the guide. The command left camp full of fight and muscal.

Days passed and no tidings from the expedition, and at Head-
quarters considerable anxiety was felt for their safety, but the
volunteer officers relying on Gaines’ and Borland’s merits as fight-
ing men, said they were all right, that they had got on the trail of
the missing party and would follow it to the end. But day after
day passed without any word from the detachment. More volun-
teer cavalry gobbled up! Our officers congratulated themselves
on finally getting rid of them all. Colonel Yell yelled, swore
and played Poker. Marshall rubbed his fat belly, kicked his
Negro boy and got drunk, but this brought no news of Gaines
or Borland.

^ Major John P. Gaines, who afterward became governor of Oregon.

^ Captain Cassius Marcellus Clay, of the Kentucky cavalry. A wealthy, eccentric
Kentucky abolitionist and editor, and distant kinsman of Henry Clay, he was a
friend and supporter of Abraham Lincoln, who appointed him Nlimster to Russia.

My Confession

Eleven days after they left camp, General Wool and Staff left
Agua Nueva for Saltillo. On the plain above the town their atten-
tion was attracted to a man on the right of the road. He was lying
down and waving his hands. Two of the escort was sent to bring
the man in. He was so weak and emaciated that he could not
speak. Some stimulants was poured down his throat and he was
carried to Saltillo. It was Dan Henrie, and under skillful treatment
he recovered and related the story of

THE CAPTURE OF MAJOR GAINES’ COMMAND.

After he left camp, Major Gaines marched all night and the
following day, only halting long enough to feed the horses. On
the second day they reached the ranch of La Encamacion situ-
ated in a vast salt plain fifty miles from camp. The only water to
be had was drawn by mule power from deep wells. To water and
feed the horses was a task that occupied them until dark. As soon
as they had finished their supper, fatigued with the severe march,
they lay down to sleep, with only one sentinel on post and that on
the azotea (a flat roof). No pickets or patrols were thrown out;
they lay down as if in camp and surrounded by a cordon of
sentinels.

Dan Henrie remonstrated to Gaines against this criminal care-
lessness, but without effect. Major Borland remarked “that they
were out for a fight, and all he asked was to have the ‘greasers’
come and attack him, and he would show them what mettle
Southern gentlemen were made of.”

Henrie was nervous and uneasy, and could not sleep. Taking his
trusty rifle he walked out on the gloomy plain, and lay down and
listened for any unusual noise. After some time he was about to
retire when he caught the sound of a horse at a gallop. It seemed
to start from near the ranch, grew fainter and finally died away in
the distance toward El Salado.

Hours passed and, all remaining quiet, Henrie returned to the
ranch. Finding the guard on the azotea was asleep, he occupied

The Capture of Major Gaines’ Command

the post himself. He was soon joined by Captain Clay, who from
the fleas or some other cause was also wakeful. Henrie spoke to
him of his uneasiness at the insecurity of the command, and
found the Captain was far from being satisfied with the condition
of things.

Towards morning a dense fog settled down on the plain, shroud-
ing everything in gloom. Once or twice they imagined that
they detected the tramp of numerous horses, and a distant jingle
of spurs. At daylight to their great astonishment a Brass Band
struck up, within a hundred yards of the gate, the well-known air
“Love Not.” The sleeping heroes, aroused by this strange reveille,
sprang up and thronged the azoteas and listened in amazement.
Soon the fog lifted and disclosed a large force of Lancers drawn
up around the ranch!

The band stopped playing, a Bugle sounded a parley, when an
officer left the ranks and inquired for the commanding officer.
Major Gaines replied that “he had that honor.” The oflBcer, who
spoke in excellent English, lifted his plumed hat and introduced
himself as Colonel D. Miguel Andrade, commanding a regiment
of Hussars in General J. Vincente Minon’s Brigade of Cavalry,
and with a profusion of apologies for calling on them so early,
begged to know how soon it would be convenient for him to sur-
render, and kindly allowed him fifteen minutes to decide.

A hurried council of war was held, and an angry discussion
ensued. Gaines and Borland were for surrendering and Clay and
Henrie for fighting it out to the end. The Ranch was strongly built
of adobe, in the form of a hollow square, and was impregnable
against any arms that Lancers carried. Henrie also volunteered to
break through the foe and reach camp, but no, the brave Borland,
who had “come to fight,” said they had no show, that it would be
an act of madness to resist such an overwhelming force, and
urged the surrender.

So they laid down their arms to the courteous Colonel, and
surrendered unconditionally. General Minon allowed the oflficers

My Confession

to retain their horses, but the enlisted men were compelled to
march on foot, on the road towards San Luis Potosi.-^

During the march a Mexican officer recognized Henrie as an
escaped prisoner,^ and the poor fellow had the satisfaction of
hearing an order given for him to be shot in the morning. But he
was not easily discouraged; he had been in many a tight place
before, and had made many a hairbreadth escape from situations
as desperate as this. Major Gaines was riding by and Henrie in-
formed him of his prospect, and said if the Major would let him
have his mare he would try to escape.

Major Gaines agreed to this, and rode up to the head of the
column and asked General Minon’s permission to allow one of his
sick men to ride his mare. The request was granted and the Major
dismounted and waited until Henrie came up. As he sprang into
the saddle, Gaines, with a pressure of the hand, bid him Godspeed
and added, “My pistols are yet in the holsters.”

Holding the mare in until the rear guard were close on him,
Henrie suddenly wheeled, and giving her the spur, dashed by
the astonished “greasers,” and with shouts of triumph was well
away before they thought of pursuit.

All was confusion, some opened an escopette fire, others gave
chase. Looking over his shoulder, Henrie saw three lancers bear-
ing down on him at utmost speed, with lances at a charge. Sud-
denly he drew up and disposed of a foe at each shot from the
pistols and dashing on to the third, parried the lance thrust and
with the butt of the heavy pistol brought him to the ground. The

® Chamberlain s memory has betrayed him in this account. Major Borland was
ordered on a scout to La Encarnacion, where by chance he was joined by another
scouting party under Major Games and Captain Clay. Their combined force now
numbering some 80 men, they determined to push on the next morning ( Janu-
ary 23) to El Salado, about 150 miles further south. But the next morning they
awoke, as Sam says, to find themselves surrounded. When they failed to return to
camp, another party under Captain Heady was dispatched to find them. They also
were taken unawares and captured. All the prisoners, except Dan Henrie, who
escaped, were taken to San Luis Potosi and then to the city of Mexico.

Henrie had earlier been captured at Mier, had escaped and after great hard-
ship reached Texas.

The Capture of Major Gaines Command

reckless ranger now, instead of continuing his flight, had the intox-
ication of battle seize on him; he grasped a lance from the ground
and with terrific yells charged down on his foes, and such terror
did he inspire that these redoubtable warriors turned tail and
fled back on the main body.

Henrie rode near enough to wave a farewell to his friends, and
then galloped off towards Encarnacion. Hundreds of lancers now
started in pursuit, but he led them easily without letting the mare
out, but when near Encarnacion he was horrified at the sight of a
body of the enemy drawn up at that place. He was headed off and
was obliged to bear to the right towards the Cedral, and take to
the mountains. Here he got lost and was without food or water.
On the fourth day the gallant mare died. Henrie dined off of his
late faithful companion, and this with a Gopher that he killed
with a stone was all the nourishment he had until General WooFs
escort found him.

Henrie recovered, and was sent as bearer of dispatches to Wash-
ington, but with his usual luck for meeting with adventures, the
train that he was with was attacked near Cerralvo, and he lost an
arm. I know not what subsequently became of him, but success
attend the brave ranger wherever he goes.

[XIV]

A Ghost Story

Right after this, General Taylor came up from Monterey, escorted
by Charley May’s ^ Squadron of 2nd Dragoons and Sherman’s -
and Bragg’s® Batteries, and Davis’^ Mississippi Rifle Regiment,
and made his headquarters in camp at Agua Nueva. Our Squadron
was quartered at San Juan de Panama, a ranch twelve miles back
on the Parras road. The place was deserted by all but Pigs and
fowls, fleas and lice. The two first we soon brought to terms, the
last proved rather too much for us. Our duty was to picket the
Parras road some twenty miles from the ranch. This duty was
extremely severe on our horses, they being obliged to go twenty-
four hours without water, there being none in the pass.

Mexico was made for picket duty. The roads available for mili-
tary purposes lead through passes in the Sierras many miles apart,
and the air is so clear that objects on the plain ten miles off can
be seen with the eye. No picket in the high regions could be sur-
prised without gross criminal carelessness on his part. In the night

^ Lieutenant Colonel Charles May, known as the hero of the battle of Resaca
de la Palma, where m May, 1846, the Americans under General Taylor decisively
defeated a Mexican force more than three times their number under General
Arista.

^ Captain Thomas W. Sherman, later a major general in the Union army (often
confused with General William Tecumseh Sherman).

^ Captain Braxton Bragg, later General Bragg, C.S.A., the victor in the battle of
Chickamauga.

Cc^onel Jefferson Davis of the 1st Mississippi Rifles, later President of the
Confederate States of America. Davis, whose first wife was a daughter of General

u American commissioners who arranged what Chamberlain

called the disgraceful terms of the Mexican capitulation after Monterey.

Picket station in the Paso de los Pinos

time the position of the vidette was far from being an agreeable
one, and two incidents happened to me that severely tried my
nerve and my unbelief in the supernatural.

One dark windy night I left the reserve at midnight to relieve
the outpost. It was a fearful night; the wind blew a gale, howling
and shrieking through the narrow pass and the dark gorges of
the mountains as if the wild Hunters of the Hartz mountains were
abroad. The man I relieved remarked that “the pickets ought to
be doubled, as it was enough to frighten the d — 1 to be out there
alone in such a night.”

The wild night had its effect on me. I felt unusually low spirited,
and a horrid undefined sense of .danger and fear took possession
of my mind and I suffered all the agony of a coward when danger
is nigh. In the gloomy woods the trees ground and rubbed
together, producing strange unearthly noises, the sighing and
soughing of the wind among the pines seemed like the moaning of

My Confession

despairing spirits, more than once the damp cold wings of some-
thing flapped against my face while what appeared fiendish
shrieks of laughter would sound behind me, then I would hear all
around the human-like cry of the Coyote, ending with a dismal
howl. Well wrapp’d in my horseman’s cloak, with slung Carbine,
I tried to reason with my fears and do my duty. My horse was
greatly excited, pawing and snorting, and several times whirled
and started for the rear, trembling with affright. So sure I was that
some horrid thing was close to me that I cocked my Carbine and
hailed several times.

I was fully alive to the great responsibility of my post. If I was
surprised the reserve would be, and then the army. All depended
on my watchfulness and vigilance, and I was to use the utmost
discretion and not give a false alarm, which next to a surprise is
highly culpable.

All superstitious fears fled at hearing the beat of horse hoofs on
the hard road coming at speed. I could exclaim, “Shadows to-night
have struck more terror to the soul of Richard than can the sub-
stance of ten thousand soldiers, armed in proof,” and now that I
could hear something that I understood I was myself again. I
could plainly hear the approach of a large number of horses, but
could not hear any clang of arms or ring of iron shoes. Mustangs,
I thought, and I was right— a drove of wild horses dashed past.

It was now about time for me to be relieved and I was listening
for the approach of the vidette when I caught again the sound of
horses on the road in front. More mustangs, I thought, but the
sound was different from that before. I sprang off and put my ear
to the ground and was satisfied that the horses were shod, and
bore riders. I mounted and backed my horse off the road and with
my Carbine at full cock, and my heart beating as if it would break
the ribs, awaited their approach.

On they came, and believing that they must be foes, I shouted
out “Quien vieneF Whereupon a voice exclaimed, “Greasers by

100

Who goes there?

G — d!” I cried out, “Halt! Dismount, advance one and make your-
self known.”

One person came out of the black obscurity and said, I am
Ben Tobin and Doc Irving and two others of Ben McCulloch s
Rangers. Now who in the D — 1 are you, and have you any
whiskey, for I am as dry as a powder horn!’

The relief now came up, and I showed the Rangers the way to
our reserve, where though it was against orders, a huge fire was
blazing under the lea of a high rock. There was a generous amount
of muscal yet left, and with songs and stories of wild adventure
we passed the time until daylight. The Rangers had been out on a

101

My Confession

scout towards Zacatecas, but had seen no enemy. Ben Tobin was
one of the best fellows in the world, son of a Irish gentleman, was
sent to Maynooth College to be educated for the Priesthood, was
expelled, came to America, and was now the wild rollicking
Texan Ranger.

My other adventure in the Zacatecas pass happened in broad
daylight, and was more than my philosophy could account for. I
was on the outpost one afternoon, the sun a good hour high, the
air clear and calm. I was in good health, with excellent digestion,
had not been on a spree for a month and I had drunk but little
muscal that day. I could see for miles in my front, and the ground
was so dry and parched that the jump of a Rabbit a mile off could
be told by the dust. I was thinking of nothing in particular when
I caught sight of an object moving on the plain about two miles
off. It was moving at right angles to the road, and seem’d to be
moving at a slow walk. I thought it must be some Ranger who
had lost his horse while on a scout and was making his way to
camp on foot.

I started down to meet it, when the fact that the advancing
figure raised no dust caused me to hesitate in wonder. On it came,
until I could make out a figmre of a man, or what resembled a
well-got-up scarecrow broke loose from some Yankee cornfield and
taking a promenade out in Mexico for the fun of the thing. Its
method of locomotion was peculiarly its own; it revolved like a
top in a most unaccountable and mysterious manner.

My steed showed symptoms of affright, pawing and snorting,
and tried to bolt with me. I slung my Carbine and waited, my
predominating feeling being that of curiosity. It appeared to be a
man dressed in the stereotype stage costume of an English clod-
hopper, a slate-colored smock frock, knee breeches, hob-nail shoes,
and a slouch felt hat. Its hair was long and tow colored, and the
face! No tongue can describe the awful ghastliness of the features,
and the terrible despair that glared from its stony eyes. It was
horrible, unearthly!

102

A Ghost Story

I rubbed my eyes to see if I was really awake and when the
thing was within a few yards of me I hailed it, but in silence on
it came, whirling and twisting around, its long hair and arms
flopping, and its legs twisting around each other. It seem'd all
smashed up, every limb out of joint, the head twisted over the
shoulder. I could stand it no longer but gave rein to my frightened
horse who dashed off for the reserve.

Shame made me rein up and look behind. The phenomenon
was moving on in the same slow, silent, mysterious manner. I got
desperate and driving spurs into my horse charged down to within
ten yards, and after ordering it to halt, I fired on it. Though I was
satisfied my shot passed through it, it produced no effect. I tried
to run it down, but I could not urge my horse near it. I rode round
and round it, firing on it as fast as I could load, and shouting with
sheer affright. The galloping of horses on the road toward the pass
drew my attention in that direction, and to my great joy Sergeant
Gorman and ten men of the reserve rode up at speed.

''What in the d — 1 have you got there. Jack?” cried out the
Sergeant.

"The old boy himself, I believe!” I replied as I gave it another
shot.

Gorman exclaimed, "Hold all! It's an old friend, Tim McCarty
from the old country!” and tried to ride up to it.

Holding out his hand, he said, "Tim, my boy, how are ye, how
came ye out here, and what in the d — 1 do you mean by twisting
about in that ridiculous manner for?” but Tim or whatever it was
made no reply but kept on its vortical and erratic way.

Gorman caught one look from the thing's fearful eyes, turned
pale, and yelled out, "A ghost! A ghost!” and went off at a run
followed by all but four.

We laid several plans to bring the thing to terms. We formed
about one hundred yards off and charged down on it, but our
horses, that would dash on a line of bayonets, would wheel when
within a few yards. We tied our lassos together and with a horse-

103

My Confession

man at each end rode around it and pulled the rope tight, which
passed through the figure without disturbing it in the least. We
fired volleys again and again into it. The bullets would pass
through, knocking up the dust on the plain beyond. Finally, get-
ting desperate, Jack Decker (Happy Jack of Company A) and
myself dismounted and dashed on it with our Sabres. Our blades
passed through and through the object, while Happy Jack, who
closed with the figure, was whirled off his feet and thrown to the
ground.

It had now reached the foot of a high craggy mountain, which
it ascended, moaning on in the same manner until a distant peak
hid the horrid thing from our sight. We looked in each others
faces with fear and amazement, and our unanimous belief was
that we had seen some being of another world.

We all went back to the reserve and found the Sergeant quite
sick from his scare. He insisted that it was the ghost of Tim
McCarty, come to warn him of his approaching death. I tried to
reason him out of this absurd idea, saying that if it was a warning
to anyone it must be me as it came to me first, but Gorman shook
his head and replied, ''Whist, Jack, what does Tim McCarty
know about you?” Superstition so worked on his mind that our
strange vision came near being the cause of his death for before
morning he was in a critical condition.

We had no outpost that night! Two men were placed on the
road, while the rest hovered over our fire and related fearful tales
of the supernatural, glancing over our shoulders as if some horrid
apparition stood behind us.

Next day on our return to the ranch the ghost story was told and
reached the ears of our oSicers, and we were separately examined
by them, but we all agreed on the main points. Yet Lieutenant
Buford swore we were all drunk, that the ghost was the effect of
too deep potations of muscal, and Sergeant Gorman was reduced
to the ranks for seeing a Ghost. The canteens of the Picket Guards

104

A Ghost Story

were closely inspected after this, and all strong liquors confiscated,
and we were troubled no more by whirling, twisting ghosts of
Tim McCartys in the Zacatecas pass.

[XV]

Reconnaissame to Hedionda

On the 20th of February, 1847, in consequence of reports that
Santa Anna’s advance divisions were within two days’ march of
Agua Nueva, General Taylor ordered a reconnaissance in force.
The detachment numbered about four hundred men, and em-
braced the very elite of the army: three hundred Dragoons, Mc-
Culloch’s Spy Company of Rangers and one section from Wash-
ington s Battery of six pounders, all under the command of the
“Murat of America”— the “heroic” Charley May.

We formed line in front of General Taylor’s headquarters at
daylight with three days’ cooked rations in our Haversacks. Gen-
erals Taylor, Wool and Joe Lane (of the Indiana Volunteers)
were present and appeared anxious for our safety. Colonel May,
the cowardly humbug of the war, was mounted on “Black Tom,”
and appeared quite indifferent to all possible dangers, but I
noticed that he chewed his segar instead of smoking it.

We moved out on the San Luis road, passed a picket of Ken-
tuckians in the Paso de los Pinos and some six miles further on took
a road to our left. We continued on for three hours, and then
halted and fed our horses. After an hour rest we continued our
march at a trot. The advance guard discovered and run down a
Mexican Lancer, who refused to give any information; he was
turned over to the Rangers, who to avoid all trouble put him out
of the way.

A platoon from our Squadron was now ordered to relieve the
advance guard. I was in this platoon which was commanded by
Sergeant Mellen, an ignorant Irishman but an excellent soldier.

106

Reconnaissance to Hedionda

On we went for hours, when reaching the top of a hill, a level
plain lay open before us some miles in width; the opposite side
was bounded by a long mesa or table hill at the base of which
appeared the white walls of a rancho. I thought I could see a body
of horsemen at the place, but none of the others could make
them out.

Lieutenant Sam Sturgis of the 2nd Dragoons, just fresh from
West Point, now joined us and took command. We started for the
ranch at a gallop. To the South, away in the distance, vast clouds
of dust rolled up for miles reminding me of my first sight of
TayloTs army near Monterey.

As we neared the ranch men were seen to run out and disappear
in a ravine that led up to the mesa. Sturgis ordered Sergeant
Mellen to occupy the ranch and not to leave it; then the Lieuten-
ant with his orderly started in pursuit of the fleeing Mexicans.
We could see them ride up as far as they could, then dismount
and lead their horses until they were hid behind the summit, when
we heard several shots. I was in favor of half of our number going
out to see what was up, but the Sergeant had positive orders to
remain at the ranch.

All the hombres left at the place were made prisoners and con-
fined in a house under guard. I was stationed on the top of the
highest building in the place as a lookout. I could see our column
winding its way over the plain from the northwest but the cloud
of dust to the south fixed my attention—I was convinced that a
large army marched beneath that dust.

The command soon came up and Sergeant Mellen reported the
loss of the Lieutenant to Colonel May but no pursuit was or-
dered.^ Captain Steen came up where I was. I pointed out the ris-
ing dust and stated what I thought was the cause. He said it was
possible, for it was known that Santa Annas army must be near us.

^ 2nd Lieutenant Samuel Sturgis was released by the Mexicans shortly after his
capture and lived to become a noted Indian fighter. As a captain of cavalry he
saw service on the frontier; fought at Antietam and Fredricksburg during the
Civil Wax, from which he emerged a brevet colonel, and as a lieutenant colonel
in the 7th Cavalry just missed being massacred with General George A. Custer

107

My Confession

Colonel May now sent out scouting parties, the Mexicans were
put to work building breastworks across each entrance to the
place, a six pounder was placed in position at each, the horses
unsaddled, groomed, watered and fed on barley that we found in
the ranch, some beeves run in and killed, fires built and supper
eaten. Colonel May, Lieutenant Tom Gibbons and other oflBcers
came up to the lookout and I respectfully stated that I thought the
dust clouds were caused by the march of troops. “Troops of cattle,
you d — d fool,” replied the captor of La Vega. At this moment I
caught sight of horsemen on top of a hill not over a mile off; their
figures were brought out in bold relief by the western sky, and
the setting sun fairly gfitter’d on their long line of lance blades.
May was now convinced that the enemy was near and acted as
if he had lost his head; rushing down into the court he cried,
“Saddle up, G — d d — n you, who told you to unsaddle? Lieu-
tenant, send out a detail and drive in all the horses and cattle you
can find.” He created great confusion and almost a panic, counter-
manding his orders as fast as he gave them. A large corral was
filled with cattle and horses; the latter had saddle marks and regi-
mental brands, and had evidently been turned out to graze that
day. Yet Colonel May swore at the men for bringing them in, and
ordered them to be turned loose again. He cursed and swore at
everybody and everything, ordered all the “greasers” to be shot,
but was prevailed on to let them live.

By nine p.m. all our scouting parties (except one under Chuck
Evans) had returned; they had seen no enemy troops, but had
passed over ground where large bodies of cavalry had recently
camped, with fires still burning. We stood to horse until ten p.m.
when our temporary barricades were torn away and Colonel May
gave the command “To horse!” A dozzen buglers immediately blew
the call, though strict orders had been given to maintain the
utmost silence! All the buglers of the two Dragoon regiments
hated May for claiming the capture of General La Vega at the
battle of Resaca de la Palma, when it was one of their own—

108

Reconnaissance to Hedionda

Winchell of Company H, 2nd Dragoons— who took the Mexican
prisoner.

We went off at a trot and had scarcely cleared the place when
from the hill behind the ranch a rocket whizzed up in the air, and
was answered away off on the plain by the boom of a heavy gun.
A faint new moon gave a weird light to the scene as we rushed
on in flight. Horses fell in the prairie dog holes, men were thrown,
our artillery bounced along behind the horses like playthings,
prairie dogs barked, snakes rattled, owls hooted and flew up from
beneath and men cursed at our headlong flight. Now and then we
could see a line of horsemen racing along on a road to our left,
they were trying to reach the Paso de los Pinos and hold it
against us.

Our advance went off at speed, reached the pass and were fired
on by our own pickets, who then ran for camp.

The column came up and instead of leaving a force to hold the
place, the whole command pushed on for Agua Nueva, leaving
the pass unguarded. May ordered us to gallop and we went into
camp at a charge. The 'long roll” was beating an alarm, the guards
fired on us and ran, all appeared convinced the Mexicans were
on them. Racing up to General Taylor’s tent we formed “on right
into line” and found “Old Zack” standing unconcerned by a log
fire with his staff.

May reported and Taylor remarked, “Doggone them, I knew it
was you that was coming. But the alarm will answer for reveille.”

We had made this little excursion of eighty miles in just twenty-
four hours without any sleep. We were dismissed to our quarters,
our horses were taken care of by our comrades, our breakfast was
ready, and having eaten, we lay down to a deep slumber, only to
be aroused again at nine a.m. by “Boot and Saddle” sounding.
Forming line we stood to horse for two long hours until the gen-
eral alarm was sounded, the tents of the entire command were
struck and all our baggage sent off north in waggons to the
Encantada ranch.

109

Alarm of the Volunteers

A line of battle was now formed on the plain, my squadron was
ordered to report to General Wool as his escort, General Taylor
and StajE rode up and we overheard all the news. Ben McCulloch
(the famous Texan Ranger), disguised as a rancher o, had fallen
in with and remained with Santa Anna's army all night; they were
now in sight of the Paso de los Pinos, and a brigade of their cav-
alry under General Torrejon was closing up to that place.

General Wool was for our falling back to the strong position of
La Angostura Pass, near the ranch called Buena Vista. General
Taylor was for fighting where we were, not from any military
advantage of the place, but because his inflated pride would not
listen to anything like a retreat. ''No,” he said, 'Til be d- — d if I
run away!” The "heroic” May now had his say: "Let their Lancers

110

Reconnaissance to Hedionda

come onto the plain. I will see that none of them ever go back,”
and he looked all he said. Charles May was over six feet in height,
straight as an Indian, with long black hair and a beard that swept
his waist belt, and mounted on Black Tom, he appeared the beau-
ideal of the dashing cavalry officer, but the truth was, it was the
old fable of the “Ass in the Lion’s Skin” revived. Major Mansfield ^
and Lieutenant Benham of the Engineers supported General
Wool, pointing out the advantage the enemy would have in our
present position, for his artillery placed on the hills would com-
mand our entire line.

Taylor still remaining obstinate, General Wool, after a consulta-
tion with the leading officers, stated that he would take the full
responsibility on himself; that he would not see the army sacri-
ficed but would march them back to Buena Vista, and leave the
result to the battle and the War Department. “Rough and Ready”
raved and told General Wool to “go to h — 1 in his own way,” and
rode off for Saltillo on Old Whitey, with May’s Dragoons for
an escort.

It was now midday, and much valuable time had been lost.
Orders were given and promptly executed for the army to fall
back; Marshall’s cavalry was sent out to the pass to hold it until
dark; the Arkansas Gavalry was detailed to load up the Quarter-
master and Gommissary Stores at Agua Nueva; the sick were sent
in ambulances to Saltillo, while the Infantry marched for La
Angostura. Our Squadron brought up the rear; the volunteers
lagged badly and we were obliged to use force in driving them up,
but at Sundown they were all in camp inside the pass.

We unsaddled our weary steeds, . groomed, watered and fed
them, got our supper and then lay dovra on the frozen ground to
sleep, when the unwelcome sound of “Boot and Saddle” aroused
us to saddle up our shivering horses once more. Captain Chap-
man, the Quartermaster, had sent word that the Arkansas Cavalry
refused to work in loading up the waggons, and so the Dragoons,

® Later General Joseph K. F. Mansfield, who died at Antietam.

Ill

My Confession

who had had but three hours' sleep in three days, must go back
twelve miles to do the work!

It was midnight when we reached Agua Nueva; huge fires of
discarded supplies were burning, around them the Rackensackers
were gathered, some sleeping, others playing cards, none working.
Long trains of empty waggons stood ready to be loaded. All but
our number fours dismounted and went to work, heartily damning
all volunteers. We had loaded twenty waggons with the most use-
ful supplies and sent them off when a shot was fired out on the
San Luis road, then another, and then a regular volley.

Cries of “Run boys, run! The Mexicans are on us!" were heard
and great confusion ensued. The Arkansas Cavalry became panic
stricken, sprang to their saddles and fled, nearly stampeding our
horses. Captain Steen gave orders to fire the place; blazing logs
were thrown into the chapel and all the houses, bacon and pork
thrown on, the large barley stack fired, and soon the whole place
blazed up grandly. We mounted and fell back on the plain, formed
line facing the ranch and with drawn Sabres awaited further
developments. The fire lit up the country for miles, the occasional
bursting of shells and ammunition giving a grand effect to the'
scene. The hill back of the place fairly glittered with the sheen of
Mexican lance points. Soon long columns of their cavalry swept
around the ranch and spread over the plain. We broke into a
column of fours and started for camp at a trot; at daylight we
passed through La Angostura pass with the enemy close at our
heels.

[XVI]

The Battle of Buena Vista

The next morning was glorious. It was February 22nd, Washing-
ton’s Birthday! The camp was alive with preparations for Battle,
Staff officers and mounted orderlies were galloping to and fro,
columns of Infantry and batteries of Artillery were moving out
towards the pass, drums were beating, the banners were unfurled
to the breeze, the volunteers were cheering, the waggons were
moving on the road for Saltillo. Our Squadron moved onto the
Angostura pass, since known as Buena Vista. Under the cliffs at
the pass the Surgeon and his assistants were busy preparing ampu-
tating tables.

We rode up on the plateau, where we had a good view of the
whole ground. On our left, some two miles distant from the pass,
rose the high craggy walls of the Sierra Madre; to our front
towards the Encantada was a continued series of ravines, deep
barrancas and rocky cliffs. Some five miles away to our front,
clouds of dust rolled up telling us the enemy were moving on our
position.

Our troops came on to the ground with drums beating and
columns flying; line of battle was formed with our right resting
on the pass, the left extending to the foot of the mountain. At
noon General Taylor arrived on the ground with May’s Squadron.
His arrival was announced by tremendous cheers from the volun-
teers, who seemed to think that ‘'Rough and Ready” was quite a
reinforcement in himself. His first act was to order two regiments,
the 2nd and 3rd Kentucky Infantry, across the deep barranca to

114

The Battle of Buena Vista

the right of the pass, where they were out of the way of all harm,
and as for being of any assistance to us, they might as well have
been stationed at the Brazos. General Wool addressed the differ-
ent commands, reminding them that it was the anniversary of the
birth of the Father of our country, and called on them to celebrate
it in a way that would confer an additional honor on the day.

About 1 p.M. the advance guard of the Mexicans came in sight
at the distance of two miles; it consisted of a brigade of Lancers
and a battery of Horse Artillery. They advanced in fine style,
winding in and out of the ravines, with a fine brass band playing,
until they had approached within a mile of our line, when they
deployed column, brought their guns in position and sent a eight
pound shell shrieking into our left as a feeler. It produced no
response but cheers. Heavy masses of Infantry and numerous
batteries of guns now came in sight, marching in beautiful array,
firm and steady as if on parade. On they came, until the whole
country in our front was covered with their dense masses. Gayly
uniformed officers left their lines and approached quite close to
ours to reconnoitre, and rode back unmolested.

About 3 p.M. a large force of the enemy, estimated at about
three thousand strong, moved towards our left, and began to
ascend the mountain, and thus flank our position, while an oflBcer
with a flag of truce left their ranks and galloped towards us. The
officer reported himself to General Taylor as Major Liegenburg,
a German Surgeon in the Mexican service and bearer of a letter
from Santa Anna. The letter interpreted was as follows.

To His Excellency, General Z. Taylor, Commanding the Army of the
United States of the North.

Illustrious Sir.

You are surrounded by twenty thousand men, and cannot in any
human probability avoid suffering a rout, and being cut to pieces with
your troops; but as you deserve consideration and particular esteem,
I wish to save you from a catastrophe, and for that purpose give you
this notice, in order that you may surrender at discretion, under the

115

My Confession

assurance that you will be treated with the consideration belonging to
the Mexican character; to which end you will be granted an hours
time to make up your mind, to commence from the moment when my
flag of truce arrives in your camp.

With this view, I assure you of my particular consideration.

Ant. Lopez de Santa Anna

General Taylor, on getting the purport of Santa Anna, replied,
''Tell Santa Anna to go to hell!” and turning to his Chief of StaflF
said, "Major Bliss, put that in Spanish, and send it back by this
d — d Dutchman.”

The reply of the wrathy old General, reduced to writing by
Major Bliss ^ read as follows:

In reply to your note of this date, summoning me to surrender my
forces at discretion, I beg leave to say that I decline acceding to your
request.

This, though not so forcible as the original, reads decidedly
better in history. In the meanwhile the Mexican troops continued
to ascend the mountain, and General Wool dispatched Colonel
Marshall with the Kentucky cavalry to meet them. Marshall rode
to the foot of the mountain and then sent some two hundred dis-
mounted men up the heights. A deep ravine separated the foes;
it was some two hundred yards wide at the bottom, but joined
some half a mile up the mountain. The enemy opened a heavy
fire across this gulch; our skirmishers, sheltering themselves be-
hind rocks, returned the fire with deadly effect on the solid ranks
of the foe who stood square up to their work. Our Squadron dis-
mounted and took the bits out of our horses’ mouths and let them
graze on the scarce dry "gammer” grass, while we seated at our
ease on the ground viewed the drama being enacted in the moun-
tain. The air was so clear that we could see every movement, could
tell when a "greaser” was hit, and see them tumble down the rocky

* Major W. W S. Bliss, Taylor’s able chief of staff.

116

side of the ravine. Several times the Mexicans tried to force their
way around the head of the ravine, but recoiled before the fire
of the Kentucky cavalrymen.

General Taylor, seeing that no general engagement would take
place today, returned to Saltillo with the 2nd Dragoons, and Gen-
eral Wool at once dispatched orders for the two regiments in posi-
tion across the barranca on our right to report to him on the
plateau. The skirmish did not end until some time after dark. Our
loss was one slightly wounded, while theirs must have been heavy.
Water and rations was sent to our skirmishers who remained in
the mountain all night.

Captain George Lincoln,^ A.A.G. to General Wool, ordered our
Squadron on picket between the two armies. How cruel! how
unjust! Both our horses and men were used up by hard work and
want of rest, while the Infantry were comparatively fresh. Our
poor horses were groomed and fed, and then we marched out
beyond the pass for half a mile. Two mounted men were stationed
at the head of each ravine; the rest dismounted and tried to get
some little sleep.

My messmate, ''Boss” Hastings, asked me to look out for his
horse, while he tried to find something to comfort us. He returned
in less than a half an hour, and placed in my hand a bottle of real
French Brandy. I threw myself outside of a liberal potion, and felt
decidedly warmer and better. The bottle went the rounds of our
mess, until it was pronounced a dead soldier. "Boss” let me into the
secret of finding the welcomed stranger: He had slipped out to
the Hospital beyond the pass and presented himself to Dr. Hitch-

^ Captain Lincoln was the son of Levi Lincoln, a former governor of Massa-
chusetts.

117

The First Dragoons on picket between the two armies

cock, with the following message: ‘'Captain Steen’s compliments
to Dr, Hitchcock, and wants to know if he can do anything for him
this cold night in the way of stimulant.” The bottle of Brandy and
the good Doctor’s compliments were sent at once.

At early dawn we withdrew and at sunrise were again on the
plateau.

The sun rose bright and clear behind the Sierra Madre on the
morning of the 23rd of February, 1847. It shone on a scene well
calculated to stir one’s blood to a fever heat with warlike enthu-
siasm and make a coward brave. I doubt if the “Sun of Austerlitz”
shone on a more brilliant spectacle than the Mexican army dis-
played before us— twenty thousand men clad in new uniforms,
belts as white as snow, brasses and arms burnished until they glit-
tered like gold and silver.

Their Cavalry was magnificent— some six thousand cavaliers
richly caparisoned in uniforms of blue faced with red, with wav-
ing plumes and glittering weapons, advanced towards us as if they
would ride down our little band and finish the battle at one blow.

They formed in one long line with their massed bands in front,
and then a procession of ecclesiastical dignitaries with all the
gorgeous paraphernalia of the Catholic Church advanced along
the lines, preceded by the bands playing a solemn anthem. The

118

The Battle of Buena Vista

air was so clear we could see every movement: The Infantry knelt
down, the Cavalry lowered their lances and uncovered, and their
colors drooped as the benedictions were bestowed. This ceremony
ofFered a striking contrast to conditions in our lines; there was not
a Chaplain in our army!

The Priests retired, a smoke arose from a battery about a mile
and a half off, a thirty-two-pound solid shot plumped into the road
near the pass and the conflict commenced.

The skirmish in the mountain opened lively. The enemy showed
great activity along their whole line, their heavy guns keeping up
a continuous fire on our right but without effect. With the excep-
tion of our skirmishers in the mountain, not a shot was fired from
our line. General Wool, seeing that Marshall was being pressed
hard by the overwhelming force of Mexicans, sent three com-
panies of the 2nd Illinoise Volunteers under Major Trail to their
assistance. During the night the foe had dragged a howitzer up
the mountain and opened with this on our riflemen, but as our
men were well sheltered behind rocks it did not do much
harm.

While this was going on a heavy column of Infantry and Cavalry
moved up the San Luis road against our right and charged the
pass. Captain Washington poured into their ranks such a rapid
fire of shell and canister that whole lines seemed to sink at every
discharge. Led on by their officers, the survivors pressed on, only
to go down before the terrible fire that actually scorched them.
They recoiled, and then fled back in confusion leaving behind
fearful piles of dead and wounded.

Our Squadron remained inactive on the plateau, and Captain
Steen, getting impatient and seeing a Mexican officer watching us
through a glass, took our best shot (Tennessee Jim) with him, and
started for the gentleman. At a distance of four hundred yards he
fired with a Hall’s long-range Rifle and brought the officer to the
ground.

Their batteries now opened in full force, causing some wavering

119

My Confession

in our volunteer regiments; men commenced to drop out of the
ranks and make for the rear. Every wounded man found himself
surrounded by a host of new friends, who felt the greatest solicitude
for his safety. I saw one volunteer, shot through the arm, with no
less than eight of these benevolent chaps assisting him off the
field. One of them was even carrying his hat! General Wool sent
us to drive these good Samaritans back to their duty, which we
done with no gentle hand.

Our line of battle at this time, 9 a.m., was as follows: on our
right, two guns of Washington in the pass, supported by two com-
panies of the First Illinoise Volunteers; then six companies of the
same regiment under Colonel J. J. Hardin on the hill; then the
2nd Kentucky, Colonel McKee; next Colonel Thomas Sherman’s
Battery of six guns, the 2nd Illinoise under Colonel Bissell; Bragg’s
Battery of six guns; the First Dragoons, two companies; the Indi-
ana Brigade under General Lane; Lieutenant O’Brien’s section of
Washington’s battery; and far to the left, the dismounted Ken-
tucky Cavalry under Colonel Marshall.

At 10 A.M. the firing was confined mostly to the artillery and
the skirmishers. Lieutenant Sitgreaves, an Engineer officer, took
charge of a six-pounder and was throwing shells among the
enemy light troops and Lieutenant O’Brien ® with his section was
playing on the heavy masses of the foe at the foot of the mountain.

To rest our horses we had dismounted, and were taking a rest
on the ground, when some one cried out “Look thar!” Not more
than fifty yards in our front little white things were apparently
crawling along the ground. All doubts of their character were
cleared up by seeing a forest of glistening tubes, and the sho'wy
caps and the dark fierce faces of the Mexican Infantry rising out
of a little ravine. Santa Anna had sent an entire division through
the gulches without being discovered, and it came near proving
fatal to us.

® John Paul Jones O’Bnen, a West Point graduate and veteran of the Seminole
War. He was brevetted a major for his conduct during the battle of Buena Vista.

120

The Battle of Buena Vista

''And there was mounting in hot haste” as we were almost
deafened by the roar of musketry; the Mexicans were firing point
blank, resting their muskets on the bank of the ravine. We fell
back in a hurry, re-formed and returned the fire with our Carbines;
the Kentucky and the Illinoise regiments threw themselves flat
and fired under the smoke. The Mexicans came out of the ravine
in masses and hurled themselves onto the plateau. General Joseph
Lane ordered his Brigade to charge, but Colonel Bowles, com-
manding the 2nd Indiana, gave the strange order. "Cease firing,
and retreat!” His regiment broke and fled like deer, throwing away
arms; Sherman s battery beside them limbered up and went to the
rear at a jump. The panic was contagious; men left the ranks in
all the regiments, and soon our rear was a confused mass of fugi-
tives, making for Buena Vista ranch and Saltillo.

It seemed as if the battle was lost, but in this moment of con-
fusion and danger Lieutenant O’Brien advanced his guns to within
fifty yards of the exultant foe, and under a. fearful fire of musketry
opened with canister on the multitude rushing on him. If O’Brien
yielded all was lost, and destruction seemed certain if he re-
mained. Heavy columns of Cavalry now came thundering down
on the intrepid little band of artillerists who loaded their guns
with double charges of canister and threw in handfuls of stones!

But though horrid lanes were cut through the hostile columns,
they still advanced, and O’Brien, seeing General Wool advancing
to his support with the 2nd Illinoise, withdrew his guns by their
prolonges, firing as he fell back. He and most of his men were
wounded. His heroic resistance gave Wool time to close the gap
in our lines. Captain Steen drove back Sherman’s battery and our
squadron was sent to round up the flying Indianans, and we suc-
ceeded in bringing back some two hundred of them.

A Major Dix, a paymaster, mounted on a gigantic Bay horse,
seized the National Colors from the standard bearer of the regi-
ment and waving them over his head led the men back again
where they done good service. General Wool’s adjutant gen-

121

My Confession

eral. Captain Lincoln, highly distinguished himself in his efforts
to rally the fugitives.

The Mexican advance cut off our skirmishers in the mountain,
and our Dragoon company was ordered to make a diversion in
their favor. We advanced in a column of platoons at a gallop and
Captain Steen had just given the command “Charge!” when the
brave old man was struck in the thigh by a canister shot and
disabled. Lieutenant D. H. Rucker assumed command and led us
up the plateau in gallant style. The skirmishers under Marshall
dashed down the mountain with clubbed rifles, and most got
through safe. But the Lancers harassed their flanks and speared
a few. I saw one mere boy run through while begging for mercy!
We were on the Lancers the next moment, too late to save but
soon enough to revenge; they went down horse and man before
our furious onslaught.

The Mexicans now advanced again on the plateau and sur-
rounded O’Brien’s battery, charging the guns with the bayonet,
under a heavy fire. The conflict was brief but terrible. No troops
in the world ever showed more reckless valor than did this division
of Lombardini, exposed to double charges of canister from
O’Brien, two guns’ shells from Sherman’s battery, the musketry
fire of the 2nd Illinoise, and our Carbines. O’Brien gave orders for
the last load, a shell fuse on top of the cartridge, and then two
canisters, hoping to burst his guns. The lanyards were not pulled
until the foe had hold of the wheels of the carriages, and though
the tough metal refused to burst the effect was frightful; the head
of the column fell as if struck by lightning, but the survivors
rushed on and the deserted guns were theirs. O’Brien and what
was left of his men, all wounded, managed to reach us.

At this time General Taylor arrived on the field with May’s
Dragoons and the 1st Mississippi Rifles under Colonel Davis to
close the gap in our lines. This gallant regiment passed by us with
the fight swinging step peculiar to Indians and hunters, their uni-
form a red shirt worn outside of their white duck pants, and black

122

The Battle of Buena Vista

slouch hats, armed with Windsor Rifles, and eighteen-inch Bowie
Knives. Their Colonel, Jefferson Davis, was a West Point graduate,
a son-in-law to General Taylor and a brave able oflScer, one of the
best on the field. He formed his men on the upper part of the
plateau, in the shape of a letter V opening toward the foe, the
flanks resting on the banks of the gulches.

General Taylor now rode up to us with his staff and watched
the movements with great interest. Down the plateau advanced
toward Davis’ “Red Shirts” General Torrejon’s splendid brigade of
Mexican Cavalry; their gaily caparisoned horses seemed to fly over
the ground, and it looked as if they would ride down the thin line
of riflemen, who stood without bayonets disputing their passage. I
heard General Taylor say, “Steady boys! Steady for the honor of
Old Mississippi!” and as the sharp crack of their rifles rang out
and the leading horsemen went down, the General swung his old
glazed cap and cried out, “Well done Jeff! Hurrah for Mississippi!”
and raised a cheer in which we all joined.

Davis’ men, profiting by the confusion caused by their terrible
fire, threw down their rifles, and with frightful cries dashed on the
astonished horsemen, who seemed helpless now their charge had
failed. Catching the horses by the bits they backed them onto
their haunches and knifed the stupefied riders, who as soon as they
could turned and fled with shouts of “Diablos—Camisa colorados!”
(Devils— Red Shirts!) From this time until 1 p.m. the battle raged
with great fury all along the line; the Mexicans made repeated
assaults and our position became precarious. Our left was driven
back more than a half a mile, the cruel foe occupying the ground
and bayonetting our wounded in our sight.

General Taylor believed we were whipped and made up his
mind to retreat to Monterey, ninety miles off! The order was even
given for the infantry to withdraw at a given signal, while the
batteries and Dragoons were to hold the rear. This would have
been done if it was not for General Wool, who remonstrated with
Taylor, and pointed out how fatal it would be to us to abandon

123

My Confession

the pass, and expressed his belief that we would yet whip them.
Taylor, as usual, gave in to his plucky little subordinate.

I really believe that the battle of Buena Vista would have been
lost to us if General Taylor had been allowed to have his own
way, at any time during the day of the 23rd.^

The Mexicans had a heavy battery of three guns, manned by
Irish deserters from our army. These desperadoes were organized
as a battalion known as the Battalia San Patricio, or Legion of
Saint Patrick; the commander was the notorious Reilly, who
ranked as a Colonel in the Mexican Army. A beautiful green
silk banner waved over their heads; on it glittered a silver cross
and a golden harp, embroidered by the hands of the fair nuns of
San Luis Potosi. The deserters pitched their shells into every part
of the field, some bursting in the road a good mile in our rear.

General Taylor ordered Lieutenant Rucker to take that “d — d
battery.” (The old gentleman was sometimes slightly profane.)
Now the order was very easy to give, but rather difficult to exe-
cute, but such men as Rucker, Carleton and Buford are not apt to
hesitate in the face of danger, so we tightened our saddle girths,
and stripped ourselves of all encumbrances such as greatcoats,
haversacks, nosebags, etc. With a firm grip on our Sabres, down
a ravine we went at a trot, cheered by Sherman’s battery as we
passed under the muzzles of their guns, and were soon hid from
the sight of both armies by the banks of the ravine. We passed
many dead and wounded Mexicans in the gulches, and more than
one poor wounded wretch was trampled to death beneath our
horses’ hoofs. We moved up another ravine and rising the bank,
saw through the dense cloud of smoke and dust, the glittering
cross that waved over the deserters’ guns.

Re-forming our platoons, we went for them at speed. I thought
we would capture the guns without much trouble, as the pieces
were so elevated that the shots passed high over our heads. Just

Sam was badly mistaken Later historians agree that it was Wool who advised
a retreat and Taylor who refused to order it.

124

The First Dragoons charging the Legion of San Fatricio

as we were on them, the Bugler sounded to the “right,” in the
nick of time for our wheeling flank to clear a yawning chasm full
ten yards wide that opened in front of the battery. We were soon
under shelter in the ravine, and we kept down this to the road,
and struck for the pass. The road was literally blocked by the
heaps of dead horses and men mowed down by the fire of Wash-
ington s battery in the cavalry charge that morning.

The battle was raging furiously all along the line as we regained
our old position on the plateau when suddenly a heavy shower
burst on us. The wind blew a gale and the thunder was fearful;
peal after peal burst over us as if to mock our puny artillery. For
a few minutes all was darkness from the thick clouds of dust
driven along by the violent blast. The firing ceased on both sides,
as if by mutual consent. The rain was as cold as ice, but was favor-
able to us as the wind was driving it with great force in the faces
of our foes. The shower lasted some fifteen minutes, clearing off
as suddenly as it came up, the sun came out, and a magnificent
rainbow spanned the valley. We hailed this as a good omen, and
our guns renewed their fire.

125

My Confession

Our Squadron of the First Dragoons was now ordered to report
to the “Heroic May,” whose command numbered some five hun-
dred sabres, including a Squadron of the Arkansas Cavalry under
Captain Albert Pike. We hoped that something brilliant would be
achieved with the “Hero of Resaca” at our head, and we did do
something— finding the fire rather unpleasant on the exposed
plateau, we moved down into a deep gulch where we were per-
fectly safe! A few stray shots occasionally dropped among us,
wounding a few horses, so May sent his orderly for another horse,
“Black Tom” being too valuable to be killed in battle. The new
horse was brought, the saddle changed, and May, in seeing that
the girths were all right, remained a long time under the lee of
his steed. “Jot” McClure, a chum of mine, remarked, “Jack, it’s no
use for you and me to keep the saddle when the Colonel has taken
cover,” so we slipped off, others done the same, and soon the
whole command was dismounted and engaged in examining their
saddle girths. When there was a long lull in the firing. May gave
orders to mount, “fours right about wheel,” and we marched out
of the ravine without loss!

Unfortunately for the success of this “heroic” policy, we were
out too soon. On the plain above Buena Vista a brigade of Mexi-
can Lancers who had flanked our main line was seen making for
our waggon trains parked on the Saltillo road, and guarded by the
Arkansas and Kentucky cavalry. General Wool, having no confi-
dence in the volunteers, ordered May to charge at once.

We were half a mile from the waggons, the enemy much nearer
and advancing at a gallop, straight for the volunteers who sat
quietly on their horses. Their Colonels, Yell and “Falstaff” Mar-
shall, were having a lively little dispute as to which was the senior
in rank, and this when fifteen hundred of the fiercest horsemen in
the world were coming down on them at full speed!

The gallant Colonels, not having time to settle their debate,
decided to act independently, so when the enemy was within five
hundred yards, Marshall gave the order to “Fire!” and Colonel

126

The Battle of Buena Vista

Yell cried out, ''Hold! Don’t fire until they are nearer!” The con-
sequence was, some fired, others did not, but all turned and fled
excepting Colonel Yell and a few oflicers of both regiments.
Colonel Yell was killed—pierced by lance thrusts in the mouth and
breast— and Marshall was senior beyond all dispute! Captain
Porter of Arkansas and Adjutant Vaughan of Kentucky were also
slain.

Our column gave a wild Hurrah and charged the foe in the
flank, taking them by surprise, and at a disadvantage. We passed
through their column, dividing it in two; their advance swept by
the ranch and on into the San Juan valley, and the rear retreated
back to the base of the mountain.

A section of Sherman’s Battery now came up, and opened with
shells on the Lancers in the San Juan valley, who climbed the
mesa on the further side and disappeared. We went in pursuit of
the group that had made for the mountain and found them
mobbed with another division of Cavalry which had been hurry-
ing to their support; they had come together in a ravine and were
jammed in confusion. Our guns threw shells into the disordered
mass, and we felt confident of capturing the whole body. The
enemy now showed a white flag, and General Wool ordered us to
stop all firing, which was done; the Mexican cavalry immediately
retreated over a narrow ridge and rejoined their main army in
safety!

General Wool, who had gone forward to the enemy line on
seeing the flag of truce, now returned with the satisfaction of
knowing the Mexicans had outwitted^him, as the battle now raged
with increased fury. Santa Anna brought up his reserves and
assaulted our entire line. As in the morning the plateau was the
theatre of the hardest struggle. Heavy masses of Mexican Infantry
rushed on in the face of our guns and gradually drove our force
back; the 2nd Illinoise and the 2nd Kentucky regiments were
thrown in and then the 1st Illinoise, and checked their progress
with the bayonet. The Mexicans fell back into a ravine, where

127

My Confession

our volunteers rashly followed. In this ravine darkened by smoke
and the coming night, a horrible melee took place— our men had
gone too far, and the Mexicans fell on them with bayonets and
musket butts, even stones were used. Curses, shouts and frightful
yells arose from the dark gloomy gulch. Slowly our men were
forced back to the plateau, leaving Colonels Hardin, McKee
and Henrv Clay Jr. dead, mangled by numerous bayonet thrusts.

Again the triumphant foe charged the plateau, but the concen-
trated fire of twelve guns proved too much, and after four futile
attempts on the batteries they sullenly withdrew under cover of
their guns. Night closed down on the field of blood, but for an-
other hour “far flashed the red artillery”; then silence came and
“Buena Vista” was lost— and won.

[XVII]

Night After Battle

I FULLY expected to have a chance to get some sleep that night
but was cruelly disappointed. As General Taylor returned to
Saltillo with May's 2nd Dragoons, our Squadron must go on picket
again between the two armies. I was posted as a vidette at once,
and so sleepy and tired I was that I was sound asleep in my saddle
before ten minutes had passed. When I awoke I could not tell
where I was, but on looking around I found I was at our old camp
ground near the ranch two miles from my post. I fully realized my
danger in being away from my duty and as soon as my poor
used-up steed had drunk his fill I trotted back, and reached my
station without being missed.

It was a cold night, with clouds scudding across the moon.
The ground was strewn with ghastly corpses, most of them
stripped by our foes. A picket line of Mexican Lancers, mounted on
white horses, was stationed not over 200 yards in my front; as
they rode back and forward I could hear them humming an air
verv similar to the well-known 'Xove Not.” Their voices sounded

sweet and had that mournful tone that I had noticed among the
slaves of the South and the peons of Mexico— the dirge of souls in
bondage, the cry of an oppressed race.

Away out toward the Encantada the horizon was lit up by the
campfires of Santa Anna’s shattered hosts, built, as we found next
day, with the butts of their muskets. All around me there arose the
gi'oans of wounded wretches, while from the gloomy gulches came
the dismal cry of the Coyote, feasting on human flesh.

129

My Confession

These sounds made me shiver, and I felt blue enough. Lieu-
tenant Carleton of Company A rode up and conversed with me
for some time, when we noticed that the enemy pickets had with-
drawn. Some movement was evidently taking place; we could see
the forms of men pass in front of their bivouac fires, and the rum-
ble of gun carriages was heard.

The noise increased and we were soon convinced that the dis-
comfited hosts of Santa Anna were stealing away under cover of
the darkness. Word was sent to General Wool, who had remained
on the ground all night. At daylight all that was to be seen of our
formidable opponents was their rear guard moving over a distant
ridge. To us it was a sight more lovely than the fairest woman in
the world!

General Wool rode out and General Taylor soon joined him;
they embraced and cried for joy, while our now aroused army
crowded the heights, and greeted the glad sight with many cheers.

Our BOLL OF HONOR was long.^ Among those slain were:

Colonel Archibald Yell, ex-Govemor of Arkansas. He was killed
in the attack by General Mejia on our waggon train near the
Buena Vista ranch. Golonel Yell was a noble, brave and generous
gentleman, but unfortunately for himself and the Service, he was
no oflBcer.

Colonel }. J. Hardin, First Illinoise Volunteers. In the last ter-
rible attack on our center, he charged against positive orders, and
knowing full well that victorious or not he would be Court
Martialed, he seemed to seek death in the ranks of the foe. He
was on foot and fought worthy of an Knight of the days of chivahy.
He had cut down several of the enemy, and had just drove his
sword to the hilt in the breast of the standard bearer of the
Hidalgo Battalion of Zacatecas, and seized the colors, when a shot
broke his thigh. Throwing the flag to his men, he cried out, “Take
this to my wife as a memorial of myself and Buena Vista!” and

^ It included 272 killed, 388 wounded, 6 missing, out of 4,691 engaged.

130

Night After Battle

fell pierced by a dozzen bayonets. On examining his body it was
discovered that the shot which broke his thigh bone was fired by
his own men (there being Buckshot in it). This was considered
accidental, but believed otherwise, as battles often decide private
grievances, as well as those of nations.

Colonel W, R. McKee, commanding the 2nd Kentucky Volun-
teer Infantry. He was slain in the last terrible struggle of the day.
He was a graduate of West Point, and a most accomplished officer.
His regiment fought this day with the steadiness of veterans.

Lieutenant Colonel Henry Clay, Jr., of the 2nd Kentucky Vol-
unteers. This young man was the pride of his honored father, the
“Sage of Ashland,” and gained by his courteous demeanor the
respect and esteem of all. In the last charge of his regiment he was
badly wounded in the legs. His faithful men tried to bear him off,
but being hard pressed by the enemy, the gallant officer sternly
ordered them to leave him to his fate, saying to one who refused
to leave him, “Place me on my back, face to the foe, place my
sword in my grasp, and take this pistol to my loved father, and
tell him I died in honor, with my last thoughts on him and my
country.” The man took the pistol and fled; looking back he saw
the young hero battling with his sword, as the enemy drove their
bayonets into his body, letting out his life blood.

Captain George Lincoln, acting Adjutant General to General
Wool. He was a captain in the 3rd U.S. Infantry, and a young
oifficer of much promise. During the action he was mounted on a
magnificent white horse, and by his gallant and dashing action
and distinguished appearance drew more than his share of the
enemy fire. About 1 p.m. a well known Laundress of the 2nd Illi-
noise Regiment, “Dutch Mary,” came onto the field with two camp
kettles of coffee, and Captain Lincoln cried out in a cheery voice,
“Hurrah boys! Be of good cheer, for the ladies are on our side!”
when a musket ball passed directly through his heart. He fell for-
ward on his horse’s neck, who bore him alongside our Squadron
and then, frightened at his strange load, bolted, throwing his dead

131

Mij Confession

rider over the crupper to the ground. When found, he lay on his
back with a proud smile on his face. His body was forwarded to
his family at Worcester, Massachusetts

Captain Jacob Zabriskie of the 1st Illinoise, a Polish exile, and a
gentlemen of remarkable literary and scientific attainments, lost
his life, and the world a rare scholar, while Liberty lost a devoted
worshiper, and Illinoise a valued citizen.

Captain Porter of the Arkansas Cavalry, a rising young lawyer
of Little Rock, Arkansas, was killed fighting bravely beside his
commander. Colonel Yell.

Lieutenant Rodney Ferguson of the 2nd Illinoise Volunteers
was an intimate friend of mine. Our acquaintance commenced in
Illinoise and continued in the army. A few days before the battle,
he called on me; he was dejected with a gloomy presentiment of a
speedy death. He gave me the address of his mother and a twin
sister in Springfield, Illinoise. He was slain by a lance thrust in the
attack on the waggon train, and I duly wrote to his mother, break-
ing the cruel news as gently as possible. Three months later I
received an answer relating a most extraordinary occurrence. On
the afternoon of the 23rd of February, Mrs. Ferguson was engaged
in housework and her daughter was reading in the sitting room,
when suddenly she gave a shriek and swooned. On being restored
to consciousness she said, “Oh! mother, Rodney is dead,” and
described a vision in which she had seen him run through by a
spear. She complained of a severe pain in the left breast and in
thirty-six hours she too was dead!

[XVIII]

Yankee Girl in Mexico

Among the remarkable incidents of the battle which were never
told in the newspapers was the part played by a Yankee mill girl in
saving our army from destruction. The event took place behind
our main hnes, at the Palomas Pass just above Saltillo. Here rose
the white walls of a Cotton Factory belonging to General Arista,
and surrounded by a garden of roses and other choice flowers— far
different from the ugly piles that make our New England factories.
The presiding goddess of this floral retreat was Miss Caroline
Porter, formerly of Lowell, Massachusetts, who had come to
Mexico three years before the war to teach the sehoritas how to
weave cotton cloth.

At daylight on the morning of the 23rd of February three thou-
sand Lancers led by General Minon, the “Lion of Mexico,” de-
bouched from El Cerro by the Palomas Pass in a move to surround
our main army. While they halted to close up their column, the
“Lion” rode up to the factory for refreshments. On the azotea of
the dwelling house stood a graceful female figure waving her
handkerchief! General Minon recognized the lady, his old friend
and sweetheart. Miss Porter, who two years before, when Minon
was commander at Saltillo, had yielded to the wooing of his
“Lionship” and become his mistress!

Cruel war had separated the fond lovers; Minon departed for
the tented field, and she buried herself and sorrows in the sylvan
retreat, “Arista’s Mills.” Meeting now after such a long separation,
the Lion forgot all else in the arms of his charmer— his command.

133

The' Arista cotton factory near Saltillo

Yankee Girl in Mexico

his duty, his stem military chieftain, Santa Anna, all were ignored
while he surrendered to the Yankee Delilah. Hours passed, until
his oflBcers, getting impatient, went into the house and recalled
him to a sense of duty. The Brigade moved on and made two
feeble attacks on Saltillo, which were easily repulsed. Miiion
retreated to the Mills, remained there overnight, and the next day
by a roundabout route rejoined Santa Anna at Agua Nueva. He
was immediately placed under close arrest and sent in disgrace to
the City of Mexico.

I became acquainted with Miss Porter in Saltillo, and learned
these facts from her own lips. She seemed to think she had done a
most patriotic and praiseworthy act in thus cutting the Lion’s
claws; in fact she claimed the victory was due to her efforts in
our cause. Indeed, many of our officers, as well as Santa Anna,
stated that if Mihon’s brigade had passed Saltillo and gained our
rear, our army could not have held out one hour. The laws of com-
pensation that put General Taylor in the White House should
have placed Miss Porter there as his Lady. At least the fair heroine
(she was freckled, snubbed nosed and red haired) should have
received a pension from the government. But she had her reward
in quite another manner— i.e., she married a Dragoon!

[XIX]

Scout to Encarnacion

On the 26th our Squadron, with Captain Albert Pike’s Squadron
of Arkansas Cavalry, went out to see if the enemy still remained at
Agua Nueva. From a distance of two miles the place appeared
deserted; the tents and waggons were gone, no soldiers could be
seen about the place. We moved on until within a mile of the
ranch, when a bugle sounded and a column of Lancers came out
from behind the walls and advanced towards us I judged they
numbered about one thousand.

They came into line on the plain, and by their actions seemed
to challenge us to battle. A skirmish line dashed towards us crying
out, “Charge Americanos diablosE Rucker would have charged
them to their hearts’ content if Captain Pike had not forbade him.
Rucker and Buford then called for volunteers to teach the insolent
foe a lesson. Satisfied there was no danger of Pike’s allowing us
to charge, I readily volunteered and with three others was com-
plimented by “Black Dan” for so doing. Captain Pike ordered
Rucker under arrest, when the plucky little Lieutenant threw his
Dragoon Sabre into the chapperal and swore! Those who knew
Dan Rucker will understand what that means.

We slowly retired, and without a fight returned to camp. The
next day a portion of the army reoccupied Agua Nueva, and
found some three hundred wounded wretches, without food,
medical assistance or shelter.

On the 28th our Squadron formed part of a detachment that
was ordered to proceed to Encarnacion, scouts reporting that

136

Scout to Encarnacion

place full of wounded. The command was under the charge of
Major Belknap, and had along several waggons loaded with provi-
sions and medicinal supplies. We marched thirty miles on the
28 th and bivouacked on the salt plain, without water or tents.

All along the way we passed terrible evidence of the complete
rout and fearful sufferings of the once formidable host of Santa
Anna. Bodies of man and beast, part eaten by Vultures and
Coyotes, broken arms, belts and horse trappings lay scattered the
whole distance. About noon on the second day our advance
under Lieutenant Caiieton dashed into Encarnacion as a mounted
Mexican officer took off at speed. Ben McCulloch and Tobin
started in pursuit and ran their game down in one mile; he proved
to be a colonel left in charge of the ranch. In the chase he threw
away a bag containing fifty doubloons or gold onzas; this was
found and confiscated by the Rangers chief.

I was with the advance that entered the place. It was a den of
horrors! Death was on all sides; miserable -wrecks of humanity
with fearful wounds lay in the square on the bare ground, and in
the houses and the little Chapel nearly three hundred more
wounded wretches lay without bedding or blankets on the hard
cement floors, wallowing in filth, while maggots and vermin
crawled in and out of their undressed wounds, and the air was so
foul and pestiferous that it seemed impossible to breathe it and
live. A detachment of half-starved Mexican infantry was on duty,
burying the dead outside the ranch, after first stripping them of
the few rags that covered them. Some four hundred women were
moving around doing what they could to nurse the wounded, but
there was not a Surgeon in the place!

As Carleton drew rein in front of the Chapel, a Priest came out
and said in excellent English, 'If you are a Christian you will
assist to alleviate the misery of these poor sufferers, and not
destroy them.” This Priest was Eugene Sue’s Gabriel in real life.
He was very fair with blue eyes and pale yellow hair, which hung
in wavy masses down to his shoulders. His manners were so gentle,

137

My Confession

he showed so much true Christianity in consoling the suffering
and administering the last rites of the Roman Church to the dying,
that the roughest Dragoons would take off their caps as he passed.

As soon as the command came up all of the Medical force
went to work on the sick and wounded, and the commissary
issued rations to the crowds of famished women who gathered
around our waggons. Fires were built, coffee made for all, but
little could be done— we were too late, over fifty dying while we
were there.

There were two large Chihuahua waggons in the square, con-
taining a little rice and sugar and several half barrels of muscal
and aguardiente. I was placed over this as a guard. The only water
was from a well outside the gate, so brackish that our horses,
though they had gone thirty-six hours without drinking, refused
it. Lieutenant Rucker, officer of the guard, ordered me to let a
Sergeant issue to each man a pint of the liquor to mix with the
water for the horses. The cavalrymen, believing that what was
good for their steeds was good for themselves, acted accordingly,
and soon began to show the evil effect of drinking too much
brackish water on an empty stomach. I had filled my canteen, and
drank freely from my cup, until I did not care whether school
kept or not.

While I was in this happy state, an artillery officer. Lieutenant
Whiting, rode up to me, and in true West Point style cried out,
“You G — d d — d s — n of a b — ^h, you have been letting the
men have liquor! G — d d — ^n you!” and before I could reply he
struck me over the back of my head with the flat of his Sabre.
The blow annihilated all distinction and with the muscal I had
drunk made me insane. If my Carbine was slung I would have
shot him; as it was I made for him with my Sabre, when the
coward turned and run for it. I drove the spurs into my horse and
started in pursuit.

Round the court we went, he making for the house where the
officers was assembled. I cut at him twice; one blow cut through

138

Scout to Encarnacion

the brass mounted cantle of his saddle, the other gave his horse
a slashing cut in the quarter. Fortunately for him and myself,
some of the men dragged me off my horse and tied me up to a
vi^aggon wheel. I was soon released, at the request of Whiting
himself, who found he gone too far in striking a Sentinel on post.

I went around to have a little time to myself, and among other
things I found hid in an oven a costly silver mounted saddle. I did
it up in a Mexican blanket ( also found ) and placed it in one of
the waggons, with a good looking Senorita. The girl I never saw
again, and the saddle, when I saw that again, was in possession
of a waggon master, who would not give it up.

Scouts reported Santa Anna’s army at El Salado, ten leagues dis-
tant, and in the afternoon we heard the boom of a heavy gun. In
the meanwhile the liquor had all disappeared, night was ap-
proaching, and the command got ready to return to camp. Offers
were made to the young Priest to go back with us, but he steadily
refused to desert his charge. The waggons were filled with the
best looking of the women, and soldiers too drunk to ride.

Our march back to Agua Nueva was that of a mob, in fact I
believe the entire command was drunk! Officers, men, women,
horses and mules! Officers rode through the ranks and were run
down by crowds of drunken troopers, the gun carriages were
loaded down with artillerymen, lashed on. How long we were in
reaching Agua Nueva, I have not the faintest idea; I retained a
foggy recollection of marching in a half-asleep condition for
weeks as it seemed to me. We must have pushed on all night for
we reached Agua Nueva next day all used up, our horses well
fagged out.

[XX]

"Old lack"

Old Zack was the hero of many a camp story, and the following
two are reliable. The first concerns “Rough and Ready” and one
of the F.F.V.’s.

When the 1st Virginia Volunteers under Colonel Hamtranck
arrived they were as curious as any Yankees to see General
Taylor. A certain Lieutenant who prided himself on belonging to
one of the first famihes of the State went up to Headquarters to
obtain a glimpse of the General. Seeing an old man cleaning a
sword in a bower, the officer went in and with that high-toned
dignity which the descendents of Pocahontas and other Virginians
are so famous for, addressed the bronze-faced old gentlemen who
was hard to work in his shirt sleeves, “I say, old fell, can you tell
me where I can see General Taylor?”

The old “fell” without rising replied, “Wull, stranger, thar is
the old boss’s tent,” pointing to the Headquarters.

“Lieutenant, if you please,” said the F.F.V. “And so that is the
humble abode of the great hero. Can I see him? And by the way,
my old trump, whose sword is that you are cleaning?”

‘Wull Colonel,” replied the old man, “I don’t see there is any
harm in telhng you, seeing’s you are an officer. This sword
belongs to the General himself.”

Ah! Then this is the victorious blade of the Immortal hero!
And I suppose then, my worthy man, that you work for the
General?”

The worthy man replied, “I reckon, and doggone hard, and
little thanks and small pay I get too.”

140

General Zachary Taylor

The Lieutenant took off his sword and said, “My good man, I
would like to have you clean my sword, and I shall come tomor-
row to see the General and then I will give you a dollar.”

The Lieutenant was on hand the next day and seeing his old
friend of the day before standing under an awning conversing
with some officers, beckoned for him to come out and see him. The
old gentleman came out, bringing the Lieutenant’s sword. The
Lieutenant was profuse in his thanks and giving the old man a
poke in the ribs said, “Come, old fatty, show me General Taylor
and the dollar is yours.”

The “old fatty” drew himself up and said, “Lieutenant! I am
General Taylor,” and turning slowly round, “and I will take that
dollar!” The next day the General related the incident to Colonel
Hamtranck and had the Lieutenant introduced in due form.

Rough and Ready was fond of going about the camp of the
newly arrived volunteers incognito and listening to their com-
ments on “Old Zack.” He was strolling one morning near the

141

My Confession

camp of Colonel Payne’s 1st North Carolina Regiment that had
just arrived up from the Brazos. A tall lank tow-headed Tar
Riversman, taking him for a mule driver, followed him into the
chapperal and inquired if he could tell him where he could get
some liquor as he was “mighty” thirsty from the dusty march
up from Camargo.

The General replied, “I don’t think I can. Old Zack is so strict,
but I reckon you mout find some down thar at that ’are waggon
with the cover half off ( a sign that the teamster sold Hquor, only
known to the initiated) as I have seen a number hanging round
thar.”

“Wull,” said Tar River, “come along old hoss, and I treat, dog-
gone if I don’t.”

Old Zack replied he had other matters to see to, but would see
him some other time, and asked what he thought of General
Taylor. The volunteer replied, “Wull stranger, he’s right thar in a
fight, doggone shure, but dod drot him he is a mean shoat for
stopping the boys’ whiskey; it’s agin nater, and I would tell him
so, if I had the chance, doggone my buttons if I wouldn’t.”

“Stranger, you talk big,” replied the General, “but I will bet
you a quart of old rye that you would not dare say so to his
face.”

“Old hoss. I’ll take that bet,” rejoined Tar River and departed
for the waggon swinging a canteen that would hold a gallon at
least.

A few days after, when the North Carolina Regiment was
reviewed by General Taylor, the volunteer recognized the old
gentleman mounted on a white horse as the kind old fellow that
showed him where to obtain his liquor. He stared, and inquired
who he was, and was frightened when informed that it was Gen-
eral Taylor! Rough and Ready, riding down the line, caught sight
of his whiskey-hunting acquaintance, and ordered him to step to
the front. The volunteer done so with much reluctance, when the
General said.

142

“Old Zack

“Well, my man, did you get the whiskey? And what have you
to say to the mean shoat?”

Tar River replied, “You got me foul. General. I’ll cave. I’ll send
yer the whiskey,” which he actually did the next day. Taylor
laughed and rode off, but the volunteer always swore that the old
hero was interested in the liquor establishment in the waggon.

[XXI]

Ladies in Distress

During the spring of 1847, the Headquarters of the Army of Oc-
cupation was removed to Monterey, General Wool remaining at
Saltillo with his headquarters at the Springs near the Buena Vista
ranch and an advance post at Agua Nueva. Our Squadron was en-
camped near General Wool, our duty light and pleasant, the
general and camp guard, patrolling the Alamo and San Juan
Ranches, with an occasional expedition after guerillars or corn
giving us just enough exercise to make us healthy.

New regiments continued to arrive at Saltillo, generally com-
posed of the roughs of the South, without drill or discipline. The
1st Virginia Regiment, Colonel Hamtranck commanding, proved
a noble exception to this; both officers and men were distinguished
for their high-toned, gentlemanly bearing, while the regiment
bore a most deserved character for efficiency. Men of the 2nd
Mississippi Rifles, and the 1st North Carolina Volunteers under
Colonel Payne, were especially unruly, committing many depreda-
tions and outrages on the inhabitants of the San Juan valley.
Houses were robbed, women insulted and sometimes outraged.
To keep these unruly patriots in some little subjection, a patrol
was sent from our camp daily into the valley. Being looked upon
as protectors by the inhabitants, our arrival was always hailed
with joy, and we became great favorites with all classes.

A short distance from the Alamo ranch was the hacienda of
Don Jose Maria Traveina; the place was known as Casa Blanca.
Don Traveina, a Colonel in the Mexican army, was absent, leaving

144

Ladies in Distress

his charming la esposa (wife) and dos hermosa hija (two
handsome daughters) under the charge of a mayordomo and a
dozzen peons. One day while on patrol in the valley, I was sent
alone to the Casa Blanca to see if all was safe. My route brought
me to the rear of the hacienda where an aloe hedge and a adobe
wall guarded the place against intrusion. As I paused to let my
horse, Lucifer, crop the short grass that grew on the bank of the
irrigation canal, I heard a woman scream, and the hoarse voices of
men on the other side of the wall.

I started to go round to the entrance, when a rough voice in
English cried out, “Stick the d — d greaser, Bill, and pull the old
hellcat oif me, quick!” I had no time to spare. Galloping off for
fifty yards, I wheeled and headed for the wall. The noble Kentuck
rose with a tremendous bound and cleared the aloes, fence and
ditch, landing me within ten paces of a scene unhappily not
uncommon in Mexico. Two rough-looking volunteers, whose red
shirts showed that they were members of the 2nd Mississippi
Rifles, three females and an old white-haired Mexican were the
actors. One of the chivalry had the old man down, one hand at
his throat, while his right grasped a formidable knife. The other
patriot was engaged in a desperate struggle with the three
women; one, whose torn clothes and disheveled hair proclaimed
the nature of the conflict, he held in his arms, the other two were
paying their regards to his face and hair with their hands and
nails.

I saw all this at a glance, and my Sabre descended across the
back of the one who was engaged in the struggle with the old
Mexican. With a howl of rage and pain, he sprang up and fled,
while his companion succeeded in freeing himself from the
women, and escaped through the shrubbery. I did not pursue, but
dismounting I offered my assistance to the ladies, for such they
evidently were.

The eldest was a haughty, regal-looking woman of some thirty-
six years, in stature far above the common height of Mexican

145

Lucifer to the rescue

women; her bluish white complexion and almond-shaped eyes
showed she was a puro Castelhno. The two younger ladies were
as lovely as the Peri of the Poet’s dream. The old man embraced
me and kissed me, his salute was followed by the ladies’ and we
were sworn friends for life. Francisco, the old man, was the
mayordomo and an ex-sergeant of Lancers. The ladies introduced
themselves as Dona Isadora Traveina, and the Senoritas Franceita
Maria and Deloroso. They informed me that the youngest sister
was walking in the garden when she was alarmed by the sudden
appearance of the two soldiers who seized on her. Her cries
brought her mother and sister and Francisco to her assistance,
when one of the villains with a blow knocked the old man down,
and but for my timely arrival, the worst of crimes would have
been committed.

I passed two hours in a most agreeable manner with my new
friends; then, after many pressing invitations to come the next
day, I mounted and rejoined the patrol in the Alamo. Somehow I
did not consider it best to report my adventure to the Sergeant.

I now sought every opportunity to go on patrol, and all my
time while on passes was spent in the society of my fair friends.

146

Ladies in Distress

The mother was as kind and friendly as the sisters, and I lived in
clover, as happy as possible. They would ask me a thousand ques-
tions about my country and its customs. I drew for them sketches
of our ladies’ costumes, our houses, furniture; all things in regard
to the North seemed to attract their curiosity. My long flowing
hair, especially, excited their admiration and attention. Weeks
glided away, and I became as one of the family. Dona Isadora
urged me to leave the army, become a hueno cristiano, marry one
of her daughters, and fly with them to a hacienda of theirs in the
State of Durango. What a temptation to a poor soldier ill paid
and roughly used! Here was riches, liberty and beauty offered
me, but honor and my strong proclivity for a military life made
me remain firm in my loyalty to my flag, and true to my obliga-
tion.

My acquaintance with the Traveina family was not all sunshine.
More than once my hfe was endangered and their friendship
came near costing me dearly. The first danger I experienced was
from the quarrelsome disposition of a Irishman of Company A.
Crane was a deserter from the British Army in Canada, and being
a powerful fellow, with a bulldog’s temper and some science, he
aspired for the position of “Bully of the Squadron.”

I had no ambition to claim such an unenviable position, and
was perfectly willing that he should wear the belt, and I rather
avoided him. But one day, while I was on detached duty, ihy tin
cup was stolen. None but a soldier can appreciate the importance
of a tin cup to one on a campaign, when another cannot be
obtained. I had etched on it a rough design of a cavalry charge,
with my initials, and on my return to camp I found the missing
cup in A Company’s line and claimed my property. Crane soon
made his appearance, claimed the cup, and cursed me for a thief.
A fight was the consequence, and I was severely punished. I some-
how had but a slim chance with him, and was taken to the guard
house in an almost senseless state by my old friend Corporal Cory.
Lieutenant Buford ordered my release at once.

Crane after this took every opportunity to abuse and insult me

147

My Confession

and several fights ensued, in which I generally got the worst of
it. This was before my acquaintance with my dear friends of
Casa Blanca.

One unfortunate day I was detailed to cut corn fodder in the
valley. When I reached the waggon, I found that Crane was the
one going from Company A. The Irishman was gay and insolent
on our way, as we rode in the waggon, but I kept my temper. On
arriving at the cornfield. Crane, to my joy, went with Abe Hoover
up to the Alamo ranch, leaving me to cut the load. Glad to he
alone I went to work with my corn cutter made from a broken
Sabre, and in a half an hour I was satisfied that I had sufficient
cut for a load. The field was near the Casa Blanca and the oldest
sister, Deloroso, being on the azotea, recognized me and throw-
ing her rebozo over her head came out to where I was. An hour
had been passed in loving endearments when we were startled by
a shout of laughter, and Crane, insane with muscal and passion,
stood before us. His language was most outrageous and insulting
to the poor girl. “Oh ho my pretty one, if you wish to save your
long-haired lover, come and kiss me, or I’ll lick him and have my
will of you before I leave this field.” I whispered to Deloroso to
run home, but the brave girl refused. I felt perfectly cool and
confident, yet I wished to avoid a combat with the brute. However
the sight of “Lolo” had excited his worst passions and he became
more and more abusive.

Finally I said, “Well, if I must fight, it shall be with this,” grasp-
ing my com cutter. He drew his and rushed on me. “D — n you,
I’m a better man than you are any day!”

A terrible and deadly struggle then ensued between us, with
poor Lolo praying to the Virgin for my protection. I felt no fear
for myself, only fear for the awful responsibility of being com-
pelled to take a human being’s fife, for I felt that I should kill
him. He was crazed with liquor and vile passions, used no guard,
but rushed on me with the bhndness and ferocity of a wild bull,
exhausting his wind and strength in furious plunges. I remained

148

Ladies in Distress

on my guard, springing aside from his onsets, and I could have
easily have knifed him in the back or side as he rushed past me.
Once he stumbled on a pile of the fodder and fell full length. To
show my contempt I kicked him in the most prominent part of
his person and allowed him to regain his feet, though Lolo cried
out, “Muerte! Muerte -el ladron, el demonio.” (Kill! Kill the thief,
the devil!) He was more furious than before, he laboured hard
for wind, but used more judgement, and I was compelled to cut his
left wrist as he had caught me by the shirt. He let go and with
most fearful curses threw himself on me. This time I did not
dodge. Well on my guard, I turned aside his thrust and drove
my blade to the hilt in his breast. He fell with a cry more like
that of a wild beast than a human being, and for a moment tore
up the earth in his impotent fury, then black blood gushed from
his mouth. My foe was dead.

Now it was over I was as weak as a child, and would have
fallen, if Lolo had not come to my assistance. I soon recovered,
and prevailed on her to go home. I then covered the horrid object
with fodder, and removed from my person all traces of the strug-
gle. Going to another part of the field, I cut another load of com
stalks and then went up to the ranch and found the teamster, Abe
Hoover, drunk. I asked for Crane, but he only recollected of his
coming to the ranch and their drinking together. We went back
and loaded up. The sight of a flock of Vultures settling down on
another part of the field sent cold chills all through me, for
well I knew what horrid thing lay there to attract them by its
blood.

On returning to camp I complained of being obliged to do all
the work. Hoover told his story, and the opinion was that Crane
had deserted, though some of his cronies I thought looked at me
with suspicion.

Next day I obtained a pass and rode direct to the fatal spot.
How my heart beat when I saw fresh marks of waggon wheels,
and all the fodder gone! Nothing of the body was to be seen, and

149

A duel to the death

the only marks of the struggle visible was a dark place on the
ground. I was thoroughly frightened at the disappearance of the
body, thinking it must have been found and carried to camp. At
the house, I met old Francisco, who had seen me come out of the
cornfield. In a few words he informed me that he had witnessed
the combat, and had seen to the body himself! What a load he
lifted from my mind!

This fatal affair produced a marked change in my character
and disposition. My temper became violent, I drank deeply, and
was ready to take up the gauntlet on the least provocation; it
seemed as if the mantle of poor Crane, for bullying, had fallen
on my shoulders. My dear friends noticed the change with sor-

150

Ladies in Distress

row, and tried to win my better nature back, and supplied me
with the mild wines of Parras to keep me from Muscal and
aguardiente. I now found that Deloroso was dearer to me than
her sister, and it was understood by her mother and Franceita
that Lolo was all to me, and they seemed to be glad of it, and no
change in their friendship to me appeared, and our meetings were
as happy as ever.

Another time my life was placed in danger through my ac-
quaintance with the Traveina girls was owing to that spirit of
coquetry that all daughters of mother Eve seem to delight in.
Sergeant Jim Gorman while on patrol in the valley one day
stopped at the Casa Blanca and saw for the first time the sisters,
and at once fell in love with one or both of them. They for the
sport and to kill time encouraged the Irishman, and invited him
to renew his visit. Soon after this our squad rode out on patrol
in charge of Gorman. Leaving the other men with the Corporal,
he said, “Come with me, Peloncillo Jack, and I will show you the
two prettiest girls in the country.”

We rode up to the white house, the Sergeant telling me on the
way how fond the dear creatures were of him, and I congratu-
lated him on his conquest. When we rode into the court of the
Traveinas’ casa, two glorious brunettes ran from the house, leaped
up on each side of my horse and throwing their bare arms around
my neck gave me muchos hesos. Whew! There sat Gorman, his
countenance showing much amazement. The coquettes, seeing
his woeful phiz, laughed and teased the poor fellow as only
woman can. Francisco came and took Lucifer; I, with an arm
around the waist of each of the roguish doncellas, turned to Gor-
man, and inquired if the “dear girls did not look remarkably
well” considering they were dying for him?

With an oath he ordered me to leave the place and report to the
Corporal at the ranch, and never dare show my face there
again!

I only laughed at the poor fool, and started for the house, when

151

My Confession

the jealous Sergeant sprang off his horse, drew his Sabre and ad-
vanced on me swearing that he would cut me down if I did not
obey him. My reply was to draw and come to a guard, when our
steels crossed. A cold chill run through me, as a vision of a similar
conflict in the cornfield passed before me. By a violent effort I
threw off the weight of horror that almost benumbed me and
paralyzed my nerves, and met the fierce onset of the passion-
crazed Irishman with coolness. He rushed on me, wasting his
wind and strength in terrific windmill-like blows, which I parried
with the utmost ease. His blind fury, and want of judgement, re-
minded me forcibly of poor Crane and I resolved to spare him, for
I really liked the fellow, and the girls were somewhat to blame.

These darlings, instead of running away or fainting, wrapped
their rebozos around their left arms, and drawing small dirks
(which they earned since their adventure with the Mississip-
pians) placed themselves one on each side of me. This incensed
Gorman still more and he took a vicious cut at Franceita. For this
savage act he received the point of my Sabre through the fleshy
part of his right forearm. He sprang back with a fearful curse; at
the same instant I heard the whiz of a lazo and saw the rawhide
noose encircle his neck, bringing him to the ground. Then old
Francisco sprang by me, with a long thin Spanish knife in his hand,
and if I had not interfered he would have given the Sergeant his
quietus as he lay as quiet as a choked kitten. To the great aston-
ishment of my friends, I relieved Gorman of his uncomfortable
cravat, and made him take off his jacket and after bathing his
wounded arm in muscal I had Francisco beat up the pulp of a
maguey leaf to bind around the wound.

The Senora Traveina now made her appearance, accompanied
by a sleek fat padre. An explanation was made to them, and the
Sergeant, arm done up, mounted and left us without a word of
thanks. Frisco repaired to the azotea to report when the patrol
left for camp, while my dear friends and myself had a wild frolic
in the garden. In a short half hour a warning exclamation caused

152

Ladies in Distress

me to take a hasty leave. Mounting Lucifer, I dashed out of the
puerta (gateway) and soon overtook the patrol. I rode up to
Gorman and reported, “All quiet at Casa Blanca,” and then
inquired what he intended to do with me when we reached camp.
The crestfallen non-com answered sullenly “that I would find out,”
but I convinced him that he had better let the affair drop as his
wound was a mere flesh one and soon healed.

Sergeant Gorman now appeared friendly, but he studied re-
venge, and got it. Some ten days after, I was at the Traveinas’,
without a pass. We were at lunch in the garden when Gorman,
with half a dozzen men of Company A, rushed in and demanded
my pass! Not being able to show the article, I was taken in charge,
when the Senora Isadora invited the patrol to dismount and par-
take of the lunch. The invitation was accepted, and soon the
whole party was engaged in devouring the rich cakes and pre-
serves.

Gorman I judged had been drinking freely, and I whispered to
the padre to keep the girls and Francisco out of the way, for I
was satisfied that he meant mischief, and his men were the most
dissolute fellows of his company. Old Frisco retired, but the ladies
with women’s obstinacy would remain, and not knowing what I
was arrested for, commenced weeping. Then Gorman caught
Deloroso in his arms and in spite of her resistance fastened his
polluted lips to hers. I sprang forward and struck him to the earth,
and just in time to save his worthless life, for as he fell an escopette
ball cut through the space occupied by his body a moment before,
and Francisco who had fired the shot came running towards us
with a drawn machete in hand. I received a crushing Carbine blow
from behind, and I fell like a slain bullock on top of Gorman.

When I recovered I looked upon a sad sickening sight; the
grounds were filled with the alarmed peons of the place, the two
sisters were held by their mother and a number of women, the
padre was kneeling and supporting the head of poor old Fran-
cisco, whose life blood was spurting out in black jets from a cruel

153

My Confession

Sabre thrust in the breast. Sick and faint from my scalp wound,
I staggered to the dying man and grasped his hand while the
Priest gave him the last absolution.

If some of the men who thought they had gone far enough had
not held Gorman, he would have imn me through, as he tried to
do. He ordered the men to tie my hands behind my back and
drag me to Camp behind a horse.

The padre, finding that Francisco was dead, asked permission
to dress my injury, and only the fear that Gorman had of exciting
a Priet’s anger made him grant the privilege. The Senoritas, being
now quieted, assisted. My head was bathed, the hair cut away
around the wound, and a poultice of cobwebs and pulp of the
maguey bound on with a delicate cambric handkerchief, and I
started for Camp on foot.

The day was exceedingly hot, and I knew I could not make it,
but I would ask no favours of the Sergeant. Near the arroyo I
swooned and fell. I was brought to and placed on a horse, and
my hands untied, for the men felt ashamed to go into Camp drag-
ging a wounded boy with his hands tied behind him, and one of
their own Squadron too. And I doubt if the force of discipline was
sufficient to have prevented my own friends in my own company
from interfering in my behalf. Gorman abused me and would have
struck me if the men had not restrained him, and this for only
giving him a look, but he snatched the handkerchief from my
head, causing the wound to bleed afresh. I then spoke for the
first time since I left the casa.

Looking the brute in his uneasy eyes, I said very quietly, “Jim
Gorman, I will kill you for that.”

He tried to laugh it off, but I knew he feared me.

I was brought before Rucker, who seemed to believe all the lies
told by the Sergeant. I was then taken to the Hospital, my wound
stitched up and dressed, and then to the guard house and hand-
cuffed. I shall remember that night to my last hour! How fearfully
I suffered! Agonizing sharp pains in my head, a terrible thirst with

154

Ladies in Distress

no water, loathsome vermin that my irons prevented me from
interfering with, anxiety for my friends at Casa Blanca, and my
own fate, all combined to give me a foretaste of Hell.

Captain Rucker came down to the guard house at guard mount
the next morning and ordered my irons to be taken off. He said
he had approved the charges preferred by Sergeant Gorman, and
if they was proven I would be shot to a moral certainty! He also
said that three ladies had been to see him and he had given them
permission to see me. I knew they must be the Traveinas, and they
soon made their appearance.

Our meeting was one of sorrow mingled with joy. They brought
me some shirts, a fine blanket and some cakes and jellies. Before
they left I gave them a solemn promise that in case the worst
should come, I would escape and fly with them to their hacienda
in Durango, and marry one of the girls. But which one? My heart
answered Franceita, for the fatal secret known now only to
Deloroso and myself seemed to open a broad gulf between us.
Dona Isadora pressed on me a liberal supply of money and with
her daughters departed for home.

My dear friends done all they could to assist me. They called
on General Wool and related the full particulars of the affair and
the story of our acquaintance, and presented the General with a
beautiful black pony, which became his favorite riding nag. By
invitation the General and staff visited Casa Blanca and dined
with the Traveinas, and the good old gentlemen assured the dos
hermanas that no harm should come to me.

[ XXII ]

My wound healed rapidly and gave me but little or no trouble.
On the sixth day of my confinement Lieutenant Abe Buford came
to the guard house, and said in his usual courteous manner, ‘‘Jack,
you d — d s — n of a b — h, you can have one more chance for
your life,” and proceeded to explain that General Wool had
authorized him to offer me the chance to ride the express to
Monterey, when the charges would be withdrawn. Though the
danger was great I accepted the offer with thanks. To be free
once more was worth all the risks.

Romeo Falcon,^ with his bloodthirsty gang of Salteadores, was
between Saltillo and Monterey, stopping all communication except
a large force. Three express riders had started for Monterey dur-
ing the last ten days. The last returned badly wounded and
reported seeing the dead bodies of the two others before he
reached the Rinconada Pass, where he was wounded and only
escaped by the fleetness of his horse.

I was released and was received by my “mess” with much joy.
I took Lucifer down to the blacksmith shop to have his shoes
overhauled. The men of the company not on duty gathered around
me, for all knew that I was to ride for my life. I found the rough
old soldiers had quite an affection for me. Even Corporal Cory
offered his hand and best wishes. Jim Sherrod, our company
farrier, made a new set of shoes for my horse, which were fastened

^ Captured and hanged with five of his band in the plaza at Saltillo December
19 , 1847 .

156

A Ride for Life

on with the utmost care, for an ill fitting shoe or an ill drove nail
might cost me my life.

I was to report to McDowell at three o’clock in the morning,
and getting permission to be absent from the roll calls, I was
soon with my dear friends, I informed them of my desperate
chance, and while they rejoiced to see me free, yet they looked
upon me as good as dead, the dangers were so great. The padre,
Antonio, gave me his blessing, Franceita placed around my neck
a relic of much sanctitude, a protection from all dangers and from
evil spirits, and then with their prayers for my safety, I bid buenas
noches and was soon in camp.

I visited Lucifer, and found him in charge of three of my
friends, who had volunteered to watch him for fear that Gorman
or some of his crowd might tamper with him. I was soon fast
asleep and but my mind was so active that I rested but little.

I was aroused from my uneasy slumber at two in the morning,
ate a heartv breakfast, shook hands with mv comrades, and
mounted Lucifer, who had been well groomed and fed by the
stable guard. Lieutenant -Buford came out of his tent and placed
in my hand a long-range Hall rifle to carry instead of my Carbine,
and said, “Take care of yourself, Jack,” and then added as if
ashamed of the momentary exhibition of feeling, “D — n you.
Jack, if you lose that rifle, I will flog you to death.”

I reached Headquarters and reported to McDowell at 3 o’clock,
received the dispatches, and with a “Success to you. Jack,” from
McDowell, I was off. The morning was delightful, the air was
cool and bracing and I felt in the best of spirits and hopeful of
success. Passing the guard, I entered Saltillo, and stopped and
got my canteen filled with “old Rye.” I soon left the sleepy town
behind, and passed through the maguey plantation that extended
for six miles beyond Saltillo. Lucifer felt the exhilarating effect
of the morning air and was impatient to be let out, though
he was now going at a sharp trot, a good twelve miles the
horn.

157

My Confession

At the last ranch six miles from town was stationed a Infantry
Picket. The oflBcer in command seemed to doubt the propriety of
allowing me to pass out, though my dispatches had endorsed on
them an order to all guards to pass me. He said I would not get
two miles before I was killed, that the guerillars were constantly
in sight.

Telling him to look out for his own safety, and report the time
I passed out, I went on at an increased pace, and when old Sol
showed his fiery face over the Sierra Madre, I was at the stone
wall twenty-six miles from camp. I halted at a spring and found
my good steed apparently as fresh and as lively as when we set
out. I raised up his head and gave him a drink of the whiskey (he
was a regular old soldier ) , took some myself, let him drink at the
spring, in which I bathed my head, and then tightening the saddle
girth I was off again.

I rode with slung rifle, and kept a sharp lookout on all sides.
The stone wall ran along on my left for some five miles; at the
end was the ruins of two ranches. I had seen for miles a flock of
Vultures circling around in the air above this place, and was some-
what prepared for the horrid sight that greeted me at the end of
the stone wall. The body of an American lay in the road, sur-
rounded by a yelping pack of coyotes; the air was full of Vultures,
Turkey buzzards and eagles, while on the body was seated an
enormous bird like a buzzard, in fact, a condor, who kept all the
rest at a distance while it finished its disgusting repast. As these
birds will not attack a man when alive, the poor fellow must have
been alive the night before, because in a few hours the bones
would be as cleanly picked as if done by a Surgeon.

This part of the route had been the favorite haunt of the
ladrones al caballo (highwaymen) for years and the numerous
little wooden crosses erected on each side of the road told of the
many fearful tragedies enacted here. I passed two more remains,
mere skeletons, the red ants finishing the work begun by the Vul-
tures, and soon reached the three unfinished earth works on the

158

A Ride for Life

summit of the Rinconada Pass thrown up by General Ampudia
on his retreat from Monterey. This pass, from the numerous mur-
ders committed in it, was known as “El Paso del muerte,’’ or Pass
of Death. It is a wild dreary place, the road winding down the
hill for nearly a mile, and quite steep. Dismounting and with rifle
in hand I commenced the descent. The associations connected
with the place, the numerous crosses on each side, the strange
stillness that prevailed, depressed my spirits.

When nearly down, I caught sight of a leather-clad “greaser”
watching me from the top of a small hill on the opposite side of
the little stream that wound around the foot of the pass. He shook
his lance at me, and with a fierce ''carajo! burro Tejano’' disap-
peared. I mounted and made for the Rinconada Ranch as fast as
the ground would permit, the road being the bed of the arroyo,
and full of small boulders.

With my rifle cocked I rode into the ruined ranch, through the
plazuela where a number of ill-looking rascals were lounging
wrapped up in their gay serapes. They saluted me with ''huenos
dias, Americano, como esta, Senor?’’ Without replying I passed
on to an open place outside, near a row of alamo trees. I rapidly
formed my plan, and coolly dismounted, calling for one of the
“greasers” to approach. They all came forward, when I warned
them back, and told one to bring my horse some corn and water.
This was done, and holding Lucifer by the lariat I had him fed
and watered, with a liberal mixture of whiskey. I stood with rifle
in hand and pistol in belt, expecting to be attacked at any
moment, for there was at least twenty hombres in the miserable
place, most beyond doubt guerillars.

I asked how much corn they could sell me, saying I wanted
enough for two hundred horses that would be on hand in one
hour! This had the desired effect; the cutthroats gathered together
gesticulating in a furious manner, then horsemen rode out toward
the pass, no doubt to report if the two hundred horses was com-
ing. I engaged ''veinte fanegas de niaiz, tres pesos la fanegd'

159

My Confession

(twenty bushels of corn at three dollars a bushel) to be paid for
when the column arrived. Seeing the girths and surcingle were
tight, I mounted and with a “Adios Senores” I rode off at a walk.

I had to ride a few hundred yards to clear the open space,
with the unpleasant idea that I might receive an escopette
ball in my back, but I reached the shade of the chapperal in
safety.

I was now halfway on my journey and my horse showed no
signs of fatigue; the road wns nearly level to Monterey, all
seemed hopeful and cheering. I had left the Rinconada some five
miles behind, and could see the little adobe fonda, known as the
“halfway house” (it standing halfway between the ranch and
Monterey ) , when a cloud of dust rising on the road, about a half
mile ahead, attracted my notice. I withdrew some fifty yards from
the road and concealed myself and horse behind a clump of
yuccas.

A party of wild-looking horsemen soon made their appearance
on the road and halted not two hundred yards from my place of
concealment. They seemed to be looking for the cause of the dust
that I had raised, and which still hung over the road. One who
from his air of superiority and distinguished appearance I judged
to be the leader was mounted on a fiery white Mustang, who
snuffed the air and gave a loud whinny. To prevent Lucifer from
answering I jerked him in with the curb, causing him to plunge,
when a ferocious yell from the guerillars told me that I was seen.
I threw up my rifle, drew a bead on the leader and fired, but un-
fortunately missed him, yet tumbled one of the gang out of the
saddle.

Another yell arose in my rear. The cutthroats of Rinconada had
found out my corn ruse, and were in pursuit. I struck off in the
chapperal to my right, receiving a volley of escopette balls with-
out damage. The chapperal grew in clumps, which at the speed I
was going I found impossible to avoid. My horse cleared some at a
flying leap, but most of them he dashed through. The sharp

160

Warm reception at the “Halfway House

thorns tore my flesh and drove my steed wild with their cruel
thrusts. After a short run I was satisfied I was leaving my enen^ie
behind, so I drew up into a trot, inclining my course to my Idt
to regain the road; after a long ride 1 reached it within two miles

of the “halfway house” , n j

Here I halted, and surveyed my situation. Ahead all

clear. I could just discern the White walls of the

miU on the edge of Monterey, seventeen miles away, whde

singular peak, Cerro la Sitta. or Saddle Mountain, showed im

unmistakable outlines beyond, I felt safe for

reach the Mill in one hour, and I was informed I

picket of the Second Dragoons stationed there. In my re

little clouds of dust puffed up above the "''“PP““ ’

glint of Lance blades showed that my foes were still in pnr

suit.

161

My Confession

I dismounted, loaded my rifle, and after fixing my saddle, I
went to work to pull out the thorns from my own and horse’s legs.
This being done, I went on a-foot to rest us both. I had walked for
half a mile, when the guerillars came in sight. Their Mustangs
seemed to fly, but they lacked stride to get over the ground.
Mounting, I kept on at a easy gait, my spirits rising with the
prospect of a race and my apparent safety. The “greasers” came
on with triumphant yells, thinking no doubt that my horse was
used up and that they were sure of me. When they came too near
for comfort I gave a shout and let my glorious Kentucky thorough-
bred out.

The way I left them, they seemed to have halted! I turned in
my saddle, and gave them shouts of derision and defiance. But
I was premature; I was not out of the woods yet, for as I neared
the little adobe hut, a crowd of leather-clad rascals, the counter-
part of those in my rear, formed across the road with Lances
at a charge.

I was decidedly in a trap, a band of Salteadores in front, another
coming up in my rear, on my left high, craggy mountains that a
goat could not chmb, on my right the infernal chapperal. The
very idea of taking to it again made me shiver. I held up and like
a woman who hesitates was lost— almost, for bullets hummed
over my head. Several of my foes were gliding into the bush to
head me off in that direction.

With feelings akin to taking a plunge into ice water, I once
more turned my poor steed into the chapperal and again we was
tearing and dashing through clumps of mesquite and cactus.
Savage cries and the tooting of horns rose on all sides. I felt
dizzy, and was in danger of losing my coolness, and if I did I was
lost. After giving some distance, I came suddenly on three
guerillars, coming in an angular direction. I passed them like a
shot, they following me in pursuit. I soon struck on a mule trail,
and being free from my thorny tormentors I increased my horse’s
speed and went on at his best for several miles, imtil the noise
of pursuit died away.

162

A Ride for Life

1 now brought Lucifer down to a trot, when to my great alarm,
I discovered that he had cast one of his fore shoes! A cold chill
went over me at this sight. I felt doomed. But I kept my poor
horse well to his work, when suddenly a deep chasm opened right
in front of me, the trail disappearing into it. It was one of those
barrancas peculiar to this country, cut out by the heavy rains of
ages. I dismounted and found that the trail went down in a zigzag
manner, and not three foot wide. Seeing this was my only chance
I tried to lead Lucifer down but he refused and pulled back
snorting with affright.

The yells of my remorseless pursuers again rose from the dark
chapperal and I became nervous and frightened. I took a deep
drink from my canteen and gave some to my trembling steed,
when a sudden thought flew into my mind—the blinders used by
the Mexicans on stubborn mules! My handkerchief was tied over
Lucifer’s eyes and worked to a charm! the intelligent animal feel-
ing his way slowly but surely after me. It was a position of great
peril! Coming after me was a cruel, barbarous foe, while I was
crawling down the almost perpendicular walls of a precipice, the
cliff on one side rubbing my horse, while the other was a sheer
descent of unknown depth. A false step would hurl us to eternity!
Confident in the intelligence of my noble companion, I removed
his blind. He looked around, and seemed to comprehend the situ-
ation in a glance, and when we came to a turning point in the zig-
zag trail, the judgement he showed in gathering himself up in the
least possible space, and placing all four feet close together, was
something human.

As I neared the bottom my nervousness left me and I felt calm
and collected. I was now in a deep gulch or barranca, the walls
rising hundreds of feet on each hand. The sky looked dark blue, so
deep was the cut. A small stream of clear water ran down the
barranca. I was watering Lucifer when a shout from the bank
above, a shot, and then another, informed me that my pursuers
had arrived.

I judged it would take them as long to descend as it did me.

163

My Confession

but to my surprise their light, active ponies came down without
difficulty. I drew up and fired at the head horse, and had the
satisfaction of seeing horse and rider plunge down the frightful
abyss. Then as a parting salute, I gave the Dragoon shout, and
went down the ravine at a round trot. The trail went up on the
opposite bank in the same zigzag manner, but I had no desire to
climb the precipice, in the face of my active foes. I was satisfied
I was going in the right direction; in fact the little stream was the
head water of the Rio San Juan that flows past Monterey. The
course of the ravine was very crooked, making many horseshoe
bends, so I could not see any great distance either way. The cries
of the guerillars came echoing down the barranca and served me
well in letting me know their distance, and I felt confident in
getting through safe.

According to instructions I had placed my dispatches rolled up
tight in the barrel of my holster pistol, in order that when all hope
was gone the discharge of my pistol would effectually destroy
them. Twice I had thought the time had most come to shoot a
“greaser” with a government dispatch, once at the Rinconada, and
again when headed off at the halfway house, but I judged now all
danger was over. But on coming to a longer stretch than usual, I
was startled to catch a glimpse of glazed hats bounding along
above the left hand bank! A part of the gang undoubtedly had
kept to the chapperal plain to head me off when I came out of
the ravine.

The high walls grew lower and lower as I flew along, for now
I urged Lucifer on under the spur. On we went for miles when I
came to a broad road crossing the gulch. I sprang off and led my
reeking steed up the right hand bank, when but for the sight of
the glazed hats I should have gone up the left, as on that side
lay Monterey.

I soon reached the top of the bank and took a look at the condi-
tion of things. Nothing was to be seen of the guerillars but little
clouds of dust rising over the chapperal on the other side, a mile

164

A Ride for Life

back. The serrated chain of mountains that run on the left of the
road from the Rinconada to Arista Mills seemed as close at hand
as when I left the road, though the little adobe casa was barely
discernible miles away. Towards Monterey, I was rejoiced at the
apparent nearness of well known objects around the city. The little
village of San Catarina was close at hand, the hills of Federacion
and Soledad rising behind, while the Obispado rose grand and
gloomy as if to bar all approach from the north.

But more important matters than these claimed my attention.
My saddle blanket had worked loose, and another shoe was off,
and the hoof badly worn. I unsaddled and carefully adjusted the
blanket, resaddled, and drew the girths and surcingle as tight as
possible, seeing from the dust that the human bloodhounds were
still in pursuit. Raising Lucifer’s head, I gave him about all the
whiskey that was left, drank the remainder, mounted and was off,
just as the “greasers” came pouring out of the ravine.

Lucifer now labored hard. The halt had stiffened his joints, and
the guerillars gained on me and came so close that some of them
were swinging their lazos for a throw. Was I to go up after all?
In pure desperation, I pulled out a small dirk, and gave my suf-
fering steed a cut in the neck, drew my pistol for my last shot as
the blood spurted out. My gallant darling increased his speed, his
limbs regained their vigor, and as we dashed through San Cat-
arina, I was a good four hundred yards ahead. They followed on
to a short distance beyond, and finding it in vain, gave me a part-
ing salute of Escopette balls, and shaking their Lances in impotent
rage and baffied hate, they went back and I was safe!

I crossed the ravine on a road leading to the Mill, dropped from
the saddle, embraced the neck of my panting horse and cried like
a child. Now the excitement was over I was weak and faint, and I
must own a little drunk, yet I did not forget to thank the Almighty
for his protection during my perilous ride. A clatter of horses at a
gallop on the Monterey road made me start, but oh joy! I recog-
nized the orange bands of the 2nd Dragoons, and was soon sur-

165

My Confession

rounded by a squad of Cavalry from the picket stationed at Molino
del Arista, and mounting one of their horses I reached the reserve.

I reported to the officer in charge of the picket, who was my old
acquaintance, long Tom Gibbons. I was received very kindly and
furnished with a horse to ride to Walnut Springs, the Head-
quarters of General Taylor. Lieutenant Gibbons promised to send
Lucifer to camp by the road that led around the town by the San
Jeronimo Ranch, to avoid the paved streets. I mounted and gal-
loped off, passing into town by the Calle de Monterey and on for
the Grand Plaza, the inhabitants and the soldiers of the garrison
looking at my forlorn appearance in wonder. Keeping on at a
gallop, and not stopping to answer questions, I passed over the
Queen’s Bridge by the Black Fort and drew up under the shade
of the magnificent woods of San Domingo, known as Walnut
Springs.

Showing my dispatches to the sentinel, I was passed into the
presence of General Taylor, who was seated in his shirt sleeves at
a table conversing with his Chief of Staff, Major Bliss. I delivered
the papers to the General himself. As he reached out his hand for
them, he noticed the hour that I left General Wool’s Headquarters
marked on the envelope, and on referring to his watch he found
that I had been just nine and a half hours in getting through. It
was eighty miles, and I must have made many a mile more by
being drove into the chapperal and the barranca. My noble
Lucifer, how proud I felt of your gallant achievement!

Officers now gathered around and made many inquiries about
my ride. In a few words I stated the principal facts, when General
Taylor ordered me to give my name, age and company to Major
Bliss, adding, “I will remember you.” I was then taken in charge
by an orderly and conducted to the quarters of my old friends,
H Gompany, 2nd Dragoons.

The rumor had spread that one of the 1st Dragoons was in
camp, having rode through from Saltillo alone, and my reception
was a perfect ovation. After a hearty drink of aguardiente I was

166

A Ride for Life

taken to the creek, bathed, clothed in new garments, mine being
torn to rags, and then sat down to a splendid dinner ( what excel-
lent foragers those 2nd Dragoons must have been!) and related
my adventures over again. I then slept until night, when I was
sent for by Major Bliss, who was a Massachusetts man. He said
that if my oflScers would recommend me I would be commis-
sioned, but I made a clean breast of it, and told him all my trou-
bles, and he saw that my record would prevent my promotion. He
gave me a pass until cancelled, and much good advice.

Next day I went into town with some of the ‘"Seconds” and had
a glorious time. At the end of a week I returned to Saltillo with
troops guarding a large Quartermaster s tram. I reported to Gen-
eral Wool and was turned to duty, and the charges withdrawn.

[XXIII]

Virginia Hospitality

Colonel Hamtranck ^ and the officers of the First Virginia Vol-
unteers gave a dinner to -General Wool and staff on Monday, July
5th, 1847. This was shortly after my return from Monterey while
I was on extra duty as standing orderly to Lieutenant Sitgreaves,
Topographical Engineer. The banquet was held in the old ranch
halfway between camp and Saltillo.

When the General arrived there was a large number of officers
waiting who rushed forward to receive us with true Virginia hos-
pitality. A Lieutenant who had had considerable to drink if not
more so, grasped my hand and dubbed me “Major,” but looked
very stupid when Sitgreaves ordered the “Major” to “lead the
horses into the shade and not to leave them.”

Dinner call sounded; the officers marched into the casa, leaving
a dozzen or so poor devils of orderlies to see to the horses and kill
flies, while we listened to the music of knives and forks within
and regaled ourselves with the savory odors of the highly seasoned
dishes of good things inside. This state of affairs did not suit me.
I persuaded an Artillery orderly to look out for my charge as well
as his own, and I would go a-foraging. I made a flank movement
on the dining room, and gained a good position commanding the
kitchen.

Colonel John Francis Hamtranck was the son of a Revolutionary officer In the
War of 1812 he served as a sergeant of infantry on Taylor’s expedition up the
Mississippi Graduating from West Point in 1819, he was appointed agent for the
Osage Indians by John Quincy Adams. Later he settled down as a Virginia planter,
and on the outbreak of the Mexican War was appointed colonel of the 1st Virginia
Regiment of Volunteers, serving for a time as military governor of Saltillo

168

Virginia Hospitality

An aged darkey with snow white whiskers who looked strangely
familiar was in charge of this important place, and I judged his
suspicions was aroused from the way he eyed me. Believing that
a bold attack was the best, I opened the skirmish with, “Hello,
Uncle, ain’t you from Boston?” and to my delight I found he was.
He came out to Mexico in Colonel Caleb Cushing’s Regiment of
Massachusetts Volunteers as cook for one of the oflScers, had left
them at Monterey and come to Saltillo, where he opened a res-
taurant, and had been engaged to cater for this occasion. I spoke
to him of the Boston Common on Independence Dav, the shows,
the fireworks, above all I dwelled on the refreshment booths
that crowded the Mall, and the delicious Fried Eels served
there.

The delighted colored gentleman gave a shout. “God bless you
honey, dis chile kept one of dose places hisself.”

Of course I had purchased Fried Eels of him, and they was the
best ever sold on Boston Common; and I hinted that something of
the kind would not go amiss now. He opened a bottle of Brandy
and we drank to the success of the good old'citv of Boston, to the
American Independence and our own good health. I mentioned
my comrades, and departed taking what was left of the Brandy
with me; before this was drunk, he came bringing a part of a
Turkey, a pudding and a pitcher of wine.

We made an excellent dinner but I was not yet satisfied, and
started this time for the dining room. Approaching the door, I
examined the position of things. Toasts were the rule, and from
the loud talk and the number of empty bottles lying around, I was
convinced things was getting lively. One Kentucky Dragoon
officer. Lieutenant Thompson, was already ‘Trors de combat,”
being under the table. I never let a good chance slip, so I took
his chair at the festive board between a fat Major of a North Caro-
lina Regiment and the Lieutenant who had greeted me so warmly
on our arrival. The Lieutenant did not recognize me, but put one
of his arms around my neck and hiccoughed out that his name

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Mtj Confession

was Cooke, Philip St. George Cooke," one of the F.F.V.’s, and the
fact that he was in love! Also in confidence he informed me that
but for a mistake he would have been the colonel of the regiment;
as it was he was only a lieutenant and Provost Marshal of the
Division, and then he subsided in tears.

The mirth waxed loud and furious, the fat Major tried a song,

I assisting in the chorus, and then the toast master gave the third
regular toast— “Our Army in Mexico, they are provided for better
than any other in the World. Their military Taylor is of great
Worth, furnished with the best of Wool for making breeches; a
faithful Butler attends to their inward man, with a full Tierce,
while they repose on Pillows and Cushings, and are protected
from the dews of night and the Summer heat by Shields of
Twiggs. While our army is thus furnished, without Bragging, the
enemy cannot expect to get off Scott free.” This was responded to
by Colonel Churchill, Inspector General; then came the fourth
regular toast— “Our distinguished Guest— the Hero of Queenstown
Heights, Lundy Lane and Buena Vista. General John E.
Wool.”

Our little General arose and replied, and had gone on very
happily as far as “This is the proudest moment of my life—” when
his sharp eyes singled me out, and the irascible old hero cried
out, “Orderly, you rascal, what are you doing here? Leave, you
rascal, leave!”

As I arose to go my worthy friend of the F.F.V.’s, the Provost
Marshal, struck at me with a Champagne bottle. I dodged the
blow which took effect on the nose- of the fat Tar River Officer,
bringing the claret. The Major returned the compliment, just as
I landed one, laying him on top of “Little Boots,” Lieutenant

^ It was Captain Cooke who m August, 1846, carried the message from General
Kearny at Bent’s Fort to General Armijo at Santa Fe announcing that Kearny was
taking possession of New Mexico for the United States. During the Civil War
Cooke sided with the Union rather than with the Confederacy and became a
major general in the Union Army. His daughter was married to General Jeb Stuart
of the Confederate army.

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Virginia Hospitality

Thompson. Officers rushed up and a free fight was about to be
inaugurated, but Colonel Hamtranck and the more sober ones
restored order, I having in the meanwhile gained a corner of the
room. There, seated on the floor, with a barricade of dishes and
the debris of the feast around me, and a bottle of Brandy for a
companion, I felt master of the situation.

General Wool and his staff soon took their departure, and I was
feeling quite glorious when I heard Sitgreaves calling “Orderly!”
I managed to gain my feet and amid the clatter of falling dishes
succeeded in reaching the door by holding on the wall.

“Orderly,” said Sitgreaves, “have you had anything to drink?”

“Not a drop, Lieutenant,” I said, whereupon he ordered a bottle
of Champagne with which I drank his health in a bumper.

Thanks to my colored friend our horses were readv and at the
door, and we started off at a gallop to overtake the General.
Lucifer (who had fully recovered from his run to Monterey),
probably thinking it a challenge for a trial of speed, let himself
out, Sitgreaves followed suit, and away we went. We overtook
and dashed bv the General and his Staff who, not noticing that
one of the party was only a buck private, cheered on the race.
Leaping the ravine back of Headquarters I received a sharp blow
across the waist, and found myself performing a somersault in the
air bringing up against the General’s Negro servant Dennis, send-
ing him backward into his cook tent among his pots and kettles,
with myself on top. The festive Lieutenant of Engineers cleared
the obstacle (a picket rope) in the same happy manner and
landed in Captain Chapman’s tent, much to the indignation of the
Captain’s worthy lady, who was in dishabille taking an afternoon
siesta.

The General arrived and the Sergeant of the Guard, Mellen,
took me before him and reported me for drunkenness. General
Wool, leaning against the Flag Staff, listened to the Sergeant’s
complaint with much gravity, and did not choose to recognize
the “orderly.”

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My Confession

“Dragoon ” he said, “you are drunk! I am ashamed of you! You
rascal, where have you been?”

I steadied myself, saluted and replied, “Drinking with the Gen-
eral and Colonel Hamtranck, Sir!”

“Sergeant, confine him, by my orders!” was the answer.

Lieutenant Benham, one of his engineers, told General Wool
that I was the Dragoon that rode the express to Monterey; but I
was marched off to the guard house.

I awoke in the morning cold, thirsty, and with a splitting head-
ache, sans jacket, pants, boots and spurs. I had been cleaned out
in my sleep by the other prisoners. At Guard Mount I was released
by order of General Wool, ordered to report to Rucker, who gave
me a blessing, swore that I was more trouble than all the rest of
the company, and ended by issuing me a Golt’s Revolver, one of
twelve sent to him for trial. He tried to conceal this partiality by
swearing he knew I would shoot myself, and he would in this
way get rid of his greatest trouble.

[ XXI V ]

Tragedy of Patos

One day’s march from Saltillo on the Parras road, hid from the
great world without by high hills that formed a natural amphi-
theatre, lay the Hacienda del Patos belonging to the great Sanchez
family whose property extended for a hundred leagues. The
Sanchez being on good terms with General Wool and the U.S
Government, the inhabitants of Patos as well as those of Abuja
remained peacefully in their homes, raising flocks of sheep and
goats, and cultivating large fields of com.

Our Squadron often visited the place for forage, the com being
paid for by our Quartermaster, and we was always treated with
the greatest hospitality and kindness by the people, whose un-
sophisticated manner reminded me of what I had read of the
primitive ages. We always bivouacked in front of their pretty little
church in the plazuela, and roguish-eyed poblanos would bring us
frijoles, oranges, eggs, grapes and sweetmeats. When night came
they always gave a fandango, and what frolicking and love mak-
ing the bold Dragoons had with the doncellas, and many a dark
eyed Sehorita of the place gave her whole heart to the sworn
enemy of her country.

On one fatal occasion, our Squadron being absent on a scout, a
detachment of Texan Rangers, under the command of Captain
Bayley, reached Patos with twenty waggons late in the afternoon,
passed through and went into camp half a mile beyond. One man
remained behind and entering a pulqiieria drank freely of muscal.
Frenzied by the fiery liquor he entered the church and tore down

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My Confession

a large wooden figure of our Saviour, and making fast his lariat
around its neck, he mounted his horse, and galloped up and down
the plazuela dragging the image behind him. The venerable white-
haired Priest, in attempting to rescue it, was thrown down and
trampled under the feet of the Ranger’s horse.

The people assembled in the square at first were so astonished
at the sacrilege that they offered no opposition, but when they saw
their beloved cura lying all bloody in the dust, their horror was
changed to madness. With fierce cries of “Que meuren los Tejanos
diablos,” they lassoed the wretch, tied him to a large wooden
cross in the square and flayed him. His horse escaping found his
way to Bayley’s bivouac, who, thinking something was wrong,
mounted up his men and went back to the Hacienda at speed.

As they charged into the square they saw their miserable com-
rade hanging to the cross, his skin hanging in strips, surrounded
by crowds of Mexicans. With yells of horror, the Rangers charged
on the mass with Bowie Knife and revolver, sparing neither age or
sex in their terrible fury. The miserable cause of all this was yet
alive and in his awful agony cursed all and everything and begged
his comrades to shoot him and end his sufferings. He was cut
down and finding him beyond hope the Rangers’ Captain put a
bullet through the brains of the wretch.

The inhabitants that survived had fled to the chapperal and
hid, and the Texans, glutted wdth blood, returned to camp. Don
Jacobo Sanchez laid the facts of the tragedy before General Wool,
Bayley made his statement, and for the credit of the army, the
matter was hushed up, and kept secret from the world.

[ XXV ]

Massacre of the Waggon Train

On the 24th of February, 1847, a large government train of
waggons and pack mules loaded with Quartermaster and commis-
sary stores, on its way up from Camargo, was attacked by the
united bands of the guerillars of Tamaulipas and Nuevo Leon.
The train, consisting of some two hundred waggons and as many
pack mules, with an escort of two infantiy companies, had reached
a I'uined ranch known as Ramos, nine miles from Marin, when the
guerillars charged on both flanks, front and rear. The guard
offered no resistance, but threw down their arms and became
prisoners. A scene of wildest confusion and horror ensued; some
of the teamsters defended themselves, and all whipped up their
mules and tried to park the waggons but were lanced or lassoed
by the guerillars who surrounded the waggons, cutting off all
retreat.

I am indebted to a waggon master, one Captain Mick Box, for a
description of the massacre. He was riding along near the centre
of the train, which was well closed up, and about one mile in
length. They had reached the Ramos ranch when columns of
smoke was observed rising in different directions, and a Lancer
appeared on a hill behind the ranch, waving his lance. Then
leather-clad ‘'greasers,’" with terrific yells, dashed out of the chap-
peral, and the work of death commenced. Captain Box made for
the hills when he was charged on by two of the band, one with a
lance, the other swinging the more fatal lazo. The Captain with

175

My Confession

his holster pistols sent them to grass, ran down a third who tried
to har his way, and gained the shelter of dense thicket. From
there he witnessed the most fiendish acts of wanton cruelty com-
mitted by the guerillars. Teamsters were lassoed, stripped naked,
and then dragged through clumps of cactus, and horribly muti-
lated; a boy of sixteen who drove a forge was lashed in front of
the bellows, a charcoal fire kindled and a fire hole blown into him,
until he expired in the most fearful agony. Another had an incision
made in his abdomen, cartridges inserted and the victim blown
up!

The Salteadores, after plundering the train of the things they
wanted, loaded the mules with the goods, and then set fire to the
train. Three waggons loaded with ammunition blew up, killing a
number of the yelling devils. The guard, commanded by a Captain
Brown, offered no resistance but cowardly stood and saw their
countrymen butchered under circumstances of unheard of cruelty.
One hundred and thirty waggons was destroyed, and one hundred
and ten teamsters killed.

A young Miss of sixteen, the daughter of a Sutler, was with the
train. She was taken to Montemorelos, and after being compelled
to sit in a nude state on the table at a banquet given by the
guerillar chiefs, she was released without any further outrage
being perpetrated, and reached Monterey, on foot.

The loss to government amounted to over one million dollars,
which was assessed on the inhabitants of Nuevo Leon and
Tamaulipas.

General Taylor not only collected the money assessed by force
of arms, but he let loose on the country packs of human blood-
hounds called Texan Rangers. Between the Rangers and the
guerillars the unfortunate inhabitants of the states of Nuevo Leon
and Tamaulipas had a hard time of it during the summer of 1847,
plundered by both sides, their lives often taken, and their wives
and daughters outraged and carried off. The names of “Old Reid,”

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Massacre of the Waggon Train

Captain Bayley, Harry Love, Ben McCulloch and, more terrible
than all, “Mustang” Gray will always remain fresh in the memory
of the Mexicans, as the fearful atrocities committed by them now
form part of the Nursery Legends of the country.

Mustang Gray with his command on one occasion started out
from camp at midnight and after a two hours’ ride reached the
San Francisco ranch on the Camargo road near Agua Fria. The
place was suiTOunded, the doors forced in, and all the males
capable of bearing arms were dragged out, tied to a post and shot!
Most of them was shot by an old mountain man known as “Greasy
Rube” who had been castrated by Mexicans in Chihuahua. The
victims were tied to a post on which was placed a light, the grim
old Ranger would coolly fire his rifle from the distance of one hun-
dred yards and send the ball crashing through the poor devil’s
brain, keeping tally by cutting a notch on the stock of his fatal
Rifle. Thirty-six Mexicans were shot at this place, a half hour given
for the horrified survivors, women and children, to remove their
little household goods, then the torch was applied to the houses,
and by the light of the conflagration the ferocious T ejanos rode off
to fresh scenes of blood.

For weeks this work of carnage and devastation continued until
the entire country from Monterey to Camargo, a distance of one
hundred and eighty miles, with the exceptions of the towns Marin,
Cerralvo and Mier, was depopulated.

The guerillars, if possible, were guilty of worse acts than the
Rangers, and the conflict was no longer war but murder, and a
disgrace to any nation calling itself Christian. Our officers became
disgusted with the many revolting acts committed by volunteers
and Rangers, and no reports were ever made of these cruel raids.

In extenuation of Captain Gray’s ferocity, he had had the ter-
rible experience when a boy of witnessing his parents butchered,
his only sister subjected to the most hellish outrages and then
murdered, by a gang of Canales’ men in Texas, in 1840. Gray, at

177

My Confession

the time of his raid on the San Francisco ranch, was not yet
twenty years of age, but had acquired a reputation under the
names of “Bravo” and “Mustang” for daring courage, not second
to Jack Hays himself. He died at Camargo at the close of the war.

[ XX VI ]

Scout to Zacatecas

General Caleb Cushing came out to Mexico as colonel of the
1st Massachusetts Volunteers, the only command sent by the Old
Bay State. ^ This ''Yankee” regiment was essentially an Irish one,
the best material in the world to make infantiy of, but requiring
great efficiency on the part of the officers to enforce discipline.
Unfortunately, Colonel Cushing was only efficient in military
knowledge in being inefficient, and the credit of Massachusetts
suffered some by the conduct of his command, the regiment gain-
ing for itself a most unenviable reputation for outrages on the
inhabitants and insubordination.

One day the General came up to Saltillo from Monterey to
visit General Wool and the battleground of Buena Vista. In his
honor a grand review was ordered, Colonel Hamtranck command-
ing the brigade. The day was all that could be desired, the troops
looked their best, and our Squadron outdone itself. The gallant
General was delighted. He said that "the National Lancers
could have done no better.” What a compliment! what rare mili-
tary discernment!

When the General returned to Monterey, I was detailed on his
escort. I went to visit the Traveinas the night before and passed a
very pleasant evening, but with two drawbacks: one the presence
of a young Swede, Walberg, a bugler in E Company, and the

^ A scholar-statesman, lawyer, orator, linguist and historian. General Cushing
served in the House of Representatives for four terms, was mayor of Newbiiryport,
Massachusetts, associate justice of the Massachusetts Supreme Court, attorney gen-
eral in Franklin Pierce's Cabinet, a trusted adviser of both Lincoln and Grant, a
member of the Geneva Commission which arbitrated the Alabama claims, and
minister to Spain.

179

Mij Confession

other a tall stern military-looking gatichpin who seemed very
much at home— in fact Colonel Traveina himself.

He was very cool and polite, I thought too much so. Dona
Isadora was, with her daughters, as kind and gracious as ever, she
informed me that her husband had come home to remove them
to their Hacienda in Durango, that Walberg was going to desert
and go with them and marry Deloroso, and urged me to fly with
them and take Franceita for my wife. I could not consent, but
agreed to remain with them when the war was over and I received
my discharge.

I took an affectionate leave of my affianced and returned to
camp with Walberg, and early the next day set out with General
Cushing for Monterey. On our return to Saltillo I found that the
Traveinas had gone, and Walberg had deserted, and I never saw
or heard from them again!

Ten days after our return, our Squadron, a section of Sherman’s
Battery, and one hundred Texan Rangers, all under the command
of Lieutenant Abe Buford, the red headed giant, left on a recon-
naissance toward the city of Zacatecas. Leaving camp at daylight,
we moved up the valley and ascended to the gloomy Paso de
los Pinos that leads through the Sierra Madre, halting at the tank
of water at the southern terminus. From here to the next water was
sixty miles.

This place was our old picketting ground during the winter of
1846, and we could see our route across the salt plains for miles;
the only vegetation at this time of year was mesquite and yuccas,
the dry bayonet-like leaves of the latter looking like rusty old
iron. We travelled all day in blinding dust that covered us with a
mantle of greenish hue, and did not halt until ten at night; we
slept without unsaddling in the line of march, With our mouths
so parched by the villainous salt and coppery dust that it was
impossible to eat, we passed a miserable night. On the road again
at daylight we reached a tableland about noon, and to our great
joy discovered a mud ranch a few miles ahead. It was a ganada

180

Scout to Zacatecas

or cattle farm, with an abundance of clear water. We remained
here the rest of the day and night and feasted rightly on fat beef
belonging to the place.

Our horses were picketed near the corral under a strong guard.
As usual I was detailed on this duty (owing to my name being
near the head of the Roster). My tour was from ten to twelve. I
went on post and I never felt so lonely and so uncomfortable
before. Yet the command lay sleeping in plain sight, I could see
the dark forms of other sentinels on each side of me, all seemed
quiet and peaceful.

If cowards suffer as much from their fears as I did those long
two hours, I pity and sympathize with them. I walked back and
forward with a quick step, wheeling suddenly and casting sharp
glances into the surrounding darkness. A thick clump of chapperal
some twenty feet from my post attracted most of my watchfulness,
and once I would have sworn that I saw a pair of fiery eyes glaring
at me from its gloomy recesses. To cock my Carbine, take aim
between the glowing orbs, was the action of a moment, but they
were gone and I withheld my fire and believed it was the effect
of my excited imagination. After the longest two hours I ever
spent, I was relieved, and the fear of ridicule kept me from telling
of my scare.

When I laid down I could not sleep, the same unaccountable
feeling of dread remained, and I was glad when the bugles
sounded Reveille, but I was confounded and horror struck on
learning that the man who relieved me had been assassinated! He
was found dead with a long Spanish knife sticking in his spine,
and a valuable horse gone. I felt condemned for not warning the
poor fellow, but I don’t think he would have heeded it and the
result would have been the same. That the strange presentiment
of danger saved my own life I have no doubt. The murdered
Dragoon was buried in the road and the command marched over
the grave, obliterating all signs; this was done to prevent the body
being robbed by the “greasers.”

181

My Confession

Continuing our marcli, we passed through a wild country, with
high craggy hills, lofty blue mountains in the background, with the
mins of Haciendas and smelting furnaces standing here and there
in the barren solitude. The fell Comanches had penetrated even
here, and all was desolation. Some of the scenes reminded me of
those described by Scott, and G. P. R. James, the mined white
walls of a Hacienda at a distance having a striking resemblance to
the Feudal Castle of some bold Baron, and when about noon on
rising the crest of a hill “a solitary horseman” was seen on the road
coming towards us, I would not have been in the least surprised to
have seen him draw up and challenge one of our number to break
a lance in honor of “fayre Ladye” and chivalry. But he proved a
recreant Knight, for as soon as he espied us, he turned and fled.

Two of the Rangers on the advance dashed off in pursuit and
run their man down, and he was brought in badly frightened. He
was a regular Lancer of Minon’s Division, now commanded by
General Garcia Conde whose Headquarters was at Mazapil, a
small town ten miles ahead. The Division numbering some three
thousand had been ordered there to guard a valuable silver train,
the property of the British government, down to Tampico. The
Lancer was pressed into service as a guide, with the promise of
being released if he acted honestly, or death if he proved false.

We pushed on and soon came in sight of the town and forming
hne of battle advanced across the plain until quite close, with
no signs of the redoubtable Lancers. Our two guns were placed in
position, and then we charged into the place, drew rein and
formed in the plaza. Strong pickets were thrown out on all ap-
proaches to the town, while the guns formed in battery in the
square to rake the two principal streets leading from it.

In the plaza, piled up in pyramids, was a vast treasure of silver
in pigs awaiting transportation. Visions of prize money flitted
through oim brains when a dignified little yellow-faced man,
dressed in a suit of Nankeen, cut English fashion, came from the
cuartel and stuck a pole surmounted by the Union Jack of Eng-

182

Scout to Zacatecas

land in one of the piles and, in the most pompous manner, in-
formed our oflBcers the silver was the property of Her Majesty
Queen Victoria, and that the United States Government would be
held to a strict accountability if it was molested!

How potent is the power of Great Britain! Here thousands of
miles away from all apparent power of that nation a miserable
little cockney, with only the insignia of his country s greatness,
defies and threatens three hundred of Uncle Sam’s roughest
riders. I believe that one of the Silver Pigs was sequestered by a
graceless artillery officer, who not having the fear of Her Majesty’s
displeasure, hid one in one of his guns, and thus it was brought
to camp.

We remained here two hours, watered and fed our horses, and
then passed through the place on our wav towards Zacatecas. We
were now in the midst of the richest mining district of Mexico;
the hills were destitute of vegetation and of a dull iron rust-red
in color, and honey-combed by mining shafts. A wild-looking
shepherd boy, a few lean goats, or a melancholy-looking donkey,
was the only objects of life we met with. The water had a coppery
taste, the dust that covered us was of an olive green hue, even the
sky appeared of a brassy tint, and the sun glowed down on us
like a huge ball of fire. For four hours we toiled through this
copper region, when reaching the summit of a small rise we found
ourselves in a different country, a tableland well watered and
stocked with cattle farms.

At a ranch on the road we found an abundant supply of corn
and cattle and here the command halted to pass the night. Pickets
were thrown out and Lieutenant Carleton proceeded with a small
party to make a reconnaissance in our front. I was with this de-
tachment, and we reached a high mesa, an island hill rising from
the plain. Carleton dismounted and climbed the almost perpen-
dicular face of the hill. He soon came to the crown and said,
“Jack, bring up vour sketch book, you will find a grand view from
here."

183

My Confession

I went up and certainly the scene was magnificent! The plain
that we looked down on extended ahead for some six miles, beyond
this through an opening in a range of hills appeared a beautiful
valley of bright green, thickly studded with the white walls of
Haciendas, ranches, churches and convents, while away in the dis-
tance rose the towers and domes of a great city, the city of Zaca-
tecas, the third in size and the second in wealth in Mexico. I seated
myself and sketched a rough outline of the view, when the Lieu-
tenant, who was using his field glass, turned it towards Mazapil,
and said, “Jf^ck, look there,” and gave me his glass. By its use I
could plainly see a long column of dust on the road we came on,
not ten miles off, with the glitter of steel points flashing in the
setting sun.

We galloped back to the ranch, where a strange scene met us.
A little fat old Mexican, stripped to his waist, was tied up to the
wheel of our travelling forge, while Jim Sherrod, our company
Farrier, stood by brandishing a formidable mule whip, awaiting
Buford’s order. Some of the farrier’s tools had been stolen, and as
this is a serious matter where so much depends on having the
horses well shod, Buford, after having searched the place in vain,
had ordered the alcalde to be tied up and flogged, and it was that
dignitary we saw embracing the wheel.

“Give the old rascal a taste of the black snake, Sherrod,” said
the Lieutenant, when the whip descended with a sickening thud
on the poor devil’s bare shoulders, leaving a dark red welt. The
alcalde groaned in agony, but another blow and a third followed,
tearing bits of flesh, when the missing tools were thrown over the
heads of the crowd, the thieves knowing well that the alcalde
would find them out, and then his vengeance would be terrible.

Wliile this was transpiring, Carleton informed Buford of his
discovery and the Rangers with one gun was sent to hold the road
where it ascended from the plain, our pickets were recalled, the
command got in readiness to start, the horseshoeing going on to
the last moment. At dark we took the back track, and rejoined

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Scout to Zacatecas

the detachment on the bluff, who reported the enemy massed on
the plain below. To all inquiries the Lancer s only reply was the
universal '‘Quien sabeF' (who knows?) until a pistol placed to
his head so refreshed his memory that he recollected that there
was a road to our right that passed around Mazapil leading to an
old silver mine, and coming back into the Saltillo road on the salt
plain at the ranch where the sentinel was assassinated.

Under his guidance we started on this route and travelled all
night, the next day and next night. The heat and dust was fearful,
our horses and ourselves suffered from thirst and the salt dust
that pained our eyes. On our rear hung another cloud of dust, that
of the enemy in pursuit, while still another, well on our left flank,
showed us that a party was detached to reach the pass before us.
But by daylight the following morning we w^ere back in the Pass,
except for three Dragoons, and found it in possession of a large
detachment sent from camp. The enemy halted two miles off, and
then retired the way they came. They must have suffered feaif ully
on their return over the salt plain for sixty miles without water.
We remained at the tank of water until late in the afternoon, and
then returned to camp, having released our guide with two days’
rations.

Query: Did the flogging of one alcalde pay for the expedition
and the loss of four Dragoons? Was the Lancers in the ser\1ce of
Her Majesty also?

[XXVII]

A Night at Victorines^ Casa

In the fall of 1847, General Wool removed his Headquarters to
Monterey. Our Squadron and Sherman’s Battery accompanied
him and went into camp in the woods of San Domingo or Walnut
Springs. Here live oak and pecan trees, festooned with silver
streamers of Spanish moss, made a most agreeable shade, and
streams of cold, crystal water gushed out of the ground. Our camp
was well supplied with all kinds of tropical fruits, while the vil-
lages of San Fernando, San Domingo and San Nicolas, with their
bewitching Senoritas and poblanas, their Fandangos, combate
giour and their national game of “Monte” afforded abundant
pastimes for us when off duty, which was nine days out of ten.
Walnut Springs was a true Soldiers’ Paradise. What glorious times
we had in our eight months’ experience in camp at this place!
What reckless adventures with gueriUars, and scrapes with the
intriguing margaritas of the surrounding ranches.

Soldiers of the army may be divided into three classes: First,
the DEAD BEATS, men who never can be trusted; they are dirty or
on the sick report most of their time. This class is hated by their
comrades, and despised by the officers. Second, the old soldiers,
men who do their duty in a quiet mechanical sort of way, always
on hand in camp, never in the guard house, never known to get
drunk or spend their money, often made corporals but rarely
sergeants. They are disliked by the men, who suspect them of
being tale bearers to the officers. Third, the “dare devils.” These
men are first in a fight, frolic or to volunteer for duty, with uni-
forms fitting like a glove and faultlessly clean, arms, horses and

186

A Night at Victorines Casa

accoutrements always in inspection condition, faithful in the dis-
charge of every duty, but when off no camp can hold them. They
often turn up in the guard house, but never in the hospital; they
are the “orderlies” of the regiment, the pride of the officers and
the admiration of their companions. I was considered a fair rep-
resentative of the third order.

And as Mexico is a country of romance, I had my share of ad-
ventures. Officers often spoke to me in regard to my irregular
life, and pointed out how I was injuring my chances for promotion
by my dissipation; but what did I care? One night at a Fandango
in Victorines’ Casa had more charms for me than the chevrons of
the Sergeant Major.

The San Nicolas ranch lay on the road that led to the Obispado,
one mile and a half from camp. A Casa el Valer at this place was
kept by two sisters, Ramonda and Pasquale Victorine. The house
of these charming but mercenary girls was the favorite resort of
all; officers and men, Dragoons, Artillerists, Rangers and volun-
teers all were welcome as long as they were provided with mucha
plata (much money). But this state of affairs did not suit our
oflBcers, who forbid all Dragoons leaving camp at night, and or-
dered out patrols to bring in all soldiers found in the place, while
they would get up parties, visit the dance hall and pass night
after night in the society of the graceful Senoritas of San Nicolas.

Now this did not suit us Dragoons any more than the former
state of affairs did our officers, so we took council together. The
result was that no officer could visit the Victorines after dark
without being fired on and attempts made to lasso the fright-
ened monopolizers. This put an effectual stop to all Fandangos de
los oficiales and by wise management we soon had the ranch all
to ourselves and our friends. One regular frequenter at Victorines’
was Martie Martiznes, a Priest and guerillar. He sought no con-
cealment, but seemed to court observation; dressed in the pictur-
esque costume of the ranchero rico (rich rancher) he would come
into the room, treat the soldiers to vino, pulque and muscal.

187

My Confession

dance and flirt with the pohlanas, “buck” at Monte, in fact make
himself the most popular man in the house. Between this typical
Mexican padre, and myself a strong feeling of friendship sprang
up which proved of great service to me, more than once.

One night with a party of chosen comrades I visited the Vic-
torines, and after some hours of indulgence in the festivities of
the place, feeling tired and sleepy, I slipped out of the dance hall
into a side room and was soon fast asleep on the banqueta
(bench) which ran around two sides of the room. How long I
slept I know not, but awoke to find Ramonda in the room dis-
robing by the dim light of a candle. A blanket hanging from a
line hid me by its shadow but when she stood with only her
camisa (chemise) on, I said with a laugh, “Su humilde servidor,
mi bonita camadre” (Your humble servant, my pretty gossip).

Ramonda seemed frightened, but not for herself; she begged
me to go out the back way and run for camp. Being ovenvise
and obstinate, from the effects of muscal, I refused, thinking there
was a lover in the matter, and I resolved to remain out of pure
mischief. Hearing voices in the dance hall, in spite of the girl’s
remonstrance, I forced myself into the room.

One look was enough! I was completely sobered, cold chills
shot all over me, succeeded by a deathly faintness. How I wished
I had taken Ramonda’s advice and was now flying for camp.
Around the room smoking and drinking was seated at least twenty
as villainous-looking cutthroats as ever drank pulque, threw a
lazo, or as Salvator Rosa painted. My hurried entrance caused
them to spring up, draw murderous-looking knives and with fierce
carrajos crowd around me.

I thought my time had come, but resolved not to be rubb’d
out without a struggle. With a bound I sprang behind a large
table used for a bar, drew the chamber of my Hall’s Carbine
(that I always carried in my pocket), said a short prayer and
stood cool and collected, at bay before those human Tigers,
guerillars.

188

A Night at Victorines Casa

There was one grizzly old fellow who seemed more ferocious
than the others; he had but one eye that glared on me with the
fierceness of a wild beast. He rushed for the table as if he would
spring over, when the sight of the little iron tube pointing straight
for his solitary optic caused him to pause. A few tallow dips cast a
feeble light on the savage faces in my front; cries of ‘‘Miierte!
muerte! el ladron Americano, que meure el yanqui burro’" came
from all parts of the room, but none offered to strike. For the mo-
ment twenty brigands were held at bay by the strange weapon
which they seemed to know was sure death to one of them, then
there was a rush to the corner where their Escopettes were piled
and the scene was about to close. Yet I thought I perceived one
slight chance for escape—the door by which I entered, leading to
Ramonda s room, was not yet closed; gain this, dash through a
rear door, and once outside in the darkness and the dense chap-
peral, I would be safe.

Gathering all my energies, I struck out with my left and landed
a terrific blow on the single glaring eye of my grizzly foe, and as
he went down I grasped his knife, kicked over the table, and
with a wild yell rushed for the door. I had gained Ramonda s
room when I was seized in a powerful giasp. I struck wildly with
the knife but in vain, was thrown down, disarmed by Padre
Martiznes himself. The Salteadores gathered around me like wild
animals, thirsting for my blood, but the guerillar Priest waved
them back and cried out, ‘'Companeros! Esta mi amigo!” But 'old
grizzly” got up, his face covered with blood, and swore by the
Virgin of Guadalupe that he would have my heart’s blood before
he left the house!

Martiznes made quite a speech to the rascals which was lis-
tened to in silence and at its conclusion was hailed with shouts of
laughter and cries of "'Bueno! Bueno! el combata! el Tuerto tj el
Yanqui burro!” (Good! good! a fight! One-eyed with the Yankee
jackass. )

Martiznes now spoke to me in broken English and said he had

189

My Confession

made a proposition to his men that “El Tuerto” be allowed the
privilege to kill me himself in a fair fight with knives, with the re-
striction of no throwing allowed, and that the idea took immensely
with the facetious cutthroats who said it would be better sport
than a corrida de toros ( bull fight ) . He said he had witnessed the
whole affair, Ramonda having warned him of my danger, and
asked me if I was willing to fight the duel; he said if I did not
wish to take the risk he would protect me until I was safe in camp.
Although I wished myself in camp and well out of the scrape, I
assumed an air of bravado, and replied that I met his proposal
with pleasure.

The Brigands prepared the room for the conflict, the heavy
tables were pushed back against the wall, and to my great sur-
prise half a dozzen smiling Senoritas in scant night dresses ap-
peared and grouped themselves on the tables. We were to peel
to our buff and soon stood with nothing on but our pants. The
“greasers” were highly elated, and bet freely on the result, and
to my great surprise I seemed to be the favorite. I felt cool, and
now my foe was stripped I was satisfied that I should come out
all right, for he appeared weak and emaciated, and his only eye
was nearly closed from the effect of my blow.

The holy relic, the gift of Franceita, that I wore around my
neck attracted attention, and was examined with much interest,
and when for effect I kissed it there were cries of, “El soldado
no heretico, mucho bueno Cristiano!” while the ladies all took
sides with me and chattered away like magpies.

Martiznes placed us in position and cried out vaya! when the
old fellow threw himself on me with the agility of a cat. I parried
his thrust with my knife, and on the impulse of the moment
launched out with my left Duke, which took effect on his vulture-
like beak with such force as to flatten that appendage and send
him with a dull thud to the floor. The fight was over. Though dis-
appointed that no one was killed, the guerillars gathered around
me and each dirty scoundrel insisted on embracing me and kiss-

190

A fight with knives

ing the “Holy relic.” My unlucky opponent was carried out sense-
less, and the guerillar chief Martiznes assured me I was perfectly
safe, that with the exception of El Tuerto each one of his band
would defend me with their lives. As gratifying as this informa-
tion was I felt still more safe when he restored to me the chamber
of my Carbine and gave me El Tuerto’s knife.

[XXVIII]

Reward of Merit

The next evening at Dress Parade an order was read by the Adju-
tant signed by Major D. H. Rucker, appointing me to the high
and important position of a corporal! Shades of Napoleon, re-
warded at last!

How particular I was to the cut and fit of my Chevrons as
stitched on by Mrs. Charley McGerry, and what pride I took in
their pristine glory on their background of red, my “battle stripes.”
How prompt I thought the poor privates were to obey all my
orders— not a ghost of a chance to exercise my authority by put-
ting some disobedient common soldier into the guard house.

But I done better; I got a pass for all my mess and gave them
a grand dinner at the Victorines at San Nicolas. Each bold Dra-
goon had his moza seated by his side, while my amigo, Martiznes,
honored me by his presence. Ramonda with the rest congratulated
me on my well deserved promotion! We had a jolly time, and I
was careful to keep sober and to see that all were back in time,
at Stable call.

But really the appointment made me a better man and a sol-
dier. It gave me more respect for myself, and I resolved that
Rucker’s confidence in me should not be misplaced, and that in
future I would try to deserve the honor. But Dame Fortune, one
short week later, kicked down all my airy castles of glory! But I
anticipate.

Major Thomas W. Sherman with his Battery of Horse Artillery
was encamped on the other side of the creek known as Walnut
Springs. His company with Braggs’ Battery formed an Artillery

192

Reward of Merit

camp, quite independent from ours, the Dragoon camp. Sherman
was an eccentric, weak, tyrannical oflBcer, allowing his men no
privileges, and resorting to the most severe punishment for the
most trivial offenses. One dark day, the most unfortunate day in
my history, I was on duty as corpoial of the guard, Major Rucker
was absent in Monteiey, Lieutenant Sam Sturgis was Officer of
the Day, and, as usual in these days of easy dutv, Executive Offi-
cer of the camp.

About one p.m. I saw Major Sherman cioss the creek and ap-
proach our Guard House. As he came up no one presented arms,
and the Major in an angry tone demanded ‘\vh\^ the Sentinel did
not order the guard to turn out?” I advanced, saluted and in a
respectful manner replied that the Sentinel had no instructions
to do so, as I was not av/are that he was entitled to that honor.

“G — d d — n vou!” he said. ''Who is commander of this camp?”

I said that I considered Major Rucker was. ”But when Major
Rucker is absent who then commands, you d — d hound?”

I replied, "Lieutenant Whittlesey, as senior officer, Major,”
when Sherman, with manv oaths, gave me to understand that he
commanded both camps in the absence of Rucker, and oidered
me to send a file of men to the Loww Springs, and arrest a man
there engaged in selling liquor to the soldiers, to destroy his stock,
turn loose his ox team, and bring him to the guard house, and
then report to him.

He went back to his quarters, I sent the men, and then went
to find Lieutenant Sturgis, but that festive officer had left camp
with his orderly, and the only oflScer I found in camp was a Lieu-
tenant Wilson, who had recently joined us from New Mexico. He
appeared alarmed and said "if I knew what was good for me I
would obey Major Sherman’s orders.”

I returned to the guard house, and on the arri\'a] of the pris-
oner, instructed No. 1 and crossed the creek and reported that
fact to the courteous Major, and then went back to my guard. The
prisoner was a poor little Irishman, one John Dougherty, who had

193

My Confession

been discharged from the First Regiment of Illinoise Volunteers
for disability arising from wounds received at Buena Vista. With
his discharge money he had purchased an ox team and a supply of
liquor, and followed up the anny to retail his stock to the men.
This day some utterly depraved scoundrel reported him to the
meanest officer in the service, “Battery Sherman,” and his arrest
followed.

Sherman soon appeared, the guard was promptly turned out,
the customary salute given and returned, and then the Major
proceeded to interrogate the ti'embling culprit to make him con-
fess to the fearful nature of his crime. Grand Inquisitor Sherman,
not satisfied with the answers received, ordered the accused tied
up to a fa'ee, and the “question” applied by fifty lashes! laid on
with a mule whip, and said to me, “Corporal, detail the strongest
man of your guard to flog the villain.”

I most respectfully declined to do this, when he broke out in
a most furious rage, and with curses tried to tear off my chevrons,
but thanks to the faithful sewing of Mrs. Charley McCerry did not
succeed. He then ordered my belts to be taken off, and for me
to be “bucked and gagged.” I ventured to remonstrate, when the
maniac cried out, “You talk back to me, you d — d s — n of a
b — h! I’ll flog you within an inch of your life! Strip, G — d d — n
you, strip, you d — d hound!”

I was standing in front of our piled Carbines, with my left
hand resting on one of them. Again- that singular feeling came
over me that I had often experienced before when in situations
of extreme danger— cold freezing chills, succeeded by a deathly
faintness, as if the Angel of Death was near. The beautiful world
seemed to recede far away from me, and it never appeared more
dear than it did in that brief moment. But I had formed this de-
cision: that if Sherman insisted on my being flogged, I would
send a bullet through his brain, mount my horse and ride for
Martiznes’ haunts, and even if captured I preferred death hy
shooting to have my back tom to pieces by a mule whip.

194

Reward of Merit

Looking the Major full in the eye I quietly remarked, ‘‘Major
Sherman, you won’t flog me,” and without being aware of the
act brought the Carbine forward.

Sherman started back and replied, “Well! well! I will have you
Court Martialed, d — n you! Seize him, men, and buck him!”

I submitted quietly to be bucked but the villain, when he had
me helpless, had me gagged with a large tent pin, causing me in-
tense pain. He now ordered one of the guard to flog Dougherty;
the man refused, and was bucked alongside of me. Another was
ordered with the same result, and another, until six of the guard
was bucked with me on one tent pole! The seventh man on being
ordered replied, “I suppose I must obey the Major,” took off his
belts and jacket and in spite of the curses of my trussed com-
panions commenced his inhuman task.

Swinging his fearful weapon, an instrument of torture far more
terrible than the Russian Knout, he brought it down with a heavy
sickening thud on the poor fellow’s back, who screamed in agony
and begged of his tormentor to shoot him and finish his misery at
once. It was terrible! I could feel every blow myself! I forgot my
own misery in the terrible torture of the poor fellow, who now
was imploring the Holy Virgin to protect him. The executioner,
Davis, seemed insane with fright. He showered down his blows

Major Sherman trusses a guard

My Confession

at random; some overreaching lapped around and cut the skin in
strips from Dougherty’s abdomen.

I was mad with myself for not shooting the monster Sherman
when I had the chance, and if I could have broke my bonds,
there would have been a sudden promotion in the 3rd U.S. Ar-
tillery. Fifty lashes were laid on before the fiend cried “Hold!”
and then the limp senseless body was cut down by Davis, and
Sherman ordered the guard to carry it out of camp and leave it,
regardless whether the fellow lived or died. But the rough Dra-
goons sent him on a litter to the San Nicolas Ranch, and left
him in the care of the good cura Gonsalvo. Our Squadron raised
quite a sum for him and I believe he reached Illinoise, a miserable
wreck.

Major Sherman, after sending for a new guard, ordered us to
remain bucked for two hours. I was suffering greatly; the gag
spread my mouth to its extent, causing a violent pain in my jaws,
while I was aflBiicted with a throbbing headache. I felt I could not
endure it much longer, that I would soon go mad with my
horrid sufferings. Even my old enemy Gorman, who was Ser-
geant of the new guard, seemed to pity me but was too craven
to take the gag out, though requested to do so by all of the
guard.

Sturgis rode into camp just as Rucker returned from town, and
they rode down to the guard house together, and our release was
ordered. When the huge gag was taken out of my mouth my jaws
snapped together, giving me such a severe twinge of anguish that
I fainted, but was brought to by the free application of stimu-
lants.

Major Sherman now made his appearance and a lively alterca-
tion between the two Majors took place. Sherman ordered Rucker
under arrest, but Rucker refused to recognize his authority and
rode back to town, and reported the whole affair to General
Wool. Sherman was sent for, a reconciliation effected between
the two Majors, who returned to camp the best of friends.

196

Reward of Merit

All of the guard was released but me. Sherman preferred
charges and specifications against me which, if proven, would
shoot me a dozzen times over. A court martial was soon convened,
of which Major John M. Washington, 3rd Artillery, was Presi-
dent, and a Lieutenant Whiting, an ojOScer I had been in trouble
with before, Judge Advocate. What chance had I, when the Presi-
dent had been heard to say that he '‘would give more weight to
the 1 think’ of an officer, than to the direct sworn testimony of a
dozzen enlisted men?”

To all of the long list of charges read by Whiting, with a sar-
castic grin, I pled "Not guilty” though I knew the court was a
farce, that the sentence was understood before the court met,
and that sentence was death! Sherman gave in his evidence, the
men on guard at the time bore witness, the case for the govern-
ment closed, and I was asked if I wished to call any witnesses for
the defence.

"Yes,” I replied, "one.”

"His name,” asked Major Washington.

"John Dougherty,” I answered, "the man that was flogged.”

But my only witness was never summoned.

Major Washington asked what I intended to do with the Car-
bine I took hold of. The old spirit of recklessness came over me,
to act the Bravo outwardly when all was faint and terrified within,
and I answered, "to shoot the Major if he insisted on having me
flogged, for I had rather be shot than flayed.”

"I think in all probability yOu will have your wish” was the
consoling reply and I was returned to my snug quarters in Com-
pany Q.

What my original sentence was I never knew, but it must have
been death. In a week’s time I was brought in irons to the com-
pany parade ground, and the findings of the Court Martial, with
the exception of the sentence, were read; the statement con-
tinued, “the findings approved, the sentence not approved, but
commuted to hard labor for twelve months with a 12-pound ball

197

My Confession

attached by a ten-foot chain to the left leg, a stoppage of all pay
with the exception of fifty cents per month for the Laundress
during that time. By order of General John E. Wool, Irvin Mc-
Dowell, Lieutenant and Adjutant.”

I was taken to the Blacksmith Shop, and received my decora-
tion with becoming modesty, Jim Sherrod riveting on the shackle,
and I found on my return to the guard house that the bolt could
be withdrawn by my fingers. Thanks, Sherrod, thanks!

What a humbug the execution of the sentence of a Court
Martial is when one is confined to the company quarters! My
“hard labor'” consisted in occasionally sweeping the parade
ground, with others, and playing Poker with the guard! More
than once by the connivance of a friend in charge of the guard,
I slipped my shackle and with my revolver in my belt, visited
San Nicolas, and appeared the gayest of the gay. I kept myself
neat and clean, even my “order of merit” I sandpapered and pol-
ished, until the Ball and each link shone like silver; in the tradi-
tions of the First Dragoons that polished Ball and chain will be
long remembered.

I had been exposed to this rigorous confinement two weeks,
and was getting quite fat, when General Wool paid the camp a
visit. The guard had to be inspected, of course, and the prisoners
paraded on the left. Now I knew of this visit the day before,
through the kindness of the General’s colored man Dennis, and
I got myself up for the occasion regardless of expense. There I
stood, six feet two, dressed in a new uniform fitted like a mould,
every button polished, while the massive links of my chain hang-
ing in graceful festoons from my neck actually outshone the
carbines of the guard. When this gorgeous spectacle met the Gen-
eral s vision, he appeared dazzled, and well he might be. He
recognized me and said, “It was you they wanted to shoot, was it?
You are a sad rogue I fear, a sad rogue,” and next day I was par-
doned! Free once more, but a private again in the ranks.

The first use I made of my liberty was to pommel the huge

198

Reward of Merit

brute Davis to almost a jelly, which sent him to the Hospital, and
I back to my old quarters the guard house, but for one night only.
Davis on being returned to duty was “tabooed’' by all, and led a
miserable dog’s life until at his own request he was transferred
into the 16th Infantry.

[XXIX]

The Picture That Cost a Life

Fate was decidedly against me. Do what I would I was constantly
in trouble; striving to do my duty and make friends, I found new
enemies confronted me, some of whom I was unable to contend
with, being officers, who after my late escape I was disposed to
give a wide berth.

One day after coming off guard, I obtained a pass for myself
and horse until “stable call,” signed by Major Rucker. I started
for Monterey and when about halfway I met Lieutenant Wilson,
with a party coming from town. I gave them a respectful salute,
when Wilson said, “Jack, you go to the American House, get a
bundle marked with my name and bring it to camp immediately.”

I replied, “Lieutenant, I am on a pass until Stable call, and I
will bring it out at that time.”

“You bring it out at once, or you will suffer for it!” he said as he
rode off.

My spirits fell, all the enjoyment I anticipated in town was
crushed by this unlucky encounter. The simple fact that he had no
right to give me such an order, or interfere with me while on a
pass, did not help the matter, for what officer ever respected a
private soldier s rights! But I made up my mind to stay my time
out and keep sober!

I rode into Monterey, filled my canteen with vino nuevo and
my pouches with frutas and confites, and remembering that Major
Rucker had asked me to give him a view of Monterey as seen
from the Bishop’s Palace, I thought I could not do better than to

200

The Picture That Cost a Life

sketch it now. I rode up to the Obispado, and hitching Lucifer to
the Flag Staff in the old Half Moon Battery, I seated myself in
the shade and commenced to outline a sketch of the beautiful
view before me.

Monterey lay directly beneath me, and so complete was the
“bird’s eye” view from my position that I could see every street
and house in town. The whitewashed walls and the flat-roofed
houses, half hid by the dark green foliage of the palm, the orange
and the cactus, with the picturesque towers and Moorish domes
of the Cathedral, the Chapel and convents, gave it more the ap-
pearance of an Oriental city than one of the New World. To the
east of the town aH of the massive details and the ground plan
of the Black Fort appeared as plain as an Engineer’s design, while
beyond rose the grand shade of the woods of San Domingo or
Walnut Springs. To the South, on the opposite side of the town,
rose the Comanche Saddle, one of the most singular formations
in the country. It is a detached mountain rising from the plain
some three leagues from town, to an elevation of over fi\’e thou-
sand feet. To my right the serrated peaks. of the Sierra Madre
filled the background while within gunshot lay the green slopes
of the hills of Federacion and Soledad, crowned with now de-
serted batteries, with the white walls of the pretty little village
of San Catarina peeping out of the orange groves just beyond,
at the very base of the Sierra Madre. All seemed peaceful, }'et my
experience of the manner in which the leperos of the country
would dispose of an heretico for the clothes he wore made me
have my revolver lying under my sketch book, and while I rap-
idly sketched the scene I watched every covert that would hide
a “greaser.”

I had been there about one hour when I noticed two dirty-
looking vagabonds come around a buttress of the Palace and
saunter in my direction. They came on slowly with their ever-
lasting smirking grin and “Buenos dies, amigo” to which I with
equal politeness (but with my revolver cocked) replied, “Muy

201

My Confession

hueno para servile, sientese ustedes un rato, Senores.” (Very well
to serve you, be pleased to sit down, sirs.)

One of them replied, “Gracias, cavallero, usted fumaF’ and
reached out a corn husk cigaritto with his left hand, while his
compadre walked up to Lucifer, and cried out, “Pronto! Pronto!
Punga vuestros cuchillo!” (Quick! Quick! Stick with your knife!)
My kind friend with the cigaritto threw up his dirty serape and
with a long gleaming knife grasped in his right hand sprang for
me. But he turned fairly green as he confronted a pistol bearing
on his cabeza (head)! I fired but must have missed the rascal,
for he bounded through an embrasure and disappeared down the
hill.

His comrade cut the lariat of Lucifer, sprang on and dashed
down the winding road at speed. I leaped on the breastwork just
as the ladrone came around below me, riding like a Comanche,
hanging down on the other side of the horse. I fired, aiming for his
shoulder, and at first thought I had missed again, but soon had the
satisfaction of seeing him fall while Lucifer kept on for town. I ran
down the hill in pursuit of my horse, passing the robber, who
was groaning in agony, with a bullet clear through his neck.
Lucifer was halted by two Dragoons, who turned him back to
me. I rode back up the hill to find the poor ladron nearly gone;
he held his Rosary in his hand, and was muttering a prayer to
the Virgin. As he rolled up his large oxhke eyes to me, they
seemed eloquent with rebuke for his death. For the moment I felt
sorry and a httle guilty, but what matter? If “greasers” will steal
horses they must take the consequences.

I rode on down to the American House, kept by Sarah Borgin-
is,^ the so-called “Heroine of Fort Brown,” and generally known

^ A noted camp follower, who won fame throughout the army for her bravery
during the bombardment of Fort Brown, Texas, in 1846, and made cartridges
for the army at Buena Vista. She was brevetted a colonel for her services during the
war and by order of General Scott made a pensioner of the government. After the
war she kept a saloon in Yuma, where as Mrs. Bowman-Philhps she was buried
in 1866 with full military honors.

202

The Picture That Cost a Life

in our army as the “Great Western.” Here I remained several
hours and then with Lieutenant Wilson s bundle I returned to
camp, one hour before my pass was up. I reported to Major
Rucker and then carried the bundle to the Lieutenant’s tent. He
asked me why I did not bring it out sooner, as ordered to, and
when I showed my pass, he replied, “D — n your pass! Ill teach
you to obey me when I give you an order!” I answered somewhat
insolently “that I was not the Lieutenant’s servant” and was or-
dered to report at the Guard House, confined again.

[XXX]

Wrongs Revenged

I WROTE to Major Rucker, asking permission to make a statement
of my troubles to him. This was granted, and I was sent to the
Major s tent without a guard. I made a clean breast of it—the
shooting of the "'greaser” as well as the rest— and gave him a tinted
pencil sketch of Monterey as seen from the Bishop’s Palace, the
sketch that cost the ladron his life. The Major appeared inter-
ested but the only reply I received was, "You give me more trouble
than all the rest of the Squadron, and I shall be d — d glad when
the Mexicans kill you.”

He tried to have Lieutenant Wilson withdraw the charges
against me but without success. I was again tried by a Court Mar-
tial, and to my great astonishment acquitted on every charge, and
Lieutenant Wilson was cautioned to be careful in the future.

Lieutenant Wilson was a very poor horseman, an unpardonable
fault in a Dragoon, and one day while on drill his horse ran
away with him and under a picket rope, throwing the gentleman
some distance and injuring him quite severely. I must draw a
caricature of him and drop it accidentally near the oflBcers’ tents.
It made some fun, but did not advance me any in the good graces
of the luckless Lieutenant.

One day during Stable hours, our mutual dislike reached a
crisis, and I being the weaker party suffered. The care of my
best friend, my horse Lucifer, was with me a labor of love. To
see to his food, and that he was well bedded, was a pleasant duty,
and I groomed him by the hour until his coat was as glossy as silk.
I was often complimented by the ojBBcers on the excellent condi-

204

Wrongs Revenged

tion of my horse, but Wilson could never see anything satis-
factory in what I done, and this day as he inspected the horses,
he said to the Sergeant on duty, ''Peloncillo’s horse is not half
groomed; make him work on him half an hour longer.”

This when Lucifer shone like a polished boot! So absurd did
his petty malignancy appear to me that I gave an involuntary
smile, when this courteous West Pointer turned on me with,
''G — d d n you, who are you grinning at? None of your impu-
dence you d — d s — n of a b — h!”

I came to attention and, touching my cap, replied, ‘‘The Lieu-
tenant takes advantage of his rank to insult a man who he dare
not offend if on equal ground.”

Wilson ordered the Sergeant to tie me up and again called me
a dog, when desperate and indifferent to the future, I answered,
‘'My mother was a lady, but judging from the son, yours must
have been a bitch.”

I had had my say and was ready to take the consequence. I was
lifted up, and fastened to a limb of a tree by a cord tied around
my thumbs, so that I -could only touch my toes to the ground!
The pain was dreadful for nearly my whole weight bore on my
thumbs.

I gasped out to the Sergeant, “For God’s sake, something to
drink!” He brought me a canteen of muscal, and held it to my
mouth, until I drank a full pint.

The fiery liquor maddened me. I shouted, swore and sang,
swung by my thumbs until the blood spurted out from under the
nails. Charles Hardy, Orderly Sergeant of my company, seeing
the Doctor crossing the parade ground, went and told him that
my life was in danger, and the Doctor hastened to my assistance
and I was cut down at once, when I swooned.

The next ten days I occupied a bunk in the Hospital. I became
moody and reserved, haunted day and night by the thoughts of
my fearful punishment, and would awake with wild cries from
a sound sleep, having dreamed of being again tied up. I studied

205

My Confession

revenge and swore that the Lieutenant should pay dearly for his
brutal abuse of power. At the end of ten days I was sent to duty
still weak but anxious for excitement and something to drive
away the horrid thoughts that clouded my mind.

My revenge soon came, but in a different manner from what
I anticipated. With a detachment of twenty Dragoons under the
command of Lieutenant Wilson, I was sent to the little town of
Pesqueria Grande with four waggons for com. The inhabitants of
this sequestered place were kind and hospitable and sold their
com at a fair price. On our way back, passing through a maguey
plantation, the Lieutenant’s attention was attracted to the door
of a rude hut by a dark skinned and roguish eyed poblana who
was seated therein. The susceptible Lieutenant ordered Sergeant
Bennet to move on with the waggons for half a mile, and halt
until he came up; then with his arm around the slim waist of the
smiling Senorita, he entered the hut. When we had gone a short
distance I asked permission of the Sergeant to return to get some-
thing for supper. He granted my request, but sent Hastings with
me.

As we entered the place I was struck with the change that a
few minutes had made at the ranch. When the Lieutenant
stopped, the place had been alive with women and children, the
doors open and many hombres standing around. But now all was
quiet, the doors closed, and blankets and dried bull hides placed
up to the reja. A few “greasers” peered at us from behind them. I
felt sure that some deviltry was afoot, and my own project, what-
ever it was, went from my mind, for a sense of danger filled me
with anxiety and dread.

The house into which the Lieutenant had gone was still closed,
and nothing was to be seen of his orderly. Giving Lucifer to
Hastings to hold, I searched the back enclosure and found the
horses tied up in a corral, and after a while found the orderly
stowed away with an old bruza. Both were quite alarmed
at my appearance, and I was compelled to kick the half drunken

206

Wrongs Revenged

fool out of the hole before he would listen to reason. Ordering him
to bring the horses into the street, I mounted and rode out to where
crossroads came in from the east and west. A faint, distant noise
was borne over the chapperal; it came from the direction of Sa-
linas, a town some ten leagues to the eastward.

Satisfied it was made by a body of Cavahy, coming at no mean
speed, I dashed back and sent Hastings flying down the road to
the detachment to tell the Sergeant that guerillars were about,
then I rode up to the door and thundered away on it with my
revolver.

Wilson came to the door; he was quite startled at my looks,
and asked what was the matter and grasped his Sabre; but when
I informed him of the danger, he showed himself a man, and a
brave, cool one at that. As he started for his horse, I saw the ras-
cally orderly turn to run with both horses; at the same moment a
confused noise of jingling spurs and clattering hoofs came from a
cloud of dust rolling in at the end of the street not a half a mile
off. A few bounds placed me alongside of the coward, when seiz-
ing the reins of Wilson’s horse I rode back and met Wilson com-
ing at a run. He tried to vault into the saddle but the horse,
frightened at the noise, plunged so violently that he failed. I
dropped my reins, and while Lucifer stood like a rock, I raised
my Carbine and fired at the oncoming horse, with the good
fortune to knock one out of the saddle. They held up and
opened an escopette fire, the rough balls shrieking over our
heads.

Lieutenant Wilson was now mounted, and we went off at a
jump, the guerillars coming on yelling like fiends and keeping
up their escopette fire. We took the affair coolly, until Wilson’s
horse showed signs of weakness and looking down I saw that it had
been hit in the shoulder and was bleeding freely. Wilson, pale
as death, said, “Chamberlain, you must leave me, and I can only
say that I regret what I have done to you, and if you can, forgive
me.” I replied I did not discharge my duty in that cowardly man-

207

My Confession

ner and must venture to disobey him again and risk another court
martial.

Advising him to push on, I said I would try and check our
pursuers for a moment. I reloaded and held up until the gueril-
lars were within one hundred yards and then fired. But a yell of
derision showed my shot was thrown away. When they were so
close that they commenced to swing their lassos I gave them
the contents of three of the chambers of my revolver, bringing
down one horse and throwing them into momentary confusion,
dui'ing which the Lieutenant got well away. I now let Lucifer
out, and soon overtook Wilson, and we reached the command
all right. The leather-clad Gentry followed us close in, fired a
volley and then fell back out of range of our Carbines.

It was now quite late and Lieutenant Wilson concluded to re-
main where we were all night first hitching up and crossing over
the ravine. About midnight we were all aroused by the loud hail
of the Sentinel on the other side of the arroyo and his call for the
Sergeant of the guard. The non-com went over and soon returned
with a Mexican woman who proved to be Lieutenant Wilson’s late
dulcinea, the frail poblana, but in what a state! She was covered
with blood from having both ears cut off close to her head!

Her story was as follows: The guerillars were Canales’ band
and were bound on some mysterious expedition towards Saltillo;
the ranch had been notified to have rations ready for four hun-
dred men. On their arrival some of the men of the place accused
her of warning the American officer of his danger, and assisting
him to escape. The guerillars then lashed her down to a bed,
where for hours she was subjected to the most hellish outrages,
and then her ears were cut off. On being released, she had made
her way to our bivouac. Her wounds were washed and dressed
as well as the circumstances would permit, and she soon forgot
her sufferings in sleep.

At daylight we got ready and started for camp, the wounded
Senorita riding on top of tlie com in one of the waggons. We ex-

208

Wrongs Revenged

pected an attack on the march, but we were not molested, and
after leaving our earless prize with Ramonda Victorine at San
Nicolas we reached camp without seeing our foes again.

Lieutenant Wilson requested Rucker to reinstate me as Cor-
poral, and always showed much kindness to me. Such was my
wrongs and such was my revenge. The little poblana resided at
San Nicolas, and with her loss artfully concealed by her raven
tresses, proved not the least attraction of the place.

[XXXI]

Carmeleita Veigho

Shortly after this aflFair, I went out with several Dragoons to San
Nicolas, and gave them a dinner in the Salon de haile (dance
hall) of the celebrated Victorines to honor my re-appointment.
The three Graces were present, in the persons of the two Vic-
tor ine sisters and our earless prize.

All went as “merrily as a marriage bell,” but when matters
commenced to get lively I went out to get some fresh air, my
head swimming from the potency of vino and aguardiente. I wan-
dered away among the orange and granada trees until I was a
good mile from the party. I came to an old jacal or hut sur-
rounded by a picket fence of yucca plants, and should have
passed it without a second look if a cracked voice, cursing in
Spanish, had not attracted my attention. I found an opening in
the fence and looked through.

What a sigh greeted me! A young and lovely female, in a nude
state, a girl as fair as any Anglo Saxon lady, stood in front of the
ruined hut. With crimson cheeks, eyes flashing with scorn and
indignation and her blue-black hair hanging below her waist, in
grace and beauty she surpassed all of womankind. In front of this
vision stood a “greaser” who I recognized as an old acquaintance,
El Tuerto, my partner in the combat with knives in San Nicolas
some weeks before. The cutthroat was brandishing a strip of raw-
hide, with which he threatened the alabaster shoulders of this
strayed Peri from Paradise while he gave utterance to the vilest
curses in the Mexican tongue.

I gleaned from what he said that this glorious divinity was the

210

El Tuerto and his peon wife

wife of the old monster, and that he was about to exercise his
conjugal authority on her for running away
marriage. I resolved that she should be a

on the day of their
widow before he left
the corral. Drawing my revolver I aimed for his head but a
foolish dislike to shoot the cuss behind his back made me say
“Buenos tardes mi viefo tuerto,” when he turned and found the
barrel of my revolver bearing direct for his eye.

He gave a yell of affright and with a cry of “El demono Ameri-
cano!” sprang through the opening and disappeared. I let him
go; chickenhearted fool that I was, I could not kill the old fellow

My Confession

in cold blood, leaving me aftei-w'ards like another Richard III
exclaiming, “111 have her— what! I that killed her husband.”

I now turned to the strange beauty, the forlorn damsel in dis-
tress, who had sunk to the ground with face hid in her hands. I
gently raised her and carried her into the hut telling her as well as
I could not to fear, that I would be her friend and protect her from
all harm. She put back her hair from her face and gave me a look
full of wonder, interest and confidence, and then as if satisfied
she said in the sweetest voice in the world, “Mi amigo, lo envio
el Bueno Dios para ayudar pohro de mioF’ (My friend, did the
good God send you to save poor little me? )

She retired behind a screen formed by a blanket, and soon
appeared dressed in a less Edenlike costume and seated herself
beside me. My mind was busy thinking what I should do with
this charming little waif. I asked her if she had a home— “At/ de
mi!” she said. “No tengo padre, no tengo madre, no tengo amigo,
ninguno!” (No father, no mother, no friend, not one.) I was al-
ready far gone in love; wild schemes flittered through my brain
to adopt her as a sister, but alas!- man proposes and God dis-
poses— a platonic attachment between a wild Dragoon not yet
out of his teens, and a young, passionate daughter of Mexico was
an impossibility.

I told her I loved her, that she was as dear to me as my own
soul, that nothing should part us, and that I would take her to
camp. With a wild cry of joy she threw her arms around my neck
and sobbed like a child. We bundled up her little clothing and
started for camp hand in hand, she with perfect confidence trust-
ing her fate to a stranger, and that stranger a half-drunken sol-
dier, an enemy to her country. As we walked along she told me
her little history. She was the daughter of an Irishman and a full
blooded Spanish woman, her name was Garmeleita Moro, or
Moore, but her father died in debt, and she and her mother were
sold as peons to an old mestizo named Veigho, the one-eyed
gentleman of the hovel. By threats and cruel treatment her

212

Carmeleita Veigho

mother had compelled her to marry the old wretch, and the mar-
riage took place the day before. She ran away and hid in the ht-
tle hut, but El Tuerto found her and was about to chastise her
into compliance at the very moment I made my appearance.

And she not yet fourteen! But this was in Mexico, where moth-
ers at twelve are not uncommon. This child woman was as volup-
tuous and graceful in shape as the Venus de Medici, full of rich
blood and with a pure heart that had never yet throbbed with
the ecstatic bliss of love. I led her to the Lower Springs near our
camp, hid her in a dense grove, and quieting her fears with a
promise to hasten back, I tore myself away from her embrace, and
went into camp.

I confided in Orderly Sergeant Charles Hardy, who was pleased
to help me, having just received an order to detail an “intelligent
CorporaF to Headquarters in Monterey for permanent duty.
Right soon I had all of my worldly possessions strapped on the
back of Lucifer, and was on my way back to the Springs. I found
my birdie safe, and taking her on the saddle in front of me I rode
to Monterey. As I was not to report until 10 a.m. the next day I
rode to the casa of a friend of mine, a Forage Master, who like
all the Americans quartered in town, kept house with a good-
looking Senorita. He gladly accommodated me with a room
and

She loved, and was beloved— she adored.

And she was worshiped; after nature's fashion,

Their intense souls into each other pourd,

If souls could die, had perished in that passion—

But by degrees their senses were restored.

Again to be o'ercome, again to dash on;

And beating against my bosom, Leitas heart
Felt as if never more to beat apart.

In the morning without being weighed down with that terrible
sense of guilt which I suppose would be the correct thing for

213

Mtj Confession

the awful crime of making two souls perfectly happy, I reported
to Headquarters and went on duty as orderly to Colonel Sylyes-
ter Churchill, Inspector General U.S. Army, a kind, beneyolent
old gentleman who reminded me yery strongly of the statue of
Washington by Chantry. To my request to be absent from the
quarters he replied with a smile, “What! a Senorita already? What
a sad rogue, well! well! But if you get sick I’ll send you back to
camp!”

I found a room with a widow and “no questions asked,” and
settled down to all the joys of double blessedness. Fortune smiled
on me on all sides; one night at a Fandango where we went to-
gether for the first time I won one hundred and ten gold onzas
($1,760). We liyed on the best that the Monterey market could
afford; my darling dressed in the richest silks, her rebozo was re-
placed by a mantilla, and she wore stockings for the first time.
She was truly happy and sang from morning to night. No thoughts
of the future troubled her, no sorrow for her present position,
and one day when I said I thought we had better get regularly
married, she was frightened and begged of me to neyer mention
it again. Loye was all to her— Heaven, home, friends and all was
made up by love; and I did absolutely worship her. She grew
more handsome if possible every day, new charms developed as
she grew in wisdom and more womanlike in character. Once I took
her to the Theatre, where she was taken for an American and cre-
ated quite a sensation among the oflBcers. I felt just pride in being
the lord paramount of the most beautiful woman in Monterey.

Fortune still befriended me. I was very lucky and also skillful
at cards, and one day in a Poker game with Jack McNab, a 2nd
Dragoon sport, won over a thousand dollars and a handsome
black Pony which I presented to my esposa, for I really consid-
ered Carmeleita my wife. I bought her a Side Saddle, American
style, and we had many a nice ride in the vicinity of the town.
The other soldiers’ wives made her a fine riding costume, the

214

Carmeleita Veigho

jacket of red velvet trimmed Dragoon style with gold lace, and
a saucy little jockey cap with white plumes.

Six weeks passed, six sweet loving weeks, when Colonel
Churchill was relieved and I was ordered back to my company.
I saw Major Rucker and told him the whole story and asked to
have my wife mustered in as a laundress. He informed me that
old Veigho had been in camp with a written order from General
Wool for all oflBcers to give her up if she was found inside our
lines!

I told him what I knew about El Tuerto being a guerillar, and
one of the cutthroats of Martiznes’ gang and finally he gave me
permission to bring her to camp. That night I brought my treas-
ure to Walnut Springs, leaving her in the care of Mrs. Charley
McGerry while I reported to the Major. He went down to the
tent with me, and to my delight he took off his hat and treated
her with as much courteousness as if she was a General’s wife. In
fact, Carmeleita possessed so much innate dignity of character
that, combined with her extreme beauty, no one could stand in
her presence without paying her the respect that a true woman
should always command. In her pretty broken English, she asked
permission to remain in camp with me, and said she would die
if we were parted. The Major was obliged to yield, a wall tent
was issued to me and he later told me, “Jack, you have got the
handsomest woman I ever saw, and if you don’t treat her well
you’ll deserve to be shot! I hope now, you rascal, you will stay
in your quarters nights.”

All was joy once more. I really was a reformed man and drank
nothing stronger than native wine. My duty was light, Mrs. Mc-
Gerry done our cooking and washing, and I had more money
than any other man in camp, without it was the quartermaster.
At this time I had over two thousand dollars, deposited with
Major David Hunter, the paymaster, quite a sum to sa\’e from my
$7-a-month pay! Viva el monte!

215

My Confession

We had lived in this elysium for three months, our happiness
growing more perfect every day, when the Provost Marshal ap-
peared in camp with El Puerto and an order to take my wife! I
was on duty and knew nothing of it until I saw her come run-
ning toward the Guard House with two of the Provost Guards
in pursuit. I caught her in my arms and learned the horrid truth.
My assurance that I would protect her calmed her at once, for
she believed in me as she did in her God. I did not believe it pos-
sible that any officer would authorize her being taken from me
and seeing Lieutenants Sturgis and Wilson, I called on them for
assistance. They advised me to give hei up quietly and said that
the alcalde of San Nicolas had vouched for the character of old
Veigho, who had promised to treat her kindly and forgive the
past.

It was no use for me to state what I knew of Veigho, and my
poor Carmeleita, seeing no protection from my officers, begged
me to kill her before she was given back to El Puerto. Seeing
Veigho standing in the crowd with a satanic grin on his vulture-
like features, I sprang for him with my revolver cocked, but was
secured and disarmed by the guard. Garmeleita flew to me, and
for a moment we were encircled in each other’s arms, our last
embrace! Then she was torn away. She cried out, “Adios mi
marido, adios el Rey mi alma! Vamos! Vamosl Pronta de mi
el cielo” ( F arewell my husband, farewell King of my soul! Come,
come quickly to me my darling!) and then, happily, swooned.

I was taken to my tent under guard and confined there one
hour, after which I applied for a twelve hour pass, but was re-
fused. Sergeant Hardy secretly offered to excuse me from roll
call until reveille, my comrades sHpped out my horse, and soon I
was tearing over the road to San Nicolas. I searched the country
for miles, questioned all, but not the least trace of my lost love
could I find. I sought out Padre Martiznes who informed me that
El Puerto had left him and joined Canales’ band of guerillars.

For days and nights I continued my search, when the guerillar

216

Carmeleita Veigho

Priest met me one night at Victorines’ and related a tale of hor-
ror. El Tuerto had carried Carmeleita to a lone ranch where she
was outraged by Canales’ whole gang of demons and then cut
to pieces!

She died, but not alone, she held within
A second principle of life, which might
Have dawnd a fair and sinless child of sin,

But closed its little being loithoiit light.

And went down to the grave unborn, wherein
Blossom and bough lie wither d with one blight.

In vain the dews of Heaven descend above
The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love.

[XXXII]

Guerillar Hunting

I WAS again reduced to the ranks for being absent without leave,
and found on my return to camp that I had been reported as a
deserter, for I had been absent five days— five days of desperate
riding and hunting, with despair driving me almost to madness.
My distress of mind was so great that the officers neither sent me
to the guard house nor put me on duty. They all must have felt
guilty in delivering her up to such a fearful death. I tried to
drown my agony by drinking deeply, but I could not drive her
dear image from my mind. I dwelled constantly on my great loss;
in my sleep, I would see her struggling with the fiends and hear
her calling to me to save her. Bitterly I cursed myself for not
shooting Veigho in the first place. But regrets were useless— and El
Tuerto still lived!

A chance came at last for revenge. Canales— EZ Zorro, the Fox—
became too troublesome to our line of communication; his depre-
dations must be stopped. Hordes of Texan Rangers were let
loose on the country and though hundreds of his men were slain,
El Zorro always succeeded in getting clear. This man-hunting
though exciting was a very disagreeable duty, and gained no
honor. No quarter was given by either side, and in many a fierce
conflict with the Salteadores the total casualties were greater
than in many battles fought during the war— yet no report of
them was ever printed.

A detachment of Dragoons under Lieutenant Abe Buford was
ordered to join this grand hunting expedition, and I was among
the first to volunteer my services. With four days’ rations and

218

Despair

one hundred rounds of Carbine ammunition, we left our camp
at Walnut Springs before daylight one morning in the month of
October, 1847.

Moving out on the Camargo road, sunrise found us at the
ruined ranch of San Fernando, where we encountered the Alcalde
of San Nicolas, completely disguised in a serape. I had not seen
this alcalde, Don Pedro Galvez, since he vouched for the respect-
ability of El Tuerto, and the sight of him aroused all my bad
passions. I knew he was leagued with the guerillars and wishing
to have a few words with him privately, I remained behind while
the rest of the column rode on. I made a few inquiries about the
health of his dear amigo El Tuerto and then I rejoined the col-
umn, while carrion birds circled over the spot where we parted,
and the cries of coyotes came clear as they drew together to
breakfast on the remains of a miserable, treacherous Alcalde.

At daylight on the third day we came in sight of a large house
standing on the bank of a small stream. Manuel, our guide, said
it was a casa el Diablo (DeviFs house). Deploying as skirmishers,

219

My Confession

we surrounded the place at a gallop. It was a quaintly built and
ruinous structure of small slate stones, rising in four stories like
steps, the upper one being the smallest. Scrub oak, mesquite and
a variety of the cactus family grew out of its weather-beaten
sides, so that at a distance it might readily be taken for one of
the mesas common to the country. I suppose it was one of those
strange buildings of a strange race called ''Houses of Aztec.”

Lieutenant Buford with a party explored the ruin, climbing up
by means of the trees and creepers that clung to the walls. The
only entrance was through the roof of the highest story. It was
full of small rooms, opening into each other, and I should judge
that the architect took his plan from a bee hive. There was no
signs of life about the place, and it was strange that the guerillars
did not occupy it for a stronghold, for nothing but heavy guns
would breach its hill-like walls, but I suppose that some super-
stition kept them away.

The following afternoon we came to a mesa from the top of
which a ranch could be seen, with horsemen around it, not three
miles off. Guerillars at last! We charged on the place raising our
Dragoon shout. My mount was good, though not equal to Lucifer,
but I kept him well up to his work, taking the dirt from only
Buford and three others. We overtook a lone "greaser” who made
frantic efforts to escape but was hurled from his Mustang, both
rolling over and over, and no doubt breaking their necks. As
we came close, we could see guerillars driving cattle and horses
from the corral through an archway into the ranch; glazed hats
appeared on the azotea and we were fired on with muskets. The
ranch was in the usual Mexican style, a square of buildings
around a court, but in front the central building sat back so that
the corners projected like the bastions of a fort. There was only
two windows on the front side, and these were placed in the
walls at right angles with the front face, and defended with the
reja or iron grating. Built all of stone and cemented outside it was
a hard nut to crack without artillery.

220

Guerillar Hunting

I noticed that the large doors of the gate opened inward and
I spoke of this to Buford who caught at the idea. The men were
dismounted, the horses sent to the rear under a guard, and a
skirmish line thrown around the place to fire on the “greasers” on
the roof, while four men picked up a heavy plough that lay on
the ground and dashed at the gate, using this novel projectile as
a battering ram. In spite of our covering fire the Salteadores shot
down two of the four. The other two dropped the ram and sought
shelter under the walls.

The Mexicans screamed triumphantly in their shrill treble
voices and kept up a fire on our two wounded who were trying
to crawl out of danger. On seeing this cruel action we all made a
rush for the stronghold, picking up the plough and driving it
with such force against the gate that it soon gave away. As it
flew open a carbine fire was poured in and then a rush, shouts,
cries of anguish, a fierce melee for five minutes, and the place
was won.

I had a narrow escape. I was looking for El Tuerto, I had no
interest in any other, I wanted him all to myself. I passed a party
of Mexicans desperately defending themselves in the patio against
our men, and seeing that Veigho was not one of them I dashed
up the escalera ( stairs ) to the roof, where I found myself attacked
by a crowd of bravos. I was glancing among their faces for El
Tuerto; rather carelessly I held my revolver in my left hand and
my Sabre in my right, and not finding my man, tried to pass
when one brutal looking “greaser” cried out, “Americano soney-
bitchey” and fired on me point-blank with a huge flintlock pistol.
Fortunately he missed, but then lunged out with a machete while
his companions closed on me. A shot from my “Colt’s” brought one
down, and then there was a shout and a dozzen Dragoons came
pouring onto the roof and I and my complimentary cuss were left
to settle our own difiiculty. I thought his black face was familiar
and soon recognized. Antonio, the guide to General Wool, and
the hero of the bedroom in our little affair at Parras!

221

My Confession

I was agoing to shoot, but the fool seemed to think he could
pink me with his sword. So after a little play I parried a thrust
and gave a clean stroke to his bare neck; the steel cut through
bone and gristle to the center, and the renegade guide fell with
a curse on his lips, dead.

The place was ours with a loss of two killed and five wounded;
of the robbers, nine were dead and the rest, seventeen, prisoners,
many of them wounded.

It was now after sundown, our horses were brought in, the
wounded seen to, the gates closed and strongly fastened, and we
went to work to make ourselves comfortable for the night. After
supper the prisoners were brought up and questioned by Buford
as to the whereabouts of Canales, and myself as to El Tuerto.
But to all inquiries the sullen rascals only replied, “Quien sabe?”
Manuel, the guide who had deserted our column just before the
fight, was with them, and while Buford was cursing him, an
accommodating Ranger proffered his services to assist the rascal
in “shuffling off this mortal coil.” So much kindness touched the
Lieutenant’s heart, and he gently replied, “Yes take the d — d
s — n of a b — ^h out and hang him.”

When the Ranger, in the most delicate manner possible, went
to place the noose around Manuel’s neck that ungrateful renegade
made a snap and caught the left hand of the friendly Texan in
his teeth, biting it to the bone. The Ranger tried to choke him
off but in vain, and fearing that he might lose his temper if the
pain continued, he drew his Bowie Knife and drove it to the hilt
in Manuel’s heart. Then a most horrible scene ensued, all of the
prisoners threw themselves on us with frightful yells, many bran-
dished knives they had concealed, and inflicted some serious
wounds before our men could rally. But it was soon over; when
the brief but savage struggle ended, there was not one “greaser”
left alive. In all of this I took no part; I had been holding a
torch to light up the hanging, and acted as a candlestick until

222

Guerillar Hunting

the tragedy was over. My principal emotion was disappointment
and rage at not finding El Tuerto.

That night finding rest impossible, I got up and walked out into
the courtyard. A full moon lit up the pile of ghastly corpses and
turned their staring, stony eyes to a horrid green. Our horses lay
quietly resting but the Mustang and cattle, secured by lines of
lassos at the farther end of the patio, were restless and uneasy
from the smell of blood. By one of the fires a group of Dragoons
were playing Poker with money obtained from the slain Saltea-
dores. I watched the game awhile, and then visited our wounded;
they appeared quite comfortable lying on piles of blankets with
two men to attend to their wants. The kind-hearted Ranger was
sitting up and engaged in a game of Eukre with three com-
panions, with the same benign look that he wore when he volun-
teered to put a rope around the neck of Manuel.

I went up to the azotea and joined the Sentinel on post. The
night was lovely, the moon shone bright and clear, quiet reigned,
the only noise came from the cattle, and the dismal howls of
coyotes who came close up to the walls scenting blood. When a
corporal came up with a relief I volunteered to stand until day-
light. I don’t know what kind of a watch I kept, but I know that
my heart became as soft as a child’s and many tears were shed
and many a prayer was offered up from that lonely roof that
night, and through all there ran a hope that I might die and
join my lost love.

[XXXIII]

Military Executions

1. The Death of Victor Galbraith

Victor Galbraith was a Prussian emigrant, of a superior musical
education, who settled in Illinoise and taught music for a living.
On the call for volunteers by Governor Ford he enlisted in
Colonel Hardin’s 1st Illinoise Regiment. When his time expired
( 12 months ) he re-enlisted in a cavalry company organized from
disbanded volunteers, called the Buena Vista Guards, Captain
Meers commanding. Galbraith was appointed Bugler of the Com-
pany, which encamped near the Buena Vista Ranch.

Bugler Galbraith, like many soldiers, had a sehorita living with
him in camp. Returning unexpectedly one night from picket he
found some other man under his blankets. There was a row of
course and Galbraith threatened to shoot the intruder, who
proved to be his commander, the gallant Captain Meers! Poor
Victor was dragged off to spend the night on the bare ground
of the guard tent to reflect on the enormity of the crime of inter-
fering with the pleasure of a commissioned oflicer.

Captain Meers preferred charges against the unfortunate Prus-
sian, he was tried, found guilty and sentenced to be shot to death
“for threatening the life of his superior officer.” The sentence was
approved by General Taylor, and Dec. 28th, 1847, was the day
fixed for the execution. Repeated efforts had been made to obtain
a pardon, but in vain. The frail Senorita travelled to Monterey,
had an interview with General Wool, and begged for the life of
her doomed lover. But the volunteers had been unruly of late
and an example had to be made; Galbraith must die.

224

Military Executions

I had gone to Saltillo on an escort at the time, and with a com-
panion rode out to Buena Vista on the morning of the execution.
The troops were formed on the old wheat field, presenting three
sides of a Hollow Square. On the open side, a grave was dug,
with a plain pine coffin beside it. Perfect silence prevailed in the
ranks, all seemed deeply affected at the fate of the talented
stranger who was to die a dishonorable death in a strange land.
The sound of muffled drums sent cold chills through everyone,
and when the sinister procession came in sight, a perceptible
tremor ran through the ranks. My old acquaintance, Lieutenant
Philip St. George Cooke, as Provost Marshal, commanded the
escort and firing party.

Victor Galbraith walked with a firm step; dressed in his best,
he looked soldierly and handsome. As he passed in front of the
lines his eyes seemed to seek out sympathy but appeared re-
signed. He was stationed beside the coflBn and the sentence of the
Court Martial, the order for execution, was read to him by Lieu-
tenant Cooke. The poor fellow looked around for the last time.
The sun was rising over the mountain peaks east of Saltillo,
flooding the valley with a soft golden light, and the sky was one
grand mass of crimson and gold. Victor gave one look on all; then,
closing his eyes, and in a voice of the sweetest melody, he sang in
German one of Luther s grand hymns, and then said, ‘'Good-by
all, I am ready."’ His eyes were bandaged, twelve men moved up,
the word of command was given, twelve muskets belched forth
their contents. As the condemned fell back a woman’s scream
was heard and the Senorita who was the cause of all rushed to
him and raised his head into her lap. To the surprise of all he was
still ahve and cried out, "Water! for God’s sake water!”

Lieutenant Cooke gave him some from a canteen, and then
loaded up two of the muskets himself. After the guard tore away
the shrieking poblana, the muskets were discharged close to the
poor fellow’s head, blowing it to atoms. Thus the military butch-
ery of Bugler Victor Galbraith was completed.

225

Mij Confession

2. The Hanging of the Legion of San Patricio

The “Legion of Saint Patrick” was organized from the Irish
deserters from our army. At one time they numbered over seven
hundred men, regular desperados, who fought with a rope
around their necks. Their commander was the notorious Riley, a
former Sergeant in the 4th Infantry now holding the commission
of a Colonel in the Mexican Army. They fought like Devils against
us at Buena Vista, and at Contreras the Battallion held the
Convent and fortified walls of a Hacienda two hours after the
Mexicans had run away. Nearly one hundred of the Patricios
were captured. They were tried by a Court Martial, fifty sen-
tenced to be hanged, the rest to dig the graves of their executed
comrades, and “to receive two hundred lashes on the bare back,
the letter D to be branded on the cheek with a red hot iron, to
wear an iron yoke weighing eight pounds with three prongs,
each one foot in length, around the neck, to be confined to hard
labor, in charge of the guard during the time the army should
remain in Mexico, and then to have their heads shaved and be
drummed out of camp.”

Riley having deserted previous to actual hostilities, received
the last sentence, served out his sentence, and married a wealthy
Mexican lady, and lived respected— by the “greasers.” Of those
doomed to the halter sixteen were hanged on the 9th of Septem-
ber, 1847, at the village of San Angel; on the following day four
were hanged at Mixcoac, and on the TSth thirty more were strung
up at the same place, fifty in all!

The execution of the last number was attended with unusual
and unwarranted acts of cruelty. The day selected was the one
on which the Fortress of Chapultepec was to he stormed, and
the gallows was erected on a rising piece of ground just outside
of the charming little village of Mixcoac, in full view of the
attack on the Castle. Colonel Harney, on account of the pro-
ficiency he had acquired as an executioner in hanging Seminoles

226

Military Executions

in Florida, was selected to carry out the sentence. The man who
“had ravished young Indian girls at night, and then strung them
up to the limb of a live oak in the morning” was certainly well
fitted to carry out the barbarous order: “To have the men placed
under gallows with ropes around their necks, to remain until the
American flag was displayed from the walls of Chapultepec, and
then swing them off.” A long beam supported by four uprights
formed the gallows, from which dangled thirty lariats. As General
Pillow’s division moved forward to the assault, the Patricios were
brought out with their arms and legs tied, seated on boards
laid across waggons, and faced to the rear. When twenty-nine had
been brought the Surgeon informed Harney that the other one
was dying, having lost both legs at Contreras.

Harney replied, “Bring the d — d s — n of a b — h out! My
order is to hang thirty and by G — d I’ll do it!”

So the dying man was brought out and laid in a waggon and
hauled to the gallows. When the order of execution was read to
them, these reckless and desperate men, many of them wounded,
made it the subject of mirth. One said, “If we won’t be hung until
yer dirty ould rag, flies from the Castle, we will live to eat the
goose that will fatten on the grass that grows on yer own grave.
Colonel.”

Others cheered for “Old Bravo,” ^ the Mexican commander in
the fortress. While the fight raged in the dense grove at the foot
of Chapultepec and the result seemed doubtful, they became
more reserved, but when our troops appeared beyond the copse
driving the Mexicans up the hill their levity returned. One said,
“Colonel! Oh colonel dear! Will ye grant a favor to a dying man,
one of the old Second, a Florida man. Colonel?” When Harney
asked what he wanted, the Irishman replied, “Thanks, thanks.
Colonel, I knew ye had a kind heart. Please take my dudeen out
of me pocket, and light it by yer eligant hair, that’s all. Colonel!”

^ General Nicolas Bravo, former president of Mexico, one of the old revolu-
tionaries who had fought against the Spanish. General Bravo was taken prisoner
in the storming of Chapultepec.

227

My Confession

The red headed Colonel struck the jester a dastard blow on the
mouth with his Sabre hilt, knocking some of his teeth out. As the
poor wretch spit out blood he cried out, ‘'Bad luck to ye! Ye have
spoilt my smoking intirely! I shan’t be able to hold a pipe in my
mouth as long as I live.”

The battle raged for hours, with varying fortune, before
Chapultepec was won. When Harney saw our flag flung to the
breeze from the highest tower of the Castle, he gave the order for
the waggons to start up, and thirty bodies hung whirling, swing-
ing, kicking and rubbing against each other in a fearful Dance of
Death. Just as their legless comrade died, one of the desperados
cried out, “Oh, ye old brick top, is it kind ye are to make Murphy
dance on nothing, now that he has lost his legs!”

Such was the miserable end of the infamous Legion of San
Patricio.^

^ Chamberlain’s account of this execution was written from hearsay After Buena
Vista the major fighting shifted to General Winfield Scott’s seaborne invasion of
southern Mexico by way of Vera Cruz. There the battles of Contreras, Churu-
busco, Molina del Rey and the occupation of Mexico City itself took place in the
summer and fall of 1847. During this time, as Sam says, his own company of
Dragoons and the rest of Taylor’s '‘Army of Occupation” was encamped at Walnut
Springs, their principal duty being to defend the peaceful Mexican population from
the depredations of fresh American volunteers

[XXXIV]

The Horse Fort

Rumors of peace continued to reach us during the spring of 1848;
the victories of General Scott’s army seemed to confirm them, and
we all expected to see the United States before long. We re-
mained encamped at Walnut Springs, with light duty and few
drills. I had but partially recovered from the gloom of mind
caused by the terrible fate of Carmeleita, and still kept a keen
lookout for El Tuerto.

In May, 1848, I was detailed on a detachment that was ordeied
to go to Cerralvo to bring to Monterey one Miller, a former clerk
to the English Counsel in Monterey. He was wanted at Head-
quarters as a witness in an important smuggling case of contra-
band goods across the Rio Grande at Mier. The detachment con-
sisted of twenty privates, one Sergeant, two Corporals, com-
manded by Lieutenant Campbell of the 2nd Dragoons.

We reached Cerralvo without incident, received our man, and
started back. On the second day of our return march, June 4th,
we passed through the little town of Marin at noon and were
nearing the Agua Frio river when the two men on the advance
fired on some horsemen in the road ahead and came back at a
run. Lieutenant Campbell gave the order to ‘"draw sabre and
charge!”

We run on to a considerable column of guerillars, cut right and
left as we rode through and over them, then drew rein and ralhed
at some three hundred yards. We had received no material dam-
age. The road was full of dust that completely hid the ground

229

Mtj Confession

but the tooting of horns from the chapperai showed that they
were in force.

Campbell with much gallantry but poor judgement gave the
order to charge back. Off we went at speed, passed a confused
mass of struggling men and horses and had cleared the cloud of
dust when fierce yells arose on all sides, and a scorching fire from
Escopettes was poured into our column with fatal effect. Down
we went, man and horse. Lucifer gave a mighty leap and fell
headlong, dead. I sprang off in time to save myself from being
crushed, and throwing myself on the ground behind my poor
dead companion, I lay low to avoid the fire.

At first I thought I was alone, as the dust and smoke hid every-
thing from sight, but as the cloud lifted I saw that the road was
full of my comrades. Lieutenant Campbell was on the ground a
short distance behind me holding his mare by the lariat; he sang
out for us to get our horses together and take our Carbines from
the gun boots and secure our extra ammunition from the saddle
pouches, form around him, and keep low. Some twelve of us had
done so when the firing ceased, and the blowing of horns an-
nounced a charge. Campbell told us to keep cool, and only half
of us to fire at a time and that at the word of command.

As we lay on the ground behind our live and dead horses, we
could hear the orders given by the guerillars, the clash of
weapons and the jingle of spurs as they formed up the road, then
came a fierce shout, a rushing sound, and fifty yards in our front
the bright lance points and the swarthy faces of the ‘‘greasers”
shot out of the dust, coming down on us at speed. At the com-
mand six Carbines poured in their fire, and then as they still came
on, the other six and two Colts revolvers, told on them with such
fatal precision that instead of riding us down as they easily could
have done, they turned tail and went back faster than they came.

We now went to work to strengthen our position. Men crawled
out and collected all of the arms— Carbines, pistols, Escopettes,
Lances and ammunition; our wounded were collected, and lariats

230

The Horse Fort

fastened to the dead horses which were hauled into position by
the live ones. Our loss was appalling; five lay quite dead, twice
that number wounded, and no less than fifteen of our horses were
killed or wounded.

One of the wounded men, a German by the name of Nockin,
volunteered to make an attempt to reach camp if the Lieutenant
would let him have his mare to ride. Campbell accepted the offer
with joy, when the mare was found to be wounded in the neck.
Nockin said he would risk her, and the wound being staunched,
the brave fellow mounted and rode off just as the Mexicans re-
opened fire. As both ways the road was occupied by the gueril-
lars, Nockin took to the chapperal on our left, to try and flank
them. We listened in anxiety for any sound announcing his dis-
covery by the foe. A minute passed, and then a distant yell, a
shot, then another and another, told that om' messenger was seen
and fired on! Was he or the gallant steed hit? Soon a clear ring-
ing war whoop, the Dragoon charging shout, rose high and clear
above all the coyote-like cries of the “greasers.” It was Nockin’s
voice giving us the joyful news that he was past their lines, that
he was safe! for no mustang in Mexico could overtake the Lieu-
tenant’s mare, a fast Kentucky thoroughbred. We answered with
three genuine American hurrahs to let him know his signal was
heard.

We now felt in good spirits, for if we could hold out for two
or three hours we was safe. Everything that could be thought
of was done to make our position stronger; the dead horses were
arranged in a circle, a trench dug with our Sabres on the inside
and the dirt and cactus plants piled against the dead bodies. On
the outside a circle of lassos and lariats were made fast to bushes
some three feet from the ground, the Lances planted over the
breastwork forming quite a formidable abatis, and all the fire
arms were loaded and placed ready at hand. Our wounded were
seen to as far as possible; all but four could help in case of attack,
and for a while we felt quite elated.

231

Mtj Confession

In the meanwhile the dust had settled and we obtained a view
of the situation. We lay m a good position in the road, a clump
of cactus and yuccas on each flank; beyond was a clear space
some sixty yards wide, and beyond this the chapperal was open
and scattered, so that we could see for some distance. About four
hundred yards in front of us on the road towards Marin was a
group of horsemen; behind us the road ran straight to the river,
the banks of which we could see, with the blackened walls of the
ruined ranch of San Francisco on the opposite side. On this road
was posted another body of guerillars, and horsemen could be
seen riding thi'ough the chapperal on each side. We were sur-
rounded. Puffs of dark smoke flew up from all points. The dull
reports and the screech of the rough-cast copper bullets as they
flew over and around us, showed that the Salteadores were trying
the range.

But now another enemy threatened us— thirst! The fierce rays
of a tropical sun beat down on us, our blood was heated to a
fever point, our throats parched from the dust and powder, and
this when we were so near the Agua Frio that we could hear the
gurgle of its cool waters over its stony bed. We had in fact just
emptied the warm water from our canteens when the fight com-
menced, in order to fill them at the river. The sufferings of
our wounded was heartrending, their cries for water unceas-
ing.

The guerillars had got our range, and their balls struck into
our horse breastwork with an ominous thud that told us to lay
low. A young and generous Irishman, named Grady, volunteered
to go for water. Campbell remonstrated, but he would go. Armed
with a Sabre, and taking a dozzen canteens, he secured a Mexican
sombrero and serape, crawled through the chapperal to the open
space, and without any judgement started on a run. He was soon
shot down, and a horseman dashed out, lassoed him and dragged
him into the chapperal to be butchered at their leisure. If it was
not for our wounded, we would have charged down the road,

232

The Horse Fort

gamed tlie river or died in the attempt, but no one thought of
leaving our disabled comrades.

The increased cries of the brigands, and much galloping to
and fro, made our hearts beat with renewed hopes of succor. A
cloud of dust on the Salinas road showed that something was
approaching! Friends or foes was the question. Oh! that it might
prove to be ''Mustang’' Gray, Old Reid, Bayley or some other
Ranger and his command. But how our hearts fell when we were
convinced that it was a reinforcement to our enemies. A band of
at least fifty horsemen came in sight, and formed line in the open
space, showing considerable drill and discipline. They held coun-
cil with our foes, and there was much gesticulating and pointing
towards our position. A couple of Burros were brought to the
front, with something lashed on their packsaddles; we wondered
what new devilment was about to take place. We had not long to
wait to solve the mystery. The Burros were wheeled round, bring-
ing their rear towards us, with lassos hauled taut from each leg;
a dashing looking guerillar dismounted and aimed the "some-
thing” towards us, a port fire was applied and a pound ball
plumped into the road and ricocheted over our heads. The other
was fired and overshot! Jackass Artillery! We had heard of them,
but had never seen the article. While they had no effect on us,
the result with them was quite serious: the recoil kicked over
both of the gun carriages as the Burros were thrown down; one
was disabled by having a leg broke.

A gallant Caballero now rode towards us whom I recognized
as my quondam acquaintance. Padre Martie Martiznes, the gueril-
lar chief. Without orders four of the men fired on him and Martie
fell to the ground, his faithful well trained Mustang remaining
with him. The wounded chief reached up and took the lasso from
the pommel of the saddle and fastened it under his arms, when
the intelligent animal dragged him slowly from the field.

The enemy now opened a furious fire with Escopettes, and the
"Jackass Guns” gave out their sullen roar. At a bugle call the fir-

233

Ml/ Confession

ing ceased, and from three sides came the rush of charging
Squadrons! We expected death, but resolved to die like wolves,
to rend and kill to the last. We poured in a volley with the cap-
tured escopetas, then with Carbines, and as we had four or five
loaded fire arms each, our fire was incessant; even our worst
wounded loaded for us. Lances gleamed through the dust and
smoke, fierce cries of “Matar! Matar los ameiicanos ladrones”
sounded on all sides, their horses ran against the ropes and fell;
while our fire told fearfully on the struggling mass. The brigands
again retreated in confusion into the chapperal, leaving more than
twenty dead “greasers” on the ground. Wounded horses stood
hy their dead riders, and many lay by the ropes.

That proved our salvation. We collected more arms, and oh joy,
found three of the double-headed gourds that the Mexicans
carry, full of water! This was sparingly dealt out to all, and gave
us much benefit. All arms were carefully loaded. Mustangs added
to our breastwork, the Mexican serapes brought in, and though
again under a heavy fire, we felt we could hold all day.

One of the wounded suddenly said, “Hark! I hear our Squadron
coming!” Lying flat on the ground we could hear a faint but dis-
tinct rumbling noise, away across the Agua Frio, and soon could
make out the roar of iron shod horses coming on the road from
Monterey at speed. Saved! We fired as fast as we could to drown
the noise of their approach from the guerillars, but the splash of
water at the river crossing gave the alarm, and all that was living
disappeared in the chapperal. The Dragoons came up the road
with such fearful speed that we were in danger of being run over.

We sprang onto our breastwork and tried to cheer, as the head
of the column divided and two hundred bold Dragoons dashed
by on the right and left of us. One company remained by us, and
Surgeons, hospital stewards and ambulances came up. All were put
into the ambulances— dead, wounded and unhurt— and carried
to the Agua Frio. Our appearance was distressing, our clothes
were saturated with blood and sweat, and covered with dust.

234

The Horse Fort

faces begrimed with powder. The ambulances stopped in the
shade of some alamo trees on the river bank and all were
stripped and washed; the dead, wrapped in blankets, were ten-
derly loaded in a waggon, the wounded received treatment. Those
of us who were unhurt took a bath in the river, ate a hearty sup-
per, and then being supplied with some hospital Brandy, got jolly
drunk, and went in the ambulances to camp in that condition.

Our loss was seven (7) killed, twelve (12) wounded, and
seventeen ( 17 ) horses killed and all of the rest so badly wounded
as to be unserviceable; these were shot. Of the Mexicans, twenty-
nine ( 29 ) lay dead as they fell, and two waggon loads of saddles
and arms were collected and brought to camp.

The Dragoons returned next day with twenty-two prisoners,
some of them wounded. They were examined before General
Wool, and a crowd of alcaldes, Padres and Curas came forward
and testified that they were all honest rancheros on their peaceful
way to a festival at Salinas when attacked by us, and that they
only defended themselves! They stated also that peace had been
made three weeks before! The prisoners made the same state-
ment, and said that the good Father, Martie Martiznes, lost his
life as he went to tell us that we might go in safety to camp!

The innocent chapperal rangers were released and suffered to
go in safety. But as it happened there was many Dragoons and
Rangers out on all the roads and trails through the chapperal
a-hunting that day. And as game was scarce, and not wishing to
return with empty game bags, it unfortunately happened that the
released innocents met the hunters and were bagged, and this not
five hundred yards from camp. Every one of them was shot, with
the new alcalde of San Nicolas. This was the last guerillar fight
of the War.

[XXXV]

Fiends and Fireworks

It was not until the middle of June that we received the official
notice that the treaty of peace between the United States and
Mexico had been signed at Guadalupe, May 30th, 1848. Cheer
after cheer went up from the volunteer camps. Hurrah for New
Orleans! for the United States and home! All of them were in
high glee.

But for the Regulars, the real Uncle Sam’s Boys, peace made
but little difference; they had to serve their time out, peace or
war. I myself was enlisted only for the war but on the advice of
Major Rucker decided to stay with my Squadron guarding the
enormous quantities of Ordnance and Quartermaster stores in
Monterey until they could be collected and shipped out of the
country.

I was satisfied, for I liked Mexico, and had a serious notion to
remain in the country, turn Salteadore, hunt down El Tuerto and
avenge Carmeleita, and then marry some sefiorita rica (rich lady)
and return to Boston as Don Juan Peloncillo, and rejoin the Church.

But fate, fortune or Providence ordained otherwise. As the last
waggon started from our camp at Walnut Springs we bid adios to
the weeping Senoritas of San Nicolas, and started down on the
Camargo road, accompanied by hundreds of our fair friends.
Some were mounted on Mustangs, some on Burros, but most on
foot, all striving to get out of the country, to escape the most
horrible outrages by the “greasers,” who seemed resolved to kill
all the “Yankedos,” as the women were called who had lived with
the Americans.

236

Fiends and Fireworks

The next morning we had just reached the grand plaza of
Marin when a courier came up at a jump and handed Major
Rucker a letter. It was an order for the Dragoons to report back
to Monterey to refit for a journey to California— to us, then, a
terra incognita. Some of the Dragoons deserted before we reached
our old camping ground, and most were dissatisfied. But I was
rejoiced, it promised adventures, and new scenes, and I resolved
to go if I had to re-enlist. We went into our old camp, much to
the joy of the “Yankedos” of San Nicolas.

During the war many of the females of the country had proved
firm friends of “Los Gringos,” and we were often indebted to
them for valuable information regarding the movements of the
enemy, their own countrymen. Our fair female friends showed
the utmost contempt for the weak dissolute “greasers,” and were
public in their outspoken admiration of the stalwart frames, fair
skins, blue eyes, and the kind and courteous demeanor of Los
Barbarianos del Norte. This feeling was not confined to the lower
classes; the sefioritas ricas and the “donas puros Castillanas” of
the towns shared it with the poblanas and margaritas of the
villages.

As might be supposed, this did not increase the love of the
hombres for us, or render the position of the “Yankedos” now
that their protectors were leaving the country, a pleasant one.
They suffered fearful outrages from the returned Mexican sol-
diery and the ladrones of the country— they were violated, ears
cut oflF, branded with the letters “U.S.” and in some cases impaled
by the cowardly “greasers,” who thus wreaked their vengeance
on defenceless women.

At Saltillo there were a number of women who had lived with
the Americans, and were models of their class. When our troops
evacuated the town these unfortunates were compelled to remain
behind, some of them ladies of unusual beauty. After General
Lombardini’s Mexican division re-occupied the place, the authori-
ties got up a grand celebration to commemorate the treaty of

237

My Confession

peace. At midnight the Grand Plaza was all ablaze with fireworks,
and full of drunken soldiers, polios and ladrones, when a fat
Dominican Monk, one Padre Olitze, got up on the fountain in the
centre of the square, and in the most fiery language denounced
these poor “Yankedos” to the mob. With yells of fiends, they
searched out the miserable creatures, dragged them from their
beds in their night clothes to the plaza, where for hours they were
subjected to nameless horrors; an unheard of atrocity was perpe-
trated on them by the agency of the less brutal Burros, and then
in their dying agonies they had their ears cut off and the finishing
stroke (a merciful one) given by cutting their throats. Twenty-
three women were tortured to death at this time, and no notice
was taken of it by General Lombardini, or any one else among
the Mexican authorities.

[XXXVI]

Expedition to California

The expedition intended for New Mexico and California was
fitted out at Walnut Springs in the most complete manner. It
consisted of D and E Companies, Second Dragoons, and Troop H
of the Second Dragoons; three troops of the First Dragoons, and
Bragg’s battery of light artillery, now under the command of
Lieutenant Kilburn. The cavalry was under the command of
Major Laurence P. Graham, while Brevet Lieutenant Colonel John
Washington commanded the whole detachment. Our camp was
alive with preparations, waggons were overhauled, tires re-set,
new horses and mules purchased at Camargo, all drills discon-
tinued and everything done by the oflScers to make the men satis-
fied with the change.

All of us who were enlisted for the war were now mustered out
of the Army and paid off. I felt sorry to part with my comrades,
who seemed to be my only friends, and I also had a strong desire
to see California. I called on my friend Mrs. W. W. Chapman,
whose husband was going along as Quartermaster. Through her
influence I obtained the position of waggon master, at sixty-five
dollars per month and two rations— a much better arrangement
than the $7 a month I had been receiving as a Dragoon

On the 18th of July, 1848, we bid farewell to Walnut Springs
for the last time. The morning was delightful, birds of the gayest
plumage filled the grove, the air was redolent with fragrance
from the orange and pomegranate trees, all nature wore a holiday
look as if rejoicing at the departure of the last of the invaders
from Mexico. The bugles sounded loud and clear “To horse!” and

239

My Confession

the finest appearing column of United States Troops that was
ever seen debouched from the woods and wound its way past
the ‘'Black Fort” toward Monterey.

The entire command was dressed in bright red flannel shirts
and black broad brim felt hats; this, with their white belts, bur-
nished arms, gay banners, and dashing horsewomen galloping up
and down our flanks made an effect seldom witnessed in the dull
routine of Uncle Sam’s service.

We went into camp at Arista Mills and I got my charge of
50 waggons parked, my tent pitched, and was about to dine, when
a woman rode up with one of the Quartermaster clerks, who
pointing me out said, “This is the man you want,” and rode off.
I asked the lady’s pleasure, and she handed me a note addressed
to “Peloncillo Jack, B.M.D. (Boss Mule Driver). The note as near
as I can remember was as follows: “Dear Jack: The bearer of
this, Miss Ellen Ramsey, is desirous of going to California, and I
have recommended you to her as a suitable party for her to con-
tract a ‘Scotch marriage’ with, to enable her to do so. She will
explain all. Yours, &c, Hugh Elmsdale.” This extraordinary epistle
was written by a friend of mine, a clerk in the commissary Dept.

I gave a look at the “bearer,” and certainly my eyes never
rested on a finer specimen of womankind (physically) than this
same Ellen Ramsey. She was full six feet in height, splendidly
proportioned, complexion clear pink and white, eyes a deep blue,
with bright golden hair that fell down her back in heavy ringlets,
and dressed in a riding habit of blue velveteen with a cavalier’s
black hat, from which floated a white plume. And this apparition
wanted to go to California with me— Whew!

She told me her story— she had landed in Texas in 1847, with
other emigrants from Scotland; the Small Pox and Measles car-
ried off many of them, amongst others Ellen’s parents. Reaching
San Antonio, she obtained a situation with a lady whose husband
was a commissary in the volunteers. With them she came to
Monterey, and now they were returning to Texas. She was de-

240

Expedition to California

sirous of going to California, but an order prohibited all except
married females from going with our troops.

With blushes I tried to decline her offer but she laughed at my
bashfulness and said, “After we have lived together for a year we
will know one another better and then if we wish we can marry.
If we don’t agree we’ll separate in peace.” What could I do?
There sat this six feet of female perfection, with a winsome smile
on her lips, and the innocent look of a child shining from her
blue eyes. Do? I done as any sinner would have done, threw
down the sponge, surrendered at discretion, and consented, say-
ing, “There’s my tent and kit, make yourself at home.”

She done so. Her horse was unsaddled and hitched to the same
picket rope as mine, a Burro drove up with her baggage, and in
fifteen minutes I scarce knew my own tent. There was a rug on
the ground, a looking glass fixed to the pole, a comfortable look-
ing bed with snow white sheets and pillow cases! Miss Ellen,
with her riding habit changed to a short dress and sleeves rolled
up showing a plump white muscular arm, was hard to work
setting the dinner in better shape. “Scotch Ellen,” as she was
called, made herself mistress in more sense than one. And as she
was an excellent cook, owned her own horse, and a good supply
of clothing, the arrangement was not so bad after all.

I reported my new partnership to Captain Chapman, and he
kindly approved.

Her exaihple seemed contageous, for just as we were ready to
start the next morning a train of three large Chihuahua waggons
came in sight around the bend of the road by the Obispado,
preceded by a horsewoman who was recognized by all as Sarah
Borginnis, the celebrated “Great Western.” She rode up to Colonel
Washington and asked permission to accompany the expedition;
the Colonel referred her to Major Rucker, who informed her that
if she would marry one of the Dragoons, and be mustered in as a
laundress she could go. Her ladyship gave the military salute and
replied, “All right. Major, I’ll marry the whole Squadron and you

241

The Great Westerri" as Landlady

thrown in but what I go along.” Riding along the front of the
line she cried out, “Who wants a wife with fifteen thousand dol-
lars, and the biggest leg in Mexico! Come, my beauties, don’t
all speak at once—who is the lucky man?”

Whether the thought that the Great Western had one husband
in the 7th Infantry and another in Harney’s Dragoons made the
men hesitate, I know not, but at first no one seemed disposed to
accept the offer. Finally Davis of Company E (the same that
flogged Dougherty) said, “I have no objections to making you
my wife, if there is a clergyman here to tie the knot.” With a
laugh the heroine replied, “Bring your blanket to my tent tonight
and I will learn you to tie a knot that will satisfy you, I reckon!”

Such was the morals of the army in Mexico. Mrs. Davis nee
Borginnis went down on E Company books as “Laundress” and
drew rations as such.

242

Expedition to California

Besides the Great Western and my Scotch Lassie, there was
with the command Mrs. Chapman, Sergeant De Lancey’s wife,
Mrs. Charley McCerry, and a young girl servant to Mrs.
Chapman.

About noon we resumed our march, Miss Ellen riding by my
side, while I gave her a description of my dangerous ride when
pursued by guerillars down this same road. I found my partner
more practical than sentimental; when I related how my pants
and flesh were torn by the thorny chapperal, without any in-
quiries about my own sufferings she coolly said, “Pity you threw
them away. I could have mended them for you.” No romance
about that. More than a week later we finally reached the haci-
enda of Don Manuel de Sanchez near Parras, having with much
hard work got the teams safely through Paso el Diablo. Colonel
Washington remained here two days to rest the animals. The
horses of the Dragoons showed much distress after the long march
but my long-eared charges seemed as fresh as when we left
Monterey.

After I had my waggons overhauled, and some tires set, I went
with the fair Ellen into Parras, to do a little shopping. In a store
we met with Mrs. Chapman and Mrs. De Lancey. At first I held
back, but to my surprise the ladies called me and said I must
introduce my lady to them. I did so, when all conventions of
society were thrown aside and the ladies chatted and tried to
cheapen the goods together as if on the same footing. After
numerous purchases, we stopped at a pasteleria and partook of
the sweets and fruits, with some excellent Parras vino. A merry
happy hour was spent, and then with the bundles strapped on
behind we returned to camp, when social restraints were again
enforced.

After two days’ rest, we moved on, and at night we reached
the large Hacienda El Poza (deep well). It was built like an
ancient castle, with towers and castellated roof. There was quite
a garrison of armed peons, for this estate belonged to the Sanchez

243

My Confession

family and was very rich in cattle and sheep, but suffered from
the annual visitation of the Comanches. It was at this place that
a party of Doniphan’s command ’ the year before defeated a large
party of Comanches, killing fifteen, and rescuing twenty-three
Mexican girls from captivity. Next day we reached the small town
of Alamo de Parras, where Colonel Washington and Major Gra-
ham found the hospitality of the Alcalde so great, his wine so
good, the Senoritas so extremely pretty and accommodating, that
they ordered Captain Chapman to have all of his waggons re-
paired, regardless whether they required it or not. This took four
days, during which we were treated to la corrida de toros (bull-
fight), in which a female matador appeared and showed consid-
erable muscle and little skill in dispatching some poor old oxen
that they tried to persuade us were bulls.

Ellen attended all places of amusement with me and I began
to really like and respect the poor girl, who was yet only eighteen,
and until the arrangement with me, virtuous, and her living with
me she did not regard as being the least wrong, as it was one of
the customs of her country. She was perfectly faithful to me and
was in truth a model mistress. I lived better than any ofiicer,
dressed well, and my clothes were always in the best of order.
She made excellent pies which she sold (as well as whiskey),
sewed for Mrs. Chapman, was always busy and good natured and
I am sorry to say had no better sense than to give her affections
to that roving vagabond Peloncillo Jack B.M.D. Well, with all his
faults, he treated her kindly and lovingly, and protected her from
all insults, and once bled a Forage Master by putting a leaden
pill into his shoulder for making an improper overture to her.
After that no one even by look would insult the Scotch Lassie.

^ Colonel Alexander W. Doniphan, a frontier lawyer of Kentucky birth who had
served as brigadier general of the Missouri mihtia in the 1838 campaign against
the Mormons. During the Mexican War he led the 1st Regiment of Missouri
Mounted Volunteers on the famed ‘^Doniphan's March," from El Paso in New
Mexico to Chihuahua, 250 miles away. On the way he won a stunning victory over
a numerically superior force of Mexicans at Sacramento, almost without loss of
a man.

244

Expedition to California

Our next stop was at the Noria de Pozo Calvo, a cattle farm on
the great road to Chihuahua. Our red shirted Dragoons attracted
much attention from the inhabitants of this part of the country,
for the only American troops they had seen before were the half
civilized command of Colonel Doniphan that plundered the coun-
try from Santa Fe to the Brazos.

What an earthly paradise the country from Parras to this place
was! The white walls of Haciendas, ranches and hamlets, were to
be seen as far as the eye could reach, rising from fields of com,
sugar cane and barley, while Figs, grapes, pears and watermelons
grew in great abundance, and the delicious Parras wine was as
free as water. Thereafter the country became more rugged and
barren, with few signs of cultivation, but excellent grass. In about
a week we reached the lively little silver mining town of Mapimi,
at the foot of the Bolson de Mapimi (purse of Mapimi, so called
from the extraordinary richness of the silver mines in the moun-
tain). We remained here two days and from there on we followed
Doniphan’s route to Chihuahua. It led over a high table land,
with scattered cattle Haciendas and Httle cultivated land. There
were but few objects on the route worthy of notice. Most of the
towns consisted of a few miserable adobe houses, with a ruined
church on one side of the plaza and the Casa de Cabildo ( town
hall) on the other, a patio el gallo (cock fighting court) and a
salon de bade ( dance hall ) without which no Mexican could live.
At Santa Cruz de Rosales, about 60 miles from Chihuahua, I
sketched a monument built to commemorate a victory over the
Comanches, who terrorize the country. This quaint affair, the only
one in northern Mexico, was designed by the Cura of the place.
It was built of adobe, rough plastered with cement, and could
certainly claini the merit of being original. At the top was a coarse
colored print of the ubiquitous Virgin of Guadalupe, underneath
this was a soldier looking badly frightened. Innocent, practical
Ellen who visited with me, artlessly inquired “if it was built to
frighten the coyotes away?” Santa Cruz de Rosales is famous as

245

My Confession

the place where the last battle was fought between the Americans
and Mexicans in Chihuahua, March 17th, 1848. Our troops, com-
manded by Colonel Sterling Price of Missouri, stormed the place
and captured General Trias, and the entire garrison.

At Bachimba, only 15 miles from Chihuahua, we laid over one
day to enable the command to clean up for the grand entry into
the capitol of the North. The belts of the Dragoons were newly
pipe-clayed, the arms burnished, and next day, August 26, we
entered Chihuahua, making a fine appearance. There was a
large garrison in the city commanded by Colonel Justiniani; Don
Angel Trias was Governor. We passed through the city and went
into camp near a large building known as Casa Blanca on the bank
of a small stream.

Chihuahua is the great depot of the States and Santa Fe Trade
and the inhabitants have become well acquainted with Americans
through their intercourse with the traders, but they don’t seem to
have acquired much love for the gringos by this contact. The
population of the city is stated to be fifteen thousand, but I should
judge this was too high a figure. In honor of the Governor, a
grand review was given by Colonel Washington, which concluded
with a sham fight in which His Excellency was shown the way
we whipped his paisanos (countrymen), this no doubt proved
quite satisfactory, for he expressed himself as highly delighted.

While we remained at this place my ill fortune led me into an
adventure in which I came near losing my life. One evening
Sergeant Moore and Jack Jones of my old company took supper
with me and Ellen. After it was over the Sergeant proposed a
ramble in town. The fearful events of that evening deserve a sep-
arate chapter.

' • • A

[XXXVII]

A Nighfs Adventure in Chihuahua

We reached town and strolled around for some time, drinking
freely at different fondas until we brought up at the salon de
bade, where a fandango was in full blast. The room was full of
ugly looking cutthroats who greeted our entrance with fierce
carajos and ribald jests. Common prudence should have caused
us to retire, but that wasn’t our style, so we swaggered up to the
bar and called for the drinks. Then selecting for partners three of
the best looking senoritas in the room, we took places on the
floor and called for a dance, when Moore cried out, “I am cut!” A
“greaser” had knifed him in the side.

My revolver was out in a moment, and seeing an ugly yellow
belly sneaking for the door, I sprang upon the banqueta, fired
over the heads of the crowd and shot the bravo in the back; with
a yell he fell dead. The women disappeared through back doors,
while the men drew their knives and made a rush for us, but we
had gained a good position behind the bar. Two more shots laid
out two more of them and they fell back and crowded together
at the further end of the hall.

We gathered from their chattering that they had sent for fire
arms, so our only chance was to work quickly. I loaded the three
empty chambers of my revolver, the only pistol in the party, while
Moore, who was bleeding profusely, and Jones broke up a huge
oaken settle, and made clubs of the legs. Then swinging the body
part we let it go when at its greatest momentum; it flew across the
room and struck the mob with the force of a battering ram, bring-

248

A Night’s Adventure in Chihuahua

mg at least half of them to the floor. With loud yells we charged
them with clubs and they fled through a rear door.

After the victory our first act was to strengthen our position;
the doors were secured by the heavy bars, and the settle and
tables piled against them. We put out the candles and felt quite
safe as it was a stone house, the windows well protected by iron
rejas like a prison. Seated in the angle of the room by Moore,
we awaited events. We could hear the low muttering of the
mob outside, and suddenly a volley of pistol balls was poured
into the room through the open reja, but we were protected by
being out of the line of fire. It was now near midnight, and I felt
satisfied that we could hold out until daylight, when Ellen,
alarmed at my absence, would report it, and a patrol would be
sent into town to hunt us up.

Shots continued to be fired through the different windows,
when on a sudden all sound ceased except a rushing noise as of
a mob in flight. Soon the regular tramp of soldiers sounded on
the stone pavement; a sharp command in Spanish, and the ring of
muskets told of the arrival of a patrol. At a loud rap on the door
followed by the command to open I asked who was there. “La
patrolla” came the answer.

It would have been madness to resist soldiers, so we pulled
away the barricade, unbarred the door, and there entered a lieu-
tenant, carrying a lantern, and half a dozzen soldiers. We were
made prisoners, other soldiers came in, and the dead “greasers”
examined. I gleaned from the remarks of the lieutenant that
he was much pleased at something, and that we were all right.
“Carajo! Shingara! esto homhre esta ensebado,” he exclaimed
as he kicked over the ladron I first shot. Then he informed us
that he would protect us to camp, and for our own safety we had
better keep quiet about the affray.

Moore was got up and could with little assistance walk very
well— his cut, though long, was not very deep— and having secured
several bottles of “pass whiskey” we left the house, and with an

249

My Confession

escort of a Sergeant and six soldiers, we took our way through
the now silent streets for camp. Nothing was seen of the mob,
the moon had risen, bathing one side of the street in a flood of
light, while on the other the grotesque shadows of the quaint
Moorish buildings gave a weird aspect to the scene. We had now
reached a long street that led direct to camp, and the guard left
us after cautioning us again to keep silent on the adventures of
the night.

What followed, I must confess I am not very clear about. We
had drunk freely in the dance hall, and now we seated ourselves
on the sidewalk, on the moonlit side, and refreshed ourselves
again from the aguardiente del Paso, Moore taking his share. We
drank the health of the courteous ofiRcer, and the patrol, drank
confusion to all ladrones, and my health was drunk, for my good
shooting, and then I was called on for a song, the “Battle of
Buena Vista,” four hundred verses, composed by our poet, Happy
Jack, Co. A, 1st Dragoons. The first verse is as follows;

It was on the 22nd, the day it being clear.

We espied the advancing Army of Mexican Lancers,

At two o’clk they fired a shot when we returned the same
“Dam ye eyes,” Old Zack cries, for now commence the game.

Chorus

So cheer up my lively lads, for it never shall be said
That the First Dragoons was ever yet afraid.

I had commenced on the second verse when we suddenly re-
ceived a shower of rocks from the dark side of the street, then
were rushed by a crowd. I received a blow in the head, as if
from a sledge hammer, and my face was covered with blood;
black faces and glittering knives were all around me. I felt faint
and thought my time was come, but the idea of being hacked
to pieces gave me the desperation of madness. Giving them the
contents of four of the chambers of my revolver, I dashed through

250

A Night’s Adventure in Chihuahua

the crowd, with a yell more savage than their own, using my
pistol as a club. Moore and Jones were bounding down the street
like deer, well ahead of me. I was no longer weak and faint, I
seemed to fly, and reached the bank of the river a hundred yards
ahead of my pursuers.

Here I found Moore lying in a faint; Jones was not in sight. My
danger and bloodletting had fully sobered me, and I realized the
condition of things at a glance. I could easily reach Camp alone;
our white tents shone in the moonlight, almost within stone
throw. But my duty was plain— to save the Sergeant or go under
with him. I raised him onto my back, and with his arms around
my neck I gathered his legs under my arms and waded into the
river, which was over two feet deep and twenty yards wide.
Stones flew around us, one hit Moore in the back with a sickening
thud, bringing me to my knees; I arose, staggered and fell into
the cool water. I knew the devils were on me but I could do no
more, when there reached me a woman’s voice crying out,
“Courage Jack! I am here, courage!” Then round oaths in good
English and several shots followed, and I was pulled out of the
river onto the bank, and found myself supported in the arms of
Miss Ellen, with a number of Dragoons around me.

I was assisted to my tent where a Surgeon found my scalp
badly bruised and cut, but my thick skull still sound. Moore who
was a great favorite with the ofiicers was taken to the hospital
tent. Next day Major Rucker called on me and gave me a regular
d — g and swore as only Black Dan could swear, that it was all
my fault, and if Moore died, he would have me hung! There is
gratitude for you!

Jones, finding that Moore could go no further than the river,
and hearing my shots, had concluded that I had gone up, so he
had put for camp and found Ellen at the guard house, anxious
for my safety. She and the guard doubled quick to the river, and
arrived just in time.

Rucker investigated the affair, and Colonel Justiniani, the Mex-

251

My Confession

lean commander, informed him that an officer commanding a pa-
trol reported that in endeavoring to arrest a band of ladrones, he
had met with resistance, and the patrol had killed five of them, one
of whom was a famous assassin, one Ramires, known as El escor-
pion, for whose head there was a reward of one thousand dollars.
This reward had been paid to the valorous lieutenant. No wonder
he wanted us to keep silent!

[ XXXVIII ]

The Marriage of Scotch Ellen

Ellen for some days had been blue and gloomy, and refused all
explanation, and to my repeated inquiry of what was the matter
would reply “nothing.” We went one day on a long walk up the
river, and at length after much urging she confessed her troubles.
She had received an offer of marriage! One McPherson, a coun-
tryman of hers, also a Waggon Master with the train going to
Santa Fe, had been for some time smitten with her charms and
now that he was about to be separated, he had spoken out, and in
spite of the position his lady love occupied, had made her an
honorable offer of his heart, hand and blankets! Ellen said that if
I offered the least objection to the match, she would refuse the
offer, and go with me to California, but that she was convinced
that I never would marry her and as she now had a chance to
become an honest woman, she did not think it right for her to
throw it away.

I was raving at first, and thought of calling the Scotch poacher
to account, but my better nature prevailed, for I knew that the
marriage was the best thing for the poor girl’s happiness. Ellen
was too good a woman for such a fate as would fall to her if she
continued to follow the fortunes of so reckless a rover as Pelon-
cillo Jack, Esqr. That evening I sent for the would-be Benedict
and we three "talked the matter over and I gave my free consent
to their unity.

The marriage proved quite an epoch in camp; it took place at
Headquarters on the last day of our encampment in Chihuahua.
A cura of the city tied the knot assisted by Lieutenant Wilson,

253

Mij Confession

who to make all siux\ peitormed it o\'er again reading the semce
fiom an Episcopal pia)xr book, I gave the bride away! Ivirs. Chap-
man and Mrs. De Laneev were present, and appeared much im-
pressed with the solemnit}* of the ccremon\\ Colonel Washington,
Majors Graham and Rucker gave the fair bride a chaste salute
and the happy couple departed, hand in hand, to the bridegroom’s
home, i.e., his tent.

I returned to my once happy, but now solitaiy abode, and felt
desolate enough. Our horses no longer munched barley from the
same trough, her brass bound trunk was no longer in its accus-
tomed place against the tent pole, the bed, robbed of half its
blankets, looked shrunken and mean, her jaunty riding hat no
longer hung from its nail, and the whiskey keg was gone! When
too late, I was sorry that I had let her go, and found I was not
quite so much of a saint as I thought.

[XXXIX]

A Ranger^s Life in Sonora

Next day the entire command marched sixteen miles and
encamped at Sacramento, the scene of battle between Colonel
Doniphan and a much superior force of Chihuahuans. In the
morning Lieutenant Colonel Washington, with Kilburn’s Battery,
the First Dragoons and Troop H of the 2nd Dragoons started for
Sante Fe via El Paso, while the remainder under Major L. P.
Graham moved off on a road to the left for California.

Most of the country to the Northwest of Chihuahua was at this
time practically unknown to the rest of the world. The citizens of
Chihuahua gave us vague traditions of great cities in the far
north, inhabited by white Indians, called Pintos, of rivers that run
over beds of gold pebbles, of beautiful women who fought
mounted and ate their prisoners— in short the most fabulous
stories were told us. I must confess that I rather took stock in
these romances, for a warm imagination had prepared me to
expect many strange and startling adventures in the unknown
land.

It was in the month of September when we left Sacramento,
the air was clear and bracing, and we were yet in a cultivated
country, but in one where every house was fortified, and numer-
ous wooden crosses by the wayside marked the scene of murder
by the dread Apaches.

Our march so far had been a success, and the command was in
as good a condition as \vhen we left Monterey, but now the total
incompetency of Major Graham for a separate command was
made manifest to the most obtuse intellect. The marches were

255

My Confession

ill timed, without proper care for grass and water, and in a coun-
try of plenty our animals suffered for forage. We lav bv at all
Haciendas, especially if the mujeres was mucha bonita, consum-
ing our provisions and e\’en selling them to the “greasers.” Lack
of discipline in the Dragoons and worse in the Quartermaster
Department threatened the worst results to the expedition. Major
Rucker and Captain Chapman done their duty nobly, but with a
drunken, ignorant commander who seemed to delight in acts of
petty tyranny Httle could be done.

After several days’ march from Sacramento -we reached a branch
of the Rio Yaqui, the banks of which for miles were covered with
peach trees, full of ripe delicious fruit. A large well armed party
from New Mexico was encamped here engaged in collecting and
drying the fruit for the Santa Fe market. We remained here two
days, and found a great plenty of sweet punkins, com, and barley,
with ruins of ranches and Haciendas scattered up and down the
valley, while wild cattle was plenty and so fat as to appear all
body.

With the party from New Mexico was a man of remarkable size
and strength. Madame Sarah Borginnis-Davis, the “Great West-
ern,” saw this Hercules while he was bathing and conceived a vio-
lent passion for his gigantic proportions. She sought an interview
and with blushes “told her love.” The Samson, nothing loth, be-
came the willing captive to this modern Delilah, who straightway
kicked Davis out of her affections and tent, and established her
elephantine lover in full possession without further ceremony.

Our route after we left the Peach Orchard on the Rio Yaqui
was over a barren desert of sand and rocks, mountains and deep
precipitous valleys. The vegetation was remarkable; many new
species of the cactus family appeared, among them' the gigantic
petahaya, a monster cactus rising in a single fluted column to the
height of forty to sixty feet. Sometimes they display four or more
arms, that rise from the sides with great regularity and present
the appearance of a gigantic candelabra. They bear a fruit some-

256

A Rangers Life in Sonora

thing like a prickl)' pear of a sickly sweetish taste. This strange
vegetable grows on rocks and in sandy places where even “gam-
mer” grass cannot be found.

Since we left Chihuahua, I had found my position anything but
a pleasant one. One thing— since I had parted with Ellen, I drank
to excess. I always had a supply along in a waggon, but I had never
allowed drink to interfere with my duty. But now everything
went wrong. The air was so warm and dry that it took all the life
out of the command, men and animals seemed to lose all of their
vitality and dry up, waggons fell to pieces, tires came off, spokes
came out, constant halting to repair broken-down waggons soured
the disposition of all, while Major Graham— Old Pidgeon Toes—
cursed all and everything, I coming in for more than my share
of the general abuse.

One day one of my waggons broke down, and while I was
repairing it the confounded Major must ride up. As usual he
d — d and swore at me, said he would disrate me and make me
drive a team. I very imprudently replied “that as he had the
power he might do as he d — d please.” The Major’s natural red
face now glowed like a furnace, and swearing to hang me, he told
his orderly to bring me along a prisoner. I made no resistance and
rode along in silence until we reach the guard, when my horse
and revolver was taken from me and I was obliged to “frog it.”

I walked for days but this kind of marching was not very hard
as the command did not average over fifteen miles per day, and
the guard was from my old Squadron who permitted me to ride
when the Major was out of sight.

One day near Tucson we emerged from a wilderness of mes-
quite and cottonwoods into an open space where arising from the
huts of an Indian village was one of the grandest church edifices
of Northern Mexico, the Mission of San Xavier del Bac, built in
1668. The village was inhabited by a tribe of Indians known as
the Papagoes, with no white men or Mexicans nearer than
Tucson. The buildings are in an excellent condition, with a num-

257

Mij Confcsfiion

her of fine paintings and images well preserved. The Mission
appears to be unknown in Mexico, and is certainly a most remark-
able edifice standing as it does m tin' midst of a desert, the home
of wild savage Apaches.

I was sketching the place from my guard house (a scaffold
used by the Papagoes to dry punkin on ) when Graham rode up
and saw me. “What in H — 1 have vou got there?” was his polite
inquiry. I respectfully replied, “My sketch book. Major.” “Sketch
book! You d — d hound, what in H — 1 do you know about
sketching?” and riding up he snatched the book from my hands,
and after glancing at its contents threw it in my face. Then turn-
ing to the Sergeant of the Guard he said, “Tie Peloncillo Jack up
for two hours, and then put handcuffs on him, and see if he can
sketch then!”

I was accordingly tied up. Graham’s tent was in plain sight,
and he rode up to it and dismounting took up a position where
he could watch me. What dignity! A Major of the U.S. Dragoons,
and commander of an important expedition, tormenting a poor
boy, a citizen at that; and watching his guard to see if his brutal
orders were carried out! Yet the man was brave; he led the charge
at the battle of Resaca de la Palma, for which May received
the credit.

When my two hours were up, I was cut down and ironed, but
the pair was so large that I could slip them off and on, with the
greatest ease. Next day we made a short march to Tucson, when
again in spite of Graham and Handcuffs, I sketched the old mined
Presidio,^ but he saw me and I got another damning and was
tied up again.

This Tucson is a very hot place, and being tied up in the sun
I was in a fair way of becoming tasajo (jerked beef). I could feel
my brains “sizzling” and my skin was commencing to crack, when
a strange white man strode up to the "guard house, and after

' Perhaps the first sketches ever made by an American in an area that did not
become U.S. territory until 1853.

258

The presidio of Tucson, Sonora

taking in the situation at a glance, drew a Bowie Knife and coolly
cut me down. He was seized by the guard and in spite of a des-
perate resistance was tied up himself.

He was a small, dried up, wiry man, dressed in a half Indian,
half Mexican costume and armed with a heavy Kentuck rifle,
revolver and a huge Bowie Knife. His actions and language was
strange and highly ludicrous; he would howl like a coyote, bellow
like a bull, crow like a cock, bray until all the mules joined in the
chorus, and intermingle all this with strange oaths and expres-
sions in a mixture of Spanish, English and Chinook. Hy er, usted
d — d Porkeaters,” he said, “yer got hold of the wrong hombre!
Carajo! I am that old Bufflo, Tom Hitchcock, crying to be tied
up like a Bufflo calf! (bellowing like a Bufflo Bull). H 1 flic!
shooty me! what will Clanton say?” He ended with the pro-
longed howl of a Prairie Wolf, and then broke down crying like
a child.

I was tied up along side of him, and the name he mentioned
recalled to my memory the tragic scene I had witnessed in the
Bexar Exchange, San Antonio, Texas. I engaged him in conversa-
tion, and learned he belonged to a band of Indian hunters em-
ployed by Don D. Jose Urrea, Governor of Sonora. The band was
known as the *Scalp Hunters and was commanded by John
Clanton of Texas, the desperado of the Bexar Exchange.

We were cut down by order of Lieutenant Coutts, offlcei of the

259

Mij Confession

dav, and the Free Ranger was taken befoie Major Graham, who
interrogated him as to his business in Tucson, tlie route between
the place and the Rio Gila, and obtained about as much informa-
tion from “Grving Tom” as he would from a mule. Hitchcock was
returned to tlie Guaid House and 1 informed him that I had
made up ms- mind to escape and join Glanton’s company. He
with much bluntness adsised me to “join Satan and go to H — 1
at once” but finding I was m earnest, he promised to help me all
he could.

A plan was agreed on, and I laid down to sleep, but my mind
was too active to rest, the step I was about to take, to separate my-
self from all civilization and friends, to join a band of outlaws,
for such the Scalp Hunters was considered, even by the half
savage frontiermen, was an act to make one think and reflect. In
the morning Tom Hitchcock was released and his arms restored
to him, and with a significant look at me the ranger departed
crying.

During our march this day, a “solitary horseman” was seen
hanging on our rear, and was pronounced by the ofiicers an
Apache scout, but I knew it was my lachrymal outlaw, Crying
Tom Hitchcock. Finding water a little after noon we went into
camp, when I saw the figure of the horseman in bold relief against
the sky. He was standing by a lofty petahaya that grew on a
rocky mesa, overlooking the camp. I waved a handkerchief three
times (the signal agreed on), then came the answer, the cry of
a Coyote, and the horseman disappeared. I sent for Captain Chap-
man, and making a plausible excuse, I asked him for my pay for
two months, seventy-five ($75.00) dollars. I had at this time over
four hundred dollars of my own, so I had plenty.

I now took one of the guard into my confidence (Happy Jack
of Company A ) ; he was under an obligation to me, and was glad
to assist me in anything that lay in his power. After dark I suc-
ceeded in eluding the Sentinel, and with my blankets, sketch
book, &c, reached a solitary alamo, and was soon joined by Happy

260

A Rangers Life in Sonora

Jack with my horse, re\-olver and knife. Besides my regular kit,
I found two holster pistols in the holsters and a long-range Hall
Rifle, with plenty of ammunition. Without questioning the right
of Happy Jack to make the donation I accepted the gifts in the
same liberal spirit that they were given in, and with a hearty
pressure of the hand, but a sinking heart, I bid my old comrade
good-by. Mounting, I turned my back on the Camp and rode
forth in the dark desert, friendless and alone.

I reached the mesa, dismounted and with much difficulty led
my horse up, and seated myself near the huge cactus where I last
saw Hitchcock. I looked back on the Camp in the valley; the fires
flaring up brightly among the cottonwoods, lighted up the white
covered waggons and disclosed the forms of men as they passed
in front of the blaze. A deep silence prevailed, only broken by
the occasional bray of a mule, and the prolonged melancholy cry
of a Coyote from the plain. How I regretted the step I had taken.
Who was Clanton, or Hitchcock? What would be mv fate with
such desperados? Would I ever see Boston and home again?
These and similar thoughts flittered through my brains until I
quite broke down and cried like a child. Come to the test, I found
I was not so much of the heroic mould as I imagined and would
have been glad to be back in the Guard House and march to
California in irons— anywhere but in this terrible desert solitude!

I was aroused from my gloomy thoughts by a heavy hand on
my shoulder, and the howl of a coyote in my ear. Springing up I
confronted the eccentric ranger, who said, “What, crying? This
old Bufflo don’t allow anyone to cry but himself. Yer a fine colt
to hitch to John Clanton yer are! Carajo! ye’ ain’t worth shucks.”

In his presence all my feelings of despondence fled. I was
ready for adventure. We started from the mesa and took the trail
back for Tucson. About an hour’s march beyond the place we
turned off the trail to our left, and passed up a canyon for some
distance. Tom dismounted and led the way into the intense dark-
ness that shut us in like a wall. We moved on for more than a

261

ISItj Confession

hour in silence when the Ranger halted and said, "We’ll rest here
to night, Miichacho.’' After a hearty meal of pinola and tasajo
Tom carefully put out the fire, and we lay dow'n well wrapt up
in our blankets and I was soon sound asleep.

When I awoke it was m the gray of morning and Tom was up
and breakfast ready. We had passed the night in a wild gorge of
what he called the Sierra Chiricahua, a retired place well known
to Clanton’s band of Scalp Hunters. Saddling up, we retraced our
steps on foot until we struck a trail that ascended the side of the
canyon in a zigzag manner; up this we climbed with much diffi-
culty, and it was two hours before we reached a level place to rest
ourselves and our weary animals.

Though it was now the middle of October, and the clouds
hanging around the peaks of the mountains gave notice that the
rainy season would soon commence, yet the sun’s rays were hot
and overpowering. The scene was drear and desolate; rocks piled
on rocks showed the most irregular and grotesque forms, some
black and charred as by the action of volcanic fires, others com-
posed of marl and sandstone had the appearance of ancient
castles, with towers, battlements and fortified walls. Below us lay
San Xavier and Tucson, looking hke toy houses, while away off
to the north, a long cloud of dust and little white specks showed
the position of the Graham Expedition.

We rode now in an easterly direction, my hitherto taciturn
guide became more loquacious and gave me an insight into the
wild, lawless life led by the Indian Hunters of Sonora. Glanton
was paid fifty ( $50.00 ) dollars for every Apache scalp brought in;
he had recently returned from an unsuccessful hunt in the
Navajos’ country where in an encounter with the Navajos he had
lost eleven men, and not a scalp to show for it. He was now
encamped at the Presidio of Frontreras, and hearing of a large
body of Americans on the road north of Chihuahua, he had dis-
patched several of his men to intercept the command at different
points to obtain recruits if possible. Crying Tom, not relishing his

262

A Rangers Life in Sonora

treatment in camp, was glad to get off with a whole skin and
mv humble self.

We pushed on as rapidly as the nature of the ground would
permit. The heat w’as fearful, and our suffering animals were kept
up under the application of our heavy spurs. We descended to a
table land or elevated plain on which the petahaya grew in abun-
dance. The ranger cut one down with his knife and with my
assistance cut off the thorny fluted outside; the succulent inside
we gave to our horses who fed on it with much relish. We had
crossed halfway over the plain when Crying Tom pointed out in
the distance to our right what at first appeared to me nothing but
a long line of yuccas or Spanish Bayonets. But I soon saw they
had motion and made out a long column of horsemen in single
file. Apaches on the war trail. Soon they collected in little squads
and then started across the plain direct for us. I became alarmed,
and half turned my horse to fly, but my companion not only
showed no signs of fear, but appeared delighted! and as they
came yelling across the plain, brandishing their long lances, and
rattling their bull hide shields, Tom yelled and shouted and
slapped himself.

I told the ranger that I thought I might fetch one with my
rifle, but he d — d me for a fool. However I dismounted and using
my saddle for a rest, I drew a bead on a big chap and fired, when
the huge savage sprang with a yell to the ground. His companions
used their quirts freely on their ponies until out of range. Hitch-
cock sprang off, and embraced me with odd expressions of delight,
hugged and kissed the ( to him ) miraculous rifle, and pronounced
it a “Big Medicine” that “shoot a heap.”

The wounded warrior presented a ghastly sight, he tried to call
his pony to’ him, but the affrightened animal stood at a distance,
snorting in terror. The savage then gave a wild startling yell, and
by his hands alone, dragged himself to the brink of the deep
barranca, then singing his death chant and waving his hand in
defiance towards us he plunged into the awful abyss.

263

My Confession

“Cincuenta pesos gone to h— 1, muchacho,” cried Tom. “The
doggone mean red nigger done tliat thar, to cheat us out of his
half’

We mov'ed on in silence for somehow my agency in the death
of the warrior affected me greatly; I felt as if I had committed
a murder. Conscience said. You were safe, he never harmed you,
and he was on his own soil, yet you killed him.

Crossing the plain we entered a ravine that ascended the
gloomy mountain; we toiled on for hours up its narrow bed, with
walls of rock rising on each side shutting us in from all view out-
side. We crossed the summit at sunset and began to descend, the
light began to fade out, the canyon became dark and forbidding
and soon all was gloom and the darkness of a dungeon prevailed.
My strange companion who led the way disappeared! The sound
of his horse’s hoofs on the rocky bed of the canyon ceased, all was
still.

I was beginning to feel alarmed at the desertion of the ranger
when a wild shriek of laughter, which seemed to burst forth from
the solid rock above my head, was caught up and repeated from
a thousand points, then fierce whoops burst forth mingled with
stunning reports of fire arms and wild yells. That I was in the
midst of a terrific combat in which hundreds were engaged I had
not the least doubt, and my safety was my first consideration. I
sprang off, and feeling a huge boulder in the intense blackness, I
pulled my footsore steed behind it, and made ready for a struggle.
No one assailed me, the noise of the conflict seemed to die away
up the mountain with an occasional loud report as of artillery. I
was stupefied at the strangeness of this mysterious battle in the
darkness, when suddenly the rocky walls were lit up by a bright
light held by a wild looking figure. I drew a bead, and was about
to fire when I recognized my quondam companion. Tom cried
out, “Muchacho, yer welcome to Tom Hitchcock’s rancho El
Fonda del Cieneguilla. Entra! entra! hombre, tote yer caballo into
my casa!”

264

A Rangel's Life in Sonora

Bv the liglit of his mesqiiite torch I saw a narrow opening in
the wall, rising up in rough, irregular steps. My tired animal at
first refused to clinrh, but with Tom’s assistance we arrived in
safety at a large cave fifty feet above the bed of the ravine. I was
full of curiosity to know more of this magician of a Ranger, who
kept a hotel in the wild desert. Tom replenished the fire, pro-
duced from a nook in the wall a Coffee Pot! a Frying Pan! Jerked
Beef and a large leather bag of pinola. We made an excellent
supper and then my magician took from his mysterious cupboard
one of those double headed gourds used for canteens by the
“greasers,” and to my delight I found it contained Pass Whiskey,
the pure aguardiente of El Paso. Then this good Genie brought
out a crock or olio and a bag of beans or frifoles and soon the
crock was on the fire to be in readiness for the morning’s repast.
A spring of clear cold water ran through the back part of the
cavern, in fact nothing appeared wanting to make us comfortable.

The cave was admirably adapted for concealment and defence.
It contained numerous winding galleries and compartments run-
ning through the cliff, a hundred feet above the bottom of the
ravine, and was often used by Clanton’s men, who kept provi-
sions and fuel stored here. It possessed a remarkable echo, a speci-
men of which had so alarmed me. A single rifle shot, sundry
whoops and yells, had the effect of a severe conflict in which hun-
dreds were engaged. Tom also told of mysterious noises, groaning
and sighing, with occasional heavy reports, which he credited to
some supernatural agency, though he said that “Judge” Holden
(one of Clanton’s men) said they were caused by the wind, and
called the Earth’s Colic. These strange sounds combined with
the echo had a powerful influence on the savage hordes, who
always avoided the canyon, though it was the best pass through
the Sierra for hundreds of miles.

We slept safe and sound, though the dying Indian troubled me
in my dreams. In the morning when all was yet dark in our
rocky world, we ate our breakfast, saddled up and after carefully

265

Wy Confession

removing all traces ot our visit, we led our rested steeds down the
steps and left Hitchcock’s ranch. As we mo\'ed down the pass we
tried the powder of the echo and I am satisfied it repeated over
twenty times! At one place away up on the side appeared walls
built by the hand of man, or what I judged to be such from my
point of observation. The whole place is worthv of a scientific
exploration, and no doubt many interesting discoveries w'Ould be
made. The rocks are marl, sandstone and limestone.

[XL]

Glaiiton^s Gang

Twenty miles from the canyon we came to a mule trail that
crossed the ravine, and ascended the right hand bank on foot. We
came out on a broad plateau and after an hour’s sharp trot, came
in sight of some distant buildings on a hill, mud hovels, the
tower of a church and a Presidio. This was the town of Frontreras.
Leaving the trail, we dii'ected our course towards a small grove
of cottonwoods on the bank of a small stream.

Here under the shade trees, engaged in sleeping, playing cards,
cleaning arms or grooming horses, were some forty wild brigand-
like men who welcomed my companion with rough greetings. To
my great joy, my old acquaintances Ben Tobin, Doc Irving and
Sam Tate of McCulloch’s Rangers came forward and bid Pelon-
cillo Jack welcome to Clanton’s bivouac. A rough looking, short
thick-set man came forward and saluted Hitchcock and myself in
the following choice language. “What in h — 1 have you got thar,
Tom? Whar were ye spawned, stranger, and whar do ye tie

I recognized in this frontier Chesterfield the John Clanton of
the San Antonio Bexar Exchange tragedy, and was about to
answer him when he extended his hand as if to shake hands with
me. I reached out mine, when the rufBan with a hoarse laugh
seized me by the nose, giving it a severe twist. Surprised and indig-
nant at such unwarranted treatment, the moment he let go, with-
out thinking of the consequence, I struck him with all my might
in the face, sending him to grass. My safety was now the question.
Springing onto my horse, I drew my revolver, but fortunately

267

Mtj C'onfcsnion

before I could fire I was lassoed and dragged to the ground, and
tied to a tree.

Glanton arose with the blood streaming from his face, stag-
gered up to me and presented a cocked revoh er to my head.
Though I expected instant death I looked the brute calmly in the
eyes while I silently prayed to m\ Hea\enl\- Fathei for forgive-
ness. For full one minute he glared into m}' e\es, with the cold
tube pressed against m^’ forehead, and then lowering his pistol,
he grasped my hand and shaking it warm!)' said, “Real grit,
stranger, ye’ll pass, ye strike like the kick of a burro.” I found I
had passed a successful ordeal, and was thus initiated into Clan-
ton’s Band. There was Sonorans, Cherokee and Delaware Indians,
French Canadians, Texans, Irishmen, a Negro and a full blooded
Comanche in this band of Scalp Hunters, with a miscellaneous
collection of weapons, and equipment and a diversity of costume
seldom seen in a regular organized body of volunteers for Indian
warfare.

John Glanton was born in South Carolina, but when a mere
youth his parents moved to Texas and joined the settlement of
Stephen Austin.^ Nothing remarkable distinguished Glanton in his
youth from the other young men of the settlement, without it was a
deep religious feeUng and a strict moral conduct. A young orphan
girl, whose parents had been killed by the Lipans, gained the
aflEections of the young South Carolinan; his love was returned,
the marriage day was set, though his afBanced was only seven-
teen. Glanton had built a log hut for his bride on the bank of the
beautiful Guadalupe, and one day while most of the male settlers
was at Austin’s house discussing the threatening attitude of Mex-
ico, a band of Lipan warriors charged on the outskirts of Gon-
zales, kilHng and scalping the old women and young children, and
carrying away the girls, Clanton’s betrothed among the latter.
The alarm was given and instant pursuit made by the frenzied

‘ Leader in the American colonization of Texas and the Texas independence
movement.

268

Glanton'fi Gang

frontiermen. The next day the sax'ages were oveitaken and suf-
fered a se\ere defeat ut tlie hands of the outraged Texans, but
the prize for which the\’ fought, the poor girls, were tomahawked
and scalped while the fight wa.s raging.

From this tragic scene Glanton returned a changed man. He
would often absent himself from the village and when he returned
he invariably brought fresh scalps. During the war of Texas inde-
pendence Glanton was a “free scout” attached to Fannin’s ' com-
mand, and was one of the tew who escaped from the massacre
at Goliad. He always “raised the hair” of his slain, and rumor
gave him the credit of being the owner of a mule load of
these barbarous trophies, smoke-dried in his lonely hut on the
Guadalupe. He drank deeply and sought the companionship of
the most hardened desperados of the frontier; in all Indian fights
he was the devil incarnate.

During the civil wars between the Regulators and Moderators,
Glanton would join neither party, but with the utmost imparti-
ality picked a quarrel with some famous fighter of one or the
other party and “nibbed him out.” Any other man in Texas would
have been lynched, but his terrible loss, his services in the Mexi-
can and Indian wars, made him respected by the masses and gave
him strong friends of men in power. He was outlawed by Houston,®
but this did not aflFect him in the least. During the late war be-
tween the United States and Mexico, he was a “free Ranger”
hanging around our army without belonging to it, often going out
with scouting parties but always independent of all authority.

At the close of the Mexican war, hearing that the governor of

^ James Walker Fannin, a colonel in the Texas revolutionary army, leader of the
ill-fated expedition to Goliad. There on March 27, 1836, 330 Americans taken
prisoner by General Urrea were led out and shot, 88 others were spared and 27
managed to escape. Fannin was the last to be executed.

® General Sam Houston commanded forces of the Texas provisional government,
defeated Mexicans under Santa Anna at San Jacinto, 1836, President, Republic of
Texas, and on admission of the state to the Union, U.S. Senator, 1846-59; gover-
nor of Texas, 1859-61. Deposed for refusal to take oath of allegiance to Con-
federacy, he retired to farm at Huntsville, Texas, and died 1863.

269

Mij Confession

Sonora was offering dollars for e\erv Apache scalp brought
in, he organized a motley band of adxenturers and entered the
service of his old enemy General D. Jose Urrea, the Butcher of
Fannin’s command. Urrea gladl}' ga\'e all encouragement to the
“Scalp Hunters” and seemed equal!) pleased when Ranger or
Indian went under. He offered an additional bount)' of one thou-
sand dollars for the hair of the famous Apache Chief, Santana.
Glanton had made two raids in the Indian country, with but
small profit, and had met with considerable loss. There was in
camp drying thirty-seven of those disgusting articles of trade,
Apache scalps, cut with the right ear on, to prevent fraud, as some
Indians have two circles to their hair.

This was the band of cutthroats that I had joined and such was
John Glanton, the Captain of the Scalp Hunters of Sonora.

[ X L I ]

Life with the Scalp Huntei^s

Next day after my arrival at Frontreras, Glanton with ten men
started for La Villa de Mapimi to obtain the bounty on the scalps.
During their absence we had rather a gay time, attending Fan-
dangos in town, and receiving calls of the poblanas of the place in
camp.

The second in command, now left in charge of the camp, was
a man of gigantic size called “Judge” Holden of Texas. Who or
what he was no one knew but a cooler blooded villain never went
unhung; he stood six feet six in his moccasins, had a large fleshy
frame, a dull tallow colored face destitute of hair and all expres-
sion. His desires was blood and women, and terrible stories were
circulated in camp of horrid crimes committed by him when
bearing another name, in the Cherokee nation and Texas; and
before we left Frontreras a little girl of ten years was found in the
chapperal, foully violated and murdered. The mark of a huge
hand on her little throat pointed him out as the ravisher as no
other man had such a hand, but though all suspected, no one
charged him with the crime.

Holden was by far the best educated man in northern Mexico;
he conversed with all in their own language, spoke in several
Indian lingos, at a fandango would take the Harp or Guitar from
the hands of the musicians and charm all with his wonderful per-
formance, and out-waltz any poblana of the ball. He was “plum
centre” with rifle or revolver, a daring horseman, acquainted with
the nature of all the strange plants and their botanical names,
great in Geology and Mineralogy, in short another Admirable

271

My Confession

Crichton, and with all an arrant coward. Not but that he pos-
sessed enough courage to fight Indians and Mexicans or anyone
where he had the advantage in stiength, skill and weapons, but
where the combat would be equal, he would a\ oid it if possible. I
hated him at first sight, and he knew it, yet nothing could be
more gentle and kind than his deportment towards me; he would
often seek conversation with me and speak of Massachusetts and
to my astonishment I found he knew more about Boston than
I did.

At the end of five days Clanton returned without money, three
of the party wounded, and all as mad as hornets. Their story was
as follows: The second night after they left us, they discovered
a camp of Sonorans, and judging that they must have goods of
value along they resolved to plunder them, disguising themselves
as Indians. At midnight they charged the camp with frightful
yells; the surprised Sonorans made but little resistance and fled,
leaving their camp to the supposed Apaches. Clanton found some
forty mules and burros with pack saddles, blankets, provisions,
&c, but no money, and five women. Three Mexicans were killed—
they were scalped— as well as three of the women, who being old
and ugly were knocked on the head. The murderers, turning
loose the stock, withdrew, carrying away the best of the blankets
and two young Senoritas. Traveling all night they reached a re-
tired place that they considered safe from pursuit. Here they
spent the day in a brutal saturnalia, the two girls being subjected
to gratify the lust of the gang. At dark they in turn were sur-
prised by a large body of Sonorans who took them for Apaches.
The unfortunate girls were brained at once to prevent all un-
pleasant discovery, and then with the fierce war whoop of the
Tontos they charged their assailants with Indian lanfces, with so
much fury that they gained a free passage. Clanton, not deeming
it safe to venture into Mapimi, returned to- Frontreras with eight
additional scalps and three men wounded.

A stormy council of war was held. Clanton said that the Senor-

272

Life u'itJi the Scalp Hunters

itas had stated that their part}' was on its wa\ to upper California
where gold had been found in immense quantitw Similar rumors
of gold had been reaching Frontreras, so we now decided to go
gold hunting. Hitchcock alone doubted our success in California—
he thought that Major Graham’s command would gather all the
gold before we could reach the placers— and volunteered to ven-
ture into Mapimi and cash the hair, the bounty amounting to
over two thousand dollars.

Clanton gave the required permission and with Long Webster
and Charley McIntosh, a Cherokee half breed, Tom left with the
scalps, both Indian and “greaser.” We gave out that we were
all going to Mapimi, and passed through Frontreras together mak-
ing a great display of the raised hair and Indian lances. When
five miles from the Presidio, Hitchcock and his two companions,
after being instructed to meet up at the end of eight days at a
place well known to the band, Ojo del Conejo, or Rabbit Spring,
kept on to the south. The rest in Indian file climbed the mesa on
our left and pushed on over the parched-up plain. We passed a
few miserable herdsmen’s huts, the inhabitants fleeing in affright,
taking us for Apaches. To impress this belief more forcibly on
their minds, we gave them a specimen of savage war whoops,
and towards night, coming onto a drove of fat beeves, we killed
several and sent the rest scampering away with arrows sticking in
their flanks; this with the remains of a poor vaquero who was
slain and scalped by “Judge” Holden was sufficient to convince
all Arizuma ( Arizona ) that the fell Apaches were out on the war
path in force.

We passed the night at a deserted Hacienda, feasting on the
juicy beef and smoking the rest to pack along. Next day we
reached the rendezvous at Rabbit Spring. The place had been
recently visited by numerous horsemen, the ground around the
spring was trod into mire, there were fresh horse chips, remains
of cattle, and other signs of late visitors. An arrow sticking in a
lofty petahaya near by informed the experienced eyes of our

273

Mtj Confession

mountain men that the horsemen weie Marieopas. Scouts were
dispatched on all sides, hunting parties sent out, a camp was
formed in a gulch near the spring, and c'\ ery pi-ecaution taken
to insure our safet\’ and comfort until the return of Hitchcock.
Our scouts reported that the Indian tiail led towards New Mex-
ico, the hunters returned with cattle and sheep, so we lived right
royally.

In seven days our hair traders returned, their venture had been
a decided success. Clanton’s little affair had after all helped them,
as the Sonorans continued to believe that the attack had been
made by Apaches. Urrea’s agent paid them the cash, the Mexican
scalps passing for good Indian without question. Hitchcock
brought a supply of pass whiskey, ammunition and pinola.

That night a regular orgy was held in camp. Clanton proved
that he was well fitted to be the master spirit of the fiendish
band. Drinking deeply, he swore with the most fearful oaths that
we were all sinners bound to eternal Perdition, that it was his
mission to save us. He then knelt down and in well chosen words
prayed with all the fervor of a hard shell Baptist for the salvation
of all. Suddenly he sprang up and drawing his revolver opened
fire on us right and left. One of the Canadians received a shot in
the leg, as a gentle reminder to flee from the wrath to come. Judge
Holden seized the madman in his powerful arms, laid him down
and soothed him as a mother would a fretful child, and Clanton
soon sank into a drunken sleep.

Next morning we started for El Dorado or the mystic city of
Cibola. Tradition represented this city as situated in a deep valley
surrounded by lofty mountains. It was inhabited by a race of
white Indians called Pintos and there was believed to be an
abundance of gold and silver in the place. To find this great city,
to sack and plunder it, appeared to the crazed brains of Clanton
a matter of easy accomplishment. All believed in the legend, and
all swore to follow Clanton to the death.

We travelled for several days over a barren desert, destitute of

274

Life with the Scalp Hunters

all animal life, but the home of the great petahaija and giant Cac-
tus. On the third da\' a strange object miles away attracted our
notice. It appeared like a tent, but what was a tent pitched in the
desert for? We started for it and after three hours’ ride reached a
sad scene: a broken waggon, skeletons of cattle and horses, the
remains of an American emigrant man on the ground, while in
the waggon was the bodies of a woman, a little girl and boy, all
killed by arrows and scalped. Singular to relate the waggon was
not plundered. We searched the baggage to find some clue to the
mystery, but the only scrap of writing found was on the flyleaf
of a small Mormon Bible which was as follows: “To Ollis, from
her defender Hickman.” ^

One of our men. Mountain Jim, who had been examining the
arrows, said, “This is the work of white men. No doggone red
niggers carry so many kind of arrows and leave them behind.”
The waggon was fired and the bodies consumed on this strange
funeral pyre.

We continued our weary aimless march, and at the close of the
day found water and gammer grass in an arroyo, to the great relief
of our suffering animals. Next day after climbing a rugged cerro,
Clanton, who was at the head of the column, cried out, “El
Dorado, at last by God!” We all hurried to the front where a most
extraordinary spectacle greeted us. From the other side of an
extensive plain rose the houses, towers, domes and walls of a vast
city! What appeared to be fortified walls ran for miles, and lofty
battlements stood out in bold relief. The city had a strange weird
aspect, as of something unreal and unnatural.

We sat in silence gazing on this realization of our hopes, when
the mocking laughter of Judge Holden broke the spell. “So,
Clanton, this is El Dorado, is it? The city of gold and fair women!

I wish you joy of the discovery— a city of sandstone built by dame
nature!”

^ William A. Hickman, one of the original bodyguard of the prophet Joseph
Smith, was a celebrated Mormon scout and killer, and wrote his memoirs under
the title of Brighams Destroying Angel.

275

Mij Confession

It was too true. The grand cit\- in our front, the legendary
Cibola of the Spaniards, the city of white Indians of the trappers’
tales, was one of those curious freaks of nature, common in New
Mexico: strange shaped columns of sandstone, wrought by the
action of the rain on the hills during ages. Though w’e all were
used to such sandstone formations \ et we liad never met w'ith any
equal to this. Nature had carved out here a city w'hose towers and
columns would cause the cyclopic ruins of Thebes and Luxor to
appear like children’s toys in contrast. As w'e neared the silent
streets of the place, the beautifully proportioned Moorish domes,
the light symmetrical tow^ers, became gradually piles of sandstone
and marl. Looking back, the summit of the hill from wLich we
first espied this El Dorado appeared crowmed with a frowning
fortress with plumed warriors on its walls! The illusion was per-
fect, yet it was only walls of marl with yuccas and cactus grow'ing
behind them.

Judge Holden mounted a rock for a rostrum and gave us a
scientific lecture on Geology. The Scalp Hunters, grouped in easy
attitudes, listened to the “Literati” with marked attention. The
whole formed an assemblage worthy of the pencil of Salvator
Rosa. Holdens lecture no doubt was very learned, but hardly
true, for one statement he made was “that millions of years had
witnessed the operation producing the result around us,” which
Glanton with recollections of the Bible teaching his young mind
had undergone said “was a d — d lie.”

Next morning we moved out of the enchanted city, our rout
being towards the north. Indian signs were plenty today, a col-
umn of smoke rose straight in the air from a rock crowned mesa
that we had just passed. It was answered by another and still
others, away off to the north, until over twenty of these signals
were in sight. We had come to hunt Redskins, but it seemed as
if we might be hunted ourselves. No Indian had been seen, but
evidently the Apache nation was aroused for the signals covered
hundreds of miles.

276

Indian Fight on the Little Colorado

A ride of forty miles brought us to gammer grass and water.
Our mountain men pronounced the stream the Little Colorado.
During the night all was quiet. Some of the hunters had the good
luck to kill a large brown Bear, which was very acceptable, for
we had had no fresh meat since we left Rabbit Spring. All the
next day mounted Indians was seen in the distance but we moved
on without being molested. This night, after a march of at least
fifty miles, we were compelled to halt in the plain without water.
Next day we moved on over the hot arid desert when about noon
we descended into an arroyo, hoping to find water. No Indians or
smoke had been seen that day, but of a sudden a volley of arrows
fell among us and the Apaches’ war whoop sounded on all sides.

Though unexpected, the attack found us not unprepared. It
was scarce the work of a minute for our entire party to be well
covered behind the huge rocks, and our animals safely secured
in the ravine. The only person visible to me was Ben Tobin, who
shared with me the huge boulder behind which I crouched. Soon
the crack of a rifle, succeeded by a wild cry, told us that our
comrades were on the alert and a Redskin hit. I incautiously

277

Ml/ Confeiision

raised up to look, to see if I could see an Indian, when three
arrows whizzed by my head, one carr\ing awa\ in\’ hat, with a
hole in it more suitable for A entilation than ornamental puipose.

Tobin called ni}' notice to a mox’emcnt on a mesa that rose some
four hundred yards from us on our right. The headdress of a war-
rior was seen behind a clump of yuccas as he reconnoitred the
arroyo. As if satisfied that he was out of range he left his covert
and came forward to the very edge of the cliff, and presented in
bold relief against the sky as graceful a warlike figure as ever an
ancient Greek warrior did. Lying flat down I got his range, when
he gave a shrill cry and I let him have it; his cry changed into a
yell and springing clear of the rock he fell a corpse at the foot of
the mesa.

Then yells arose on all sides, arrows flew in clouds, and a crowd
of painted, yelling and leaping devils closed in on us from all
quarters.

The next few minutes seemed hours to me. There was no mis-
take I was badly scared, and without knowing what I was about
laid about me like mad, out-yelling the Redskins themselves. All
was confusion, rifles and pistols cracked and the hoarse shouts of
the rangers gave token that all were engaged. In five minutes the
horrible melee was over and all that could of the enemy fled.
Glanton and five others were with us in the last rush, and while
I expected to get H — 1 for being afraid, to my surprise I received
their rough compliments for doing grandly, and I found myself
quite a hero. Five Apaches lay in sight besides the one at the
foot of the hill.

Glanton pointed out a grove of Pecan and cabbage trees some
two miles further down on the bank of the arroyo, and said we
must gain that place or all of our animals would die'of thirst. He
gave his orders, the rangers crawled away to give the details to
the rest. Soon one of the pack mules, loosened on purpose, dashed
down the ravine towards the grove. This was the signal to go,
and the next moment all were in the saddle, and amidst a shower

278

Life ivifJi the Scalp Hunters

of arrows and to oui astonishment shots from firearms, we
charged on the skulking foes in our front and made for the refuge.
When we left our covert, we could realize the e.xtent of our
danger. Indians on foot swarmed all around, throwing in their
arrows like hailstones and we saw se\'eral armed with escopettes.
Their ponies were brought up and now the mounted yelling
fiends were on us again.

“Ride like devils for the timber," cried Glanton, and ride we
did. I was soon out of the thickest of the conflict and with nine
others gained the grove unharmed. Out on the plain a cloud of
dust, shouts, savage yells and the reports of firearms told how des-
perate was the situation of our comrades. Our impulse was to go
back to their assistance but our orders were to hold the grove. We
sprang off, secured our horses, tied lassos all around our shelter,
and secured our pack mules as they came running in, the smell
of water being their guide. Glanton made a desperate dash for
our position, and with thirteen others cut their way through and
reached the grove. Holden and Long Webster came in on foot,
their horses being killed.

We had now breathing time to look about us. Fourteen of our
party was missing and of the twenty-four present, seven were
wounded, four quite seriously. Twelve of our pack animals were
gone, but fortunately our provision and ammunition mules had
come in safe. All hands went to work with a will. Doc Irving
attended to the wounded, trees were cut down and formed into
barricades, our suffering animals watered from the spring of
excellent water that gushed from under the roots of a gigantic
Pecan tree, and picketed out to graze on the gammer grass, and
taken altogether our affairs were not so bad after all.

The Apaches were having a “big talk” about a half a mile from
our position; one old shriveled-up buck was making a violent
speech, judging from his actions, and soon a cordon of warriors
was thrown around our position. Our mountain men and Indian
fighters were in high glee, for they said that there was no other

279

My Confession

water for se\'ent\ miles, and in consec|nence the sa\ages would
soon be compelled to \’amose. But tlie\ would not go without
another trial; the mules that the\ had captured from us were
brought into line and tastened together by lariats, then a crowd
of Redskins dismounted and under the co\'er of this moving
breastwork advanced on us.

Glanton ordered us to hold our fire until he gave the word.
When they came within two hundred )ards and arrows struck
the trees, he shot down the right flank mule which made the left
mule wheel around, exposing the storming column to our rifles.
A deadly volley was poured in, and then twelve of us sprang on
our horses and charged on them before the}' could regain their
ponies. The result was most glorious, we regained the grove with-
out loss, while seventeen Indians lay on the plain and several
warriors had to be helped into the saddle. The Apaches had
enough, their sentinels withdrew, and the entire party disap-
peared among the yuccas and rocks to the south. All of our mules
were re-captured but two, and we caught several Indian ponies.

Though the enemy had retreated, our situation was one of
great danger. Our band reduced to twenty-four, and only four-
teen of them fit for duty, hundreds of miles from any settlement,
encumbered with our wounded, and liable to be attacked at any
moment by fresh bands of hostile Indians— all this was sufficient
to daunt the boldest and most experienced Indian trailer. John
Glanton was a man of prompt action and remorseless in cany-
ing out his decision. He ordered Holden and Irving to examine
all of the wounded and report all that were unable to ride. He
then called us together in a distant part of the grove, where we
received the report of the ministers of fate, who gave the names
of four who could not travel any further at present.

Glanton made a short but forceable speech, the drift of it was
“that mercy, and our safety demanded the death of these fom,
and that the laws of the desert sanction it.” I was horrified and
expressed myself freely, but the execution was ordered. All were

280

Life iL'ifJi tJu' Sailp Htintcrs

compelled to draw lots to decide what four should commit the
murders. Twenty Apaclu' airows wen* placed in a coyote skin
quiver, four of them being marked at the point. Thank God I
drew a blank!

The poor fellows had watched our proceedings with anxious
eyes. One was a young Kentuckian, Dick Shcllw, tw'o w'ere Dela-
wares, the other a Sonoran. Sam Tate chew the one marked for
Shelby, Long Webster that of the Mexican, and a Delaware
Indian volunteered to dispatch the two of his tribe.

They w'ere informed of their fate, and the best of care given
them during the entire night. All w'ere busy, the worst of the
mules were killed and jerked, their hides made into moccasins,
leggings &c, bags of mesquite beans gathered and after a few
hours’ sleep, all that could move w’ere ready to start at early
dawn. We moved off in silence, the executioners standing beside
the victims with Apache w’ar clubs in hand. As we cleared the
grove, Glanton fired his pistol, when we all heard the dull crush-
ing sound that told us the deed was done. All felt sad and guilty.

[ X 1. I 1 ]

The Great Canyon of the Colorado

We marched due north all dav after the terrible sacrifice on the

✓

altar of necessity in the grove. Little conversation was held, we
moved on in silence, moody and suspicious of each other. Our
wounded suffered dreadfully but with the lesson of the “lottery
of death” before them, they endured their agony without com-
plaint. Dr. Irving done wonders; he gathered a species of the
cactus, cut away the outside and thorns, made a pulp of the soft
part and poulticed their wounds with it. This reduced the inflam-
mation and had a wonderful cooling effect. A young Mexican,
Manuel Reis, who had no less than six arrow wounds in his body,
begged of me not to let him be killed as the men in the grove
were. I firmly pledged myself to protect him. I sounded three of
the men and they declared that they were heartily sick of this
butchering of comrades, and would allow no more of it.

With but two hours’ rest at noon we pushed on all day and
halted for the night in a strange old ruin, with no water to be
found. All we had in our gourds was gone, the wounded men
having received the most of it. Two of the poor fellows died dur-
ing the night, which was one of extreme misery to all. Late in the
afternoon the next day a solitary Cabbage Palm pointed out
water, and we remained here all next day. A bear and a Big Horn
was added to our commissary department, and our animals
regained their strength.

Clanton was of the opinion that the ^barranca in which we
fmmd the water ran into the Rio Colorado, and that we had
better follow it down the junction, and then follow that river

282

The Grraf ('anytin of thv Colorado

down to the Pima mi llif Cila river. The old mountain

men objected and said tliat the lonte wa.s impassable liecanse of
the deep can\'on.s and barrancas that intersected it. But Holden
joined with Glanton. so biddin”; with rehictance good-by to this
oasis, we started down the winding bed of the ra\'ine. As we
advanced the rock\ \\all.s rost* higher and liighcr until ne seemed
shut out from the world.

The little rivulet that trickled o\.er the stony bed, sometimes
disappearing for miles and then again forming deep pools full of
fish of the trout species, was a source of great delight and com-
fort to us, W'hich only those who have experienced a similar trip
over the arid wastes of the alkaline deserts of the west can appre-
ciate. At our noon-da\’ halt we drank, bathed, washed our ani-
mals, and anyone seeing us would have thought we had no other
object in view but to indulge in its benefits. Hitchcock shook his
head and growled at the delay and asked where we would be if
rain fell in the country above us. Several clamored to return, but
Glanton swore he would shoot the first man who made the at-
tempt; this stopped all complaints and repacking we continued
on our way.

Judge Holden rode with me and stated that he knew that we
would be obliged to retrace our steps, but that Clanton’s plan
gave him an opportunity of seeing the greatest natural wonder of
the world, the unexplored Great Canyon of the Colorado, re-
ported by hunters as a “cut through the plain from one to five
miles in depth, and extending for some three hundred miles.” As
we rode along Holden, in spite of my repugnance of the man,
interested me greatly by his description of the great cut and how
it might have been formed. He also was fluent regarding the
ancient races of Indians that at a remote period covered the
desert with fields of com, wheat, barley and melons, and built
large cities with canals bringing water from rivers hundreds of
miles distant. To my question “how he knew all this,” this ency-
clopaedian Scalp Hunter replied, “Nature, these rocks, this little

283

Ml/ Confession

broken piec-e of c]a\ (holding up a little fragment of painted
pottery such are found all over the desert), the ruins scattered all
over the land, all tell me the stou ot the past.”

We passed the night at a pool of water. 1 thought of rain, as it
w’as now’ late in No\-ember, and looked at driftwood lodged in
crevices full fifty feet abo\e our heads, with a shudder. Next
day about ten in the forenoon a shout from the men on the
advance caused us to all hurr\’ ahead, when we found ourselves
standing on the brink of a chasm that cleft the earth to an un-
known depth at our feet. The Great Canyon of the Colorado at
last! We dismounted and lying on the rock}’ bed of the canyon,
we looked down the aw'ful gulf under us. Away dowm, far, far
below, we could see a bright silver ribbon, the water of the great
river of the West, here imprisoned between w’alls whose height
and vast extent seemed to shut it out forever from the light of
day. The depth of the canyon we had no means of determining,
But Holden, Doc Irving and Ben Tobin agreed in giving it a depth
of three thousand feet, or not quite tw'O thirds of a mile, while
the mountain men swore that it was good three miles. I believe
the first estimate is rather over than under, for judging from the
banks of the barranca that we were in, which rose not over six
hundred feet above us, the opening below did not appear over
three times deeper. But at any rate it is the greatest wonder I
ever saw. In the rainy season, when a torrent fifty feet deep rushes
down the barranca and leaps over this sheer precipice of so
frightful a depth, what a grand and stupendous cataract it
must be!

This thought struck us all, and after many a hard word with
Clanton for getting us in such a position of danger, we started
back up the barranca. I am satisfied that we were the first white
men who ever saw the Great Canyon from this point. What is
very singular in regard to it is that the cut is not through moun-
tains, but through a level plain, with mountains rising above it
from three to twelve thousand feet.

284

The Great Canyon of the Colorado

In two da\’s’ marcli, without any incident, we reached our
former stopping place, the spring of the lone Cabbage Palm. We
reached it none too soon, for that night the storm of rain burst
over the desert with great fury. The rain fell heavy all the next
day but we resumed our march, our animals receiving new life
from the torrents of water that pounded down on the thirsty
earth.

Five da^'s of hard marching brought us to the Gila river oppo-
site a village of Pima Indians. We built rafts of dry cottonwood
and prepared to cross. Clanton, savage and surly, swore he would
assault the place, and give no quarter to man, woman or child.
Holden supported him, but Hitchcock, Tobin and all of the moun-
tain men not only opposed this cruel massacre but swore it should
not take place. Two of our men had been at the village before
and spoke in strong terms of the kind and peaceful character of
the inhabitants. Clanton finally put it to vote and all but three
voted against the slaughter.

A party of Indians came down on the other bank and hailed us
in Spanish, offering their assistance, and soon crossed over by
swimming. They had stout, short figures, with their hair cut
square across the forehead and hanging down the back or done
up in a strange sort of club. They appeared very friendly and
glad to see us, and with their assistance we safely crossed the
now swollen Cila and marched to their village. We obtained from

Pima village with group of Indians

My Confession

a chief a small supply of flour, bean.s and punkins. the old fellow
excusing himself for not furnishing more, as the camisas Colo-
rado (Graham’s command) had consumed everything that they
had for sale.

I was struck with the graceful proportions of the young Pima
girls— regular bronze \>nuses— but with the exception of their
eyes, their features were rather repulsive than otherwise. The
women dressed in a skirt of cotton cloth or strips of the inner
bark of the cottonwood, they wore padding on the hips and
behind under their skirts, in fact regular bustles. The men went
almost naked, though a few had on shirts obtained fiom Gra-
ham’s command; they had an odd fashion of filling their hair full
of mud from the Gila, and then twisting it up into a helmet-like
form and letting it drv. This served a three-fold purpose; it was
an effectual protection from the clubs of their natural enemies the
Yumas of the Colorado, it increased the growth of hair, and was
sure death to the piojos who became prisoners in this singular
adobe prison. From cotton of their own raising they weave
blankets in the most primitive manner, four sticks being all they
require for the loom. Their fields are irrigated by a system
of canals from the Gila, the women doing the work of the
fields while the men take care of the children and do the weav-
ing.

We remained here two days and in company with Judge
Holden, Doc Irving, Tobin and three others, with several Pimas
for guides we visited some remarkable ruins, about twelve miles
up the river. These were the remains of three houses. Our guides
said that Montezuma built them. They were made of mud with
coarse gravel mixed in, forming a kind of concrete. I sketched
them from different points, much to the wonder of oiir guides. In
all directions I found what must have been the sites of houses or
corrals, oblong circles of stones, while the ground was covered
with broken pottery and we found three stones similar to those
used by the Mexican women in grinding com.

286

Tlic Great Catnjon of the Colorado

On onr return we found Glanton raving drunk from fermented
juice of the aifiavc. obtained from some Coco-Maricopas who
li\’ed in another \illage close by. To prevent trouble Glanton was
lassoed and bound fast for the Jiight. Next day I believe I was
waited on by the entire village to be sketched, our guides of the
day before ha^•ing well ad\’ertised my great abilities as an artist.
The girls gatheied around me forming beautiful groups of living
statuary; they seemed shy and modest, but full of fun and like all
the sex overflowing with curiosity. They laughed and chattered
like magpies, their beadlike eyes sparkling with merriment. I gave
away several drawings to the belles, who returned the compliment
by bringing me huge watermelons, and one gave me a cotton sash
such as the “bucks” wear on their heads, woven with bright red
and blue lines.

While I was sketching an uproar arose in the village caused by
Holden’s seizing hold of one of the girls and proceeding to take
gross liberties with her person. A dozzen cocked rifles brought to
bear on him drove the brute from his prey, but the whole village
was in ferment, and it seemed as if we stood a chance of being
wiped out. However, Holden made some explanation to the
crowd in Spanish that appeased them.

On the third day we bid good-by to these half civilized savages
and started down the Gila for the Colorado. After a five days’
march we reached the bluffs at the junction of the two rivers in
good condition. Indians showed themselves and at first appeared
hostile, but soon flocked around us with offers to ferry us across
the Colorado. They belonged to a tribe known as Yumas and
were in stature superior to the Pimas. We rested at their village
for two days, recruiting ourselves and animals for the hardships
to be encountered in crossing the great Colorado Desert, where for
one hundred and thirty miles, according to the Indians, all was
sand, with no water to’ be found.

The ferry was about four miles below the junction of the two
rivers and consisted of two boats made from waggon bodies which

287

Mij Confession

I recognized as ha\ing Ireen part of tlie etpupnieiit of Graham’s
command— the lettcns U.S. were still \ isiblc. 1 told Glanton of this,
when a dirt}' old chief pulled out of a skin pouch a greasy bit of
paper, with the well known ( to me at least ' signature L. P. Gra-
ham, making a present of the pontoon boat to the head cliief of
the tribe, for sers'ices rendered to his command in crossing. The
other boat they said they found on the desert, and that there
w^ere many more there.

Glanton and Holden, after we made camp, had a long confer-
ence together, and from Holden’s earnest manner I was sure some
new devilish scheme w'as on foot. Ne.xt morning Glanton unfolded
his plans. He told us that this ferry was our “El Dorado, our gold
mine,” the gate to California, and he proposed to seize it, kill the
Indians if they objected, capture the young girls for wives &c. A
few of us opposed the diabolical scheme, but the measure was
carried by an overwhelming majority and the plan organized to
make it a success.

During the day our camp swarmed with Yumas, and at a signal
from Glanton the two boats and nine of the prettiest girls were
secured. The Indians being unarmed fled without resistance, and
Clanton’s coup d’etat was a decided success. The poor captive
girls, who seemed to expect death, were tied hand and foot and
placed under a guard, and all the rest went to work to build a fort
on the summit of an isolated hill near the ferry. The ground was
covered with loose stones of irregular shape, and with men work-
ing for their lives it did not require much time to erect a circular
wall, capable of holding our entire party and well constructed
for defense against any weapons such as the Yumas possessed.
We named it Fort Defiance.

Indians hovered around the camp all night and next day many
warriors appeared above and below our fortification and about
noon four of them advanced towards us waving their hands and
crying out, “Amigo, amigo.” Glanton and three others, laying
aside all arms but their revolvers, which they concealed under

288

The Great Cantjan of the Colorado

their serapes, went out to meet them. The Yumas demanded the
return of the Boats, the girls, and our departure. To this Glanton
replied that he should keep all he had taken, and if the\' did not
suppl}’ hizn with beans and bunch grass he would desti'oy their
village and kill all. Their answer was to produce short heavy
clubs, and with loud ades they rushed on Clanton’s party who at
once dropped four of them with the Colts. Bv force of habit the
savages’ hair was raised and brought in. The Yumas, seeing this,
retired with many howls to the deep shade of the willow thicket
that covered the bank. So matters remained for several days, no
Indians appearing to trouble us, and all hands kept busy strength-
ening our camp, and feiTying over numerous parties of Mexicans
on their way to California. Clanton, leaving the gang in charge of
Holden, left for the California settlements with three of our party
to buy beef, taking with them over a thousand dollars. Indians
only appeared at a distance, and business at the ferry was brisk
and highly lucrative, as we demanded and received four dollars
per head for all crossings, and one dollar a head for all animals,
we swimming them alongside the boats to which they were made
fast by lassos.

Our honorable captain returned alone after ten days’ absence
with no beef, no money, but two animals, one a mule loaded with
whiskey, a few pounds of coffee, sugar and ship’s biscuit. He
was quite sober, but cross and surly. He said his companions had
deserted him and gone to the gold mines, that he had got into
trouble in San Diego with some soldiers, had killed two, and
was fortunate in getting away with a whole skin. He also informed
us that a party of Sonorans were two days back on the desert, on
their way home from the mines, that he had travelled with them
to a place called Vallecita, and that they had plenty of gold in
their possession. Clanton proposed in a cool businesslike way for
his band of cutthroats to wipe out the entire party.

An indignant refusal from all the band but the two principals
admonished him that he had gone too far, and he passed it off as a

289

Mij Confession

joke. That night another di-sgu.sting oigv wa.s indulged in by
Glanton and most of his band, which now mimbeied only fifteen.
I had become so thoroughly horrified with the helli.sh deeds of
mv companions that dread feelings akin to the nightmare took
possession of me, making my days miserable, and m) nights a
series of fearful dreams I .sounded Ben Tobin, Hitchcock and
Long Webster on the subject of quitting the gang and going to the
mines in California. They were as disgusted as msself, and we
agreed to start whenever a favorable opportunity presented itself,
and formed our plans accordingly.

One morning about two days later Tobin, Hitchcock and Web-
ster volunteered to go to the river bottom to cut firewood— each
day three men were detailed for this duty— while I was to guard
the animals grazing on the brush-like grass near by. Hitchcock had
secured thirteen onzas or doubloons, we had secreted in the tim-
ber some jerked mule meat, and two gourds of whiskey. As per
arrangement we four met about ten in the forenoon, behind a
huge sand drift about a mile from Fort Defiance, I mounted on
Soldan, the others on the best mules of the band. With the state-
ment of Glanton and the Sonorans in regard to the desert fresh in
our minds, we let our animals drink their fill at a gully, while we
filled our blankets with the screw shaped bean of the mesquite
bush.

We were just ready to take the plain trail of the emigrants
through the cottonwoods to the sandy plain that stretched be-
tween us and California, when savage yells with three shots
reached our ears from the direction of the fort. We rode down to
the river again, and Fort Defiance was in plain sight; the bluff
on which it was built was covered with howling Indians.

“Glanton rubbed out, by G — d!” was Crying Tomb's eulogy on
his old commander, as we rode back through the timbered bot-
tom, somehow feeling sad and blaming ourselves for deserting in
the hour of danger and death. But Tobin, the renegade priest, the
profane, the wicked reckless ranger, raised his sombrero and said.

290

The Great ('antjon of the Colorado

“It's the liand o{ Chid! To linn, and sou. Peloncillo Jack, His blind
instnunent, we owe our li\es. Ho for the desert, for California,
and Gold!"

W’c tod’d through loose' drift sand for some time, and then the
tiail left the cottonwoods and struck boldly out on the great
desert, the “Joinado del Muerto.” (Jouiney of Death.) We moved
on some twenty miles and came to a clump of mesquite bushes in a
sink of the plain. A well had been dug here, but it was now filled
with sand. Three dilapidated government waggons had been
abandoned near by ss'ith ses eral dead mules, dried to mummies. A
tail board made fast to the bows of one of the waggons bore the
following legend, cut with a knife; cook’s wells, water 10 ft.

D. H. RUCKER.

My old commander’s card! Out here in the California Desert!
How the name brought up all the romance of my soldier life in
the Dragoons, of Monterey, Buena Vista, of her, the incompara-
ble, the sainted Carmeleita. How wretched, how wicked I felt, as
the visions of my wild irregular life passed with panoramic dis-
tinctness before me, raised by the name of my friend and com-
mander!

A deep draught at the whiskey drove away such unpleasant
thoughts. Seeing no water could be obtained for want of digging
tools, we moved off on the well-defined trail. Tobin, looking back
towards the Colorado, suddenly halted and with an exclamation
of astonishment caused the rest to look in the same direction.
Away off towards the dark belt of timber that marked the course
of the river, we could see several figures of men, coming our way.
Even at the distance they were froih us we could plainly make
out that one of them was a white man, who was fleeing for his
life from savages. Without a word our blanket of mesquite beans
was thrown to the ground, the spurs drove into our animals, and
away we went to the rescue.

As I neared the scene I recognized the gigantic form of Judge
Holden, who had been brought to bay by about a dozzen yelling

291

Mtj Confession

Yuiuas, who appeanal to bo atmot! onl_N uith their short clubs.
Holden was resting, leaning on his heaw liile, which he had been
using as a war club, with eflect, for one sawige lay brained at his
feet, while the rest wei'e stsited on tinhi haunches ai-ound him,
like a pack of prairie woKes mound a fagged Bufflo Bull. Neither
Holden or the bucks showed the least sign of being aware of my
approach until I raised the old sell of the' Dragoons, when the
Yumas, with their strange sharp war cry like the bark of a Coy-
ote, started off on a lun. I charged on one who wore a shirt that
I recognized as belonging to a Mexican of our party, and rode
him down, but my gallant steed stumbled on him, throwing me
over his head.

I was not hurt and was on my feet at once, just as Holden
dashed out the brains of the red devil with the butt of his rifle.
“Just in time. Jack!” he said, “I owe you one,” and held out his
huge hand. I replied “No thanks, the service is of no value,” and
did not take the extended hand. M\' tres conpaneros now came
up and Long Webster dismounted and gave his mule to the
Judge, and we resumed our way.

We passed by Cooks Wells and continued our course until late in
the afternoon, when we rested for two hours. We traveled several
hours this night on foot, leading our animals. There was no mis-
taking the trail— deserted waggons and skeletons of horses and
mules marked every rod of ground. This was a black day vHth us.
We all became cross and distrustful of each other, as yet I don’t
think any of us suffered much from hunger or thirst. At midday
we gave the animals the last of the beans and finished our jerked
“muley,” when Holden volunteered, if I would let him have my
horse, to push on to the settlements, obtain a supply of meat and
water and return. I saw through the scoundrel’s design, and
refused, but an hour later when he was riding Soldan, he whipped
him into a run and was off.

I was plodding along with the rest, carrying my rifle, when a
shout from the treacherous villain made me realize my loss, and

292

The rescue

his base ingratitude. I threw up my rifle, but he had gained too
great a distance for a sure shot. When some six hundred yards off
he held up and cried out to us, “You cursed robber's and mur-
derers, I go to denounce you in the settlements! You shall hang
in California!” and with another yell of triumph dashed off. He
did not get far, for Soldan stumbled, throwing his rider, and
before he could recover himself, we were on him with our rifles
bearing on his villainous heart.

The Judge tried to turn it off as a joke, but we kept an ominous
silence. I was left with him, while the other three retired and
consulted. They soon returned, and informed him of his fate— to
be tied fast with a lariat, and left. Heaven! How he begged and
pleaded! But in vain; he was soon made fast to a half-buried
waggon body, his arms secured behind him, and then as we
departed his entreaties changed into curses and ravings.

We rode on in moody silence for several miles, when we halted
and looked back. We could see him in the distance— a small dark
spot on the desert. I could not stand it. “He is a white man, and
no doggone ‘greaser’ or buck, and Til be d — d if he shall go
under in that fashion!” I cried out, and without waiting for answer
I started back.

It took me a good hour to reach the miserable wretch, and as 1
dismounted, drew my Bowie Knife and advanced on him, judging

293

My Confession

my motive by his own black heart, he begged me not to kill him,
to let him live, even to linger and die of starvation! What a cow-
ardly heart the bully had! I cut the rawhide thongs without a
word and rode off.

My companions had kept on, and as I reached the rise where
I had left them, I could just discern them some six miles away.
Looking back, I was surprised to see Holden, not over a mile in
my rear. Poor Soldan showed much distress, and while I favored
him all I could, I was compelled to urge him along at a trot,
under spur. At dark none were in sight, I was alone once more in
the desert, hungry, thirsty and weary. I broke down completely
and found myself blubbering like a child. I had fancied myself a
man, when I was nothing but a boy.

When I dismounted, Soldan, more weak and used-up than his
master, stretched himself with a groan on the sand. Wrapping
myself up in my blanket, I lay down between my old companion’s
legs, and with my head resting on his flank, fell asleep. I awoke
with a start, chilled to the bone, sore, stiff and hungry. It was yet
dark, no signs of day in the east, the sky appeared black, and
seemed to close in and shut down on me, while the stars seemed
little cuts in the black cover, through which a light beyond was
seen. I aroused my weary companion, and cold and shivering,
■with the bridle over my arm, led the way guided by the North
Star and the debris of former caravans. I walked on for hours,
with nothing living in sight. The sun had come up, of a dull brassy
color, the sky was like bronze.

Away to the north the black mountains of California seem to
recede as I advanced. I knew I must reach them before I could
obtain water; what little sugar I had left I gave to Soldan, who
showed much weakness, his two falls having evidently strained
him. At noon we halted for two hours, then once more resumed
our solitary way. I was getting weak, my heavy arms weighed me
down like lead, I had drawn my waist belt tighter and tighter,
until I was shaped like a wasp. On we went for hours, but the

294

The Great Canyon of the Colorado

black mountains seemed as far oflF as ever. Long into the dark
night we stumbled on, until we sank exhausted on the sand. I
slept but little this night, and at daylight it was difficult to get
Soldan to his feet. He carried my arms, and I had to partially
pull him along. All day we kept on, lying down now and then,
and then staggering on, trying to gain on those craggy peaks
which always fled before us.

Towards night Soldan stopped and refused to go any further;
he groaned and seemed in much distress, and when I threw off
the saddle he fell to the ground. I raised his head in my lap, cry-
ing as if my heart would break. I knew it was my duty to shoot
him and put an end to his sufferings, but my heart failed me.
Spreading over him my blanket, I loaded myself down with my
arms, and went on my solitary way towards those distant peaks.
The sun went down, darkness shut down around me, yet I stag-
gered on. My tongue was dry, and my mouth felt as if full of
ashes, yet I somehow never lost heart, or hope. I prayed silently
to my Heavenly Father for strength to enable me to reach water.
Finally I fell down and lay like a corpse until morning.

Next day the sun was high overhead when I was saluted with a
cry like a Coyote’s and two Indians came in sight from behind a
sand drift. Weak and raving as I was, I managed to draw my
revolver, when they threw up their arms and cried out “amigo,
amigo!” and held up a double-headed gourd. They gave me a long
drink which tasted reekingly of sulphur.

Using signs I made them understand that my horse might he
saved, and one of them went back to look. The other guided me
on for several hours until we came to their village. To my great
delight I found my three comrades sitting in front of a campfire
and getting my supper: broiled mule meat, acorn bread and real
pure coffee! They told me the place was called Vallecita, or little
valley, the first water after leaving the Rio Colorado, one hun-
dred and twenty five miles away. They had arrived some twelve
hours ahead of me and sent the “Diggers” back to my rescue.

295

My Confession

Next day, to my great joy, the second Indian came in leading
Soldan, who he found following up the trail. Hitchcock, who acted
as interpreter, engaged two of the bucks to go back for my saddle,
promising them and the man who saved my horse my old ragged
red shirt! and this without consulting me. It was all the shirt I had.

We concluded to remain here several days to recruit our ani-
mals. Two of the Indians agreed to go ahead to the Spanish
settlements to purchase a beef for us with a doubloon we gave
them for that purpose. They were Cristianos and appeared trusty
as Indians go. Our animals seemed to relish the coarse wiry grass,
and the stinking water, and we turned them out to graze without
a guard.

On my second night here we received quite a fright. It was
towards morning when a shout from Ben Tobin awoke us, and
the sight that greeted us caused us to seize our arms. Seated cross-
legged by the fire, broiling raw meat, was the gaunt spectre of
the Judge! The old scoundrel acted as cool as if nothing unpleas-
ant had ever happened! On being interrogated, we found to our
great indignation that when he reached Vallecita, guided by the
light of our fire, he had in the dark stumbled onto our animals,
killed one of the mules (Ben Tobin’s) and cut out a chunk, which
he was now eating. On the desert when he was about dead, some
Indians had come across him and given him some water and
parched acorns. They must have been the ones going after my
saddle.

We held a hurried counsel of war. At first we decided to shoot
the miscreant, but on second sober thought we let him off and
were soon roasting tough chunks of Tobin’s mule and cracking
jokes at that worthy’s expense. Next day we gave the mule’s
offals to our Indian friends, who held a grand pow wow and ate
up everything.

On the third day, there being no sign of- the Indians we sent
for beef, we decided to start for the settlements, informing
Holden that he could not go with us, but must remain one

296

The Great Canyon of the Colorado

day after we left. After a tedious march of six hours over a barren
rocky country, and some miles of it through a narrow pass, we
reached the Indian rancheria, of San Phillippe, where we found
grass and water. Here our Indians met us with two beeves instead
of one, and we found they had paid only four dollars for both.
We killed one, made a good meal of its lean stringy meat, cut off
some of the best pieces to pack along, gave the rest to the Indians
and the live one to its driver for his trouble.

Postscript

Sam Chamberlain’s handwritten Confession comes to an abrupt
end at this point. But on May 9, 1850, three Americans appeared
before the Alcalde of Los Angeles and declared they were mem-
bers of John Clanton’s band. They said they had narrowly escaped
being killed by the Indians at the ferry on the Colorado on April
23rd, and told a graphic story of the massacre of their companions.
This news was soon confirmed and caused great excitement. The
local militia marched off to chastise the Indians, and eventually
a regular army post was established to guard the river crossing
near the site of Clanton’s “Fort Defiance.”

The names of the three survivors, as signed to depositions which
still exist, were William Carr, Marcus L. Webster and Joseph A.
Anderson. “Long” Webster, the reader may recall, was named by
Sam as one of his companions on the trek across the desert. Carr
and Anderson are unknown to history but the names could easily
have been assumed. Chamberlain of course was a deserter from
the army and had reason to hide his identify.

Apparently he stayed in California for at least three more years,
enjoying himself immensely. He is said to have been with the
filibustering expedition led by William H. Walker in 1853 against
the Mexican towns in lower California. Then he sailed home,
around the world by way of the Philippines, India and Scotland.

From this time on his career is a matter of public record. On
July 4, 1855, he was married in Boston to Mary Keith, aged
twenty-two, a native of New Brunswick, Canada. This marriage

299

My Confession

lasted for fifty-three years and produced three children, all girls.
Each of them received a Mexican name spelled in Chamberlain’s
unorthodox fashion— Tranceita, Delorious and Carmeleita.

At the time of his wedding Sam was working as a teamster. Six
years later, when the Civil War broke out, he was a policeman in
near-by Cambridge. He immediately joined a group of local vol-
unteers who marched to the State House in Boston with a drummer
and flag, collecting more recruits along the way until they num-
bered a company. J. Prentiss Richardson, a well-known attorney,
was elected captain of this outfit. Chamberlain then thirty-one,
was elected first lieutenant.

It was at this time, apparently, that he suddenly stopped work
on his memoirs and never got back to completing the story of his
adventures in the West. He served through the four years
of the Civil War and came out of it a general. Some of his promo-
tions he won on the battlefield, and some by a direct campaign of
writing letters to his governor and senator. In May, 1865, three
weeks after the war ofiicially ended, he received his commission
as brevet (honorary) brigadier general of volunteers.

At Kelly’s Ford, Virginia, on March 17, 1863, a Confederate
bullet smashed his left cheekbone and lodged between his shoulder
blades. This put him out of action for a while and left a deep
scar which he bore proudly the rest of his life.

After the war, he was a conspicuous and busy figure in the vet-
erans’ organizations, and received political appointments. For
several years he was deputy quartermaster general of Massachu-
setts, in charge of the state arsenal. Later, for almost twenty years,
he was warden of state prisons in Charlestown, Massachusetts,
and Wethersfield, Connecticut. By all accounts he was a good,
humane warden who did a great deal to improve the health and
welfare of his convicts, and pleaded their cause with the public.
“It will be well to place ourselves in the situation of the guilty
one: to realize all he has resisted, suffered and endured, before
we judge him too harshly,” he wrote in one of his reports.

300

Postscript

In 1893 he went into dignified retirement in a big, rambling,
white-frame house called “Maple Hall” at Barre Plains near Wor-
cester. Here his expanding family-three married daughters with
their husbands and children— gathered every year for their tradi-
tional New England Thanksgiving Day feasts of roast beef, turkey,
ham, chicken and five kinds of pie, all cooked in the old-fashioned
kitchen by white-haired Grandmother Chamberlain.

After dinner General Chamberlain would take the children into
his book-lined den, with its huge stone fireplace and mounted
buffalo heads around the walls, and tell them stories of the old
wild West. He wore a pointed goatee and mustaches-“like Buf-
falo Bill’s,” one of his grandsons recalls— and for outdoor dress he
affected a dragoon-style cape and a round fur hat like a Cos-
sack’s. For each of his daughters he built and presented a summer
home at Annisquam on Cape Ann, north of Gloucester. But he
himself preferred to stay at “Maple Hall,” where he maintained a
stable, and often led the Fourth of July parade in the village of
Barre, riding a white horse and wearing his medals.

Toward the close of his life he was visited by Justin H. Smith,
a young scholar who was just beginning the research for his mas-
sive History of the War with Mexico, published in 1919. Smith
was impressed— “Of all the military men known to the author
Chamberlain was the most sternly soldierlike,” he wrote. In his
history he cited Chamberlain’s “diary” (as he calls it) and also
the old man’s verbal reminiscences as evidence on a number of
points. But he said nothing about Chamberlain’s pictures, and this
leads to the suspicion that he may have looked at a different copy
of the memoirs: “Maple Hall” burned to the ground after Cham-
berlain died, and most of his private papers were lost.

Death c^me to Sam Chamberlain on November 10, 1908, in a
Worcester hospital, “from the effects of a general breaking down
due to old age.” The Boston newspapers remarked at the time
that he was “known throughout the circles of the Grand Anny of
the Republic as the ‘veteran of veterans’ of Massachusetts. . . .

301

My Confession

He had fourteen horses shot in battle and was wounded seven
times. ... In all he participated in more than 100 battles. . . .”

The down-to-earth facts are not quite as dramatic as this. But
they do add up to a fascinating, complex character-part ruthless
Yankee and part incorrigihle dreamer and boaster— who left us a
book that is more revealing than most formal histories of his time.

Roger Butteitfield

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